100 Emails, 20 Dates An SF girl's systematic quest to end her singlehood

Girls are the worst wingpeople

On St. Patrick's Day, I went out with a group of (single) girl friends. We met up at a crowded, but not packed, Irish bar, and immediately launched into a hilarious conversation. There were some really hot guys there--and far more men than women. As I tried to make eye contact with one guy, I had to nearly contort my body to face his direction. Then I saw how we were standing: in a circle, totally closed off, so engrossed in our own conversation that we were shutting everyone else in the bar out. And what were we talking about? How hard it is to meet guys in much in San Francisco.

Um....

I realized then that women can be our own worst enemies. Here we were, a group of good-looking, smart, funny, fun-loving girls who we were projecting the "Don't talk to us" vibe. It happens fairly often. It's not just uninviting; the body language says, "Back off." If a guy even thought of approaching us, he'd feel like he was stepping into the gauntlet. No fun.

Compare that to a recent night out with my (married) friend A. We went to get beers and sausages, saw that there weren't any open tables, so we joined a table with two other guys. And we all had a lovely conversation. No love connection for me, but still--I met two guys that night.

Wingwoman rule #1: Be open, not closed off.

Wingwoman rule #2: Talking about how hard it is to meet guys when trying to meet guys makes it harder to meet guys.

When I first floated the St. Patrick's Day idea to people, the idea was that we'd go to a non-Irish bar that always goes way over the top for St. Patty's (read: a place where you can actually have the experience you're looking for on March 17--a really fun night in a roomful of people who are also having a really fun night--unlike the Irish bars packed-to-the-gills with people who have been drinking since noon). Also, there was a 90% probability that a guy I was interested in was going to be there.

After the first bar, I said, "Let's go to [super fun non-Irish bar]!" The girls dilly-dallied. They wanted to eat. They didn't know what they wanted to eat. Or where. They finally decided to go to the neighborhood of the bar and find a restaurant there. They didn't know how many cabs to take. We decided on two cabs. It took a while to hail the cabs. When we got to the neighborhood, we walked around for a while until we finally agreed on a place to eat. There was a wait, of course. When we finished our dinner, everyone was tired and wanted to go home. So we did.

This is a crucial difference between chicks and bros. As my bro Ray Huff said, "Guys will totally help their guy friends get laid." They'll go to the bar. They'll buy the first round, leaving their bro more time to talk to the chick. They'll talk to the gay male friend of the girl--sometimes for hours. I've seen it happen. Guys support.

Girls do not. There have been many times when I've had to PLEAD with a friend to get her to come with me to a bar so I can hang out with a guy that I like. I know what you're thinking: "But then she went, right? What are you complaining about? It all works out in the end." No no no no no. Girls don't go. In the girl moral chain, friends come first, family comes second, work comes third, guys come fourth. So how do so many girls justify complaining so much about not having a guy?

Don't get me wrong: girls who always put guys first are not girls you want to hang out with for very long. But surely there's got to be some healthy middle ground, where girls take one for the team, chat up the less attractive or boorish friend, or--God forbid--stand by themselves in a bar for 10 minutes (thereby making themselves more likely to be approached).

Rule #3: If your girlfriend wants to chat up a guy, go with her.

Seriously, ladies, we need to help each other out. We're not getting any younger, and this sure isn't getting any easier.

In searching for advice on "How to Be a Good Wingwoman" for this post, I found only one article that was about helping your girl friends, not your guy friends. Thanks, Tyra.