Building A Better Boy
BUILDING A BETTER BOY
Written by Elijah St. King
Photographed by Emma Fisher
As an integral part of my childhood, I found myself living vicariously through the trials and tribulations of Nikki Maxwell. For a closeted teenager, there was nothing like seeing the girl version of you live all the lives you wanted: ice skater, fairy tale princess, pop star—the list goes on. I often found myself surfing the Dork Diaries website, seeing the submissions sent in by kids like me, wondering which ones were also in the closet, written by girls talking about the boys they liked.
In fact, I spent most of my time on the “Dream Guy Maker” game. It was simple: you and Nikki would create the perfect recipe for the boy of your dreams by answering different questions. One of the ingredients would be mixed into the bowl before the quiz revealed which Dork Diaries guy fit the man you described. I spent a solid three days trying to find which ones would give me Brandon—an early sign of my future curse: an attraction to white men.
Now, I stare at the front of the game’s home screen; a kitschy mess of cursive juxtaposed against big blocky letters on a red-heart background. Nine ingredients are laid underneath the game’s title:
“Sporty” on a cheap knockoff Gatorade bottle.
“Smarts” on a blue pepper container.
“Artsy against” a rainbow salt shaker.
Kindness on a vat of moisturizer with the tiniest spoon in the world.
“Humor” over a yellow triangle vial.
“CCP” (Cute, Cool, & Popular) on an indigo salt shaker—the uglier twin to Artsy.
“Shyness” displayed on a blue honey pot.
“Confidence” on top of an empty green box.
“Cuteness” in a pink candy container with a heart-shaped lid.
I look at these ingredients and I wonder: How many of these do we still use as the basis for the men we aspire to have in our lives? Beyond the immediate physical attraction, or lack thereof, what can be hallmarked about each of these basic ingredients for the “Dream Guy”?
Some girls might want Sporty, but that doesn’t mean that they want a meathead. So, how much Sporty do we pour into the mixture until he gets a concussion and we have to pour Smarts? Speaking of Smarts, is emotional intelligence in a guy included, or does that come in an unlisted bottle? Does Artsy automatically make him gay, or does the rainbow insinuate some sort of unintended queerness with his artistic side? Lord knows we could ask an Emerson man or two about that.
Kindness is the one thing everyone can agree on. . .hopefully. But not too kind, unless he gets too friendly with someone who wants him too. After all, if he’s your dream guy, then he’s likely someone else’s. Oh, and funny. Most people want their guys to be funny. But, it makes you wonder—is he best friend funny, or a straight man making feminist literature jokes (un)funny? What if what you find funny isn’t funny to him at all? Or, worse, what if he finds everything funny?
CCP is the one I sat looking at the longest—because it’s a combination of three traits in one—insinuating that someone cute must also be cool. Therefore, if they’re cute and cool, then they must be popular. However, what makes popularity such an essential trait that it must be included in the basics of our desired man? Does the packaging include a description on the side that explains what cute entails? If attraction is subjective, does this ingredient imply a specific level of choppery if left unincluded? Is it required for us to have a man we are attracted to? Or will it make a man we’re attracted to in all ways but the physical if our definition of cute doesn’t align with the world’s?
Does his being popular make us more popular by association? Or will it make him a man who’s so swallowed up in his popularity that he can’t focus on the connections that matter? What about shyness and confidence—two equally juxtaposed ingredients. Does shyness imply some social anxiety, some level of emotional sensibility, or does it simply make him unable to communicate when trials come up? Does confidence make him boastful? Does too much make him arrogant? Does it make him assured in his ability to find someone better if the relationship breaks apart?
Lastly, if cute is already included in the CCP ingredient, what does Cuteness as an ingredient do? Does it imply a personality change, or give characteristics aligned with whatever the cook or ingredient maker’s definition of “cute” is? Who's to say that we even want a cute dream guy? What if I want someone who's kind of chopped? What if I want that guy who might be an Emerson 10 and an LA 2? What if I don’t want someone sporty, but someone who can carry a tune? What if I want a guy who’s sensitive but not shy? What if I want a guy who’s smarter in the sheets than he is in Google Sheets?
In the words of Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada: “What if I don’t want what you want?”
What if, instead of following these specific ingredients to conjure up the man in our mind, we put down our need to control precisely what man we want someone to be, and we open ourselves to the man that we need? I don’t want to follow a recipe with only nine ingredients; the world is too varied for nine ingredients. The world, and all of the men in it, are a series of spices themselves. Some are too spicy for our tastes. Some are too bland.
But all in all, if we keep on tasting, we’ll find the one that’s just for us. Our Dream Guy. Not on the side of a bottle, but in the recipe that’s best for us.