Matt Forney
Spread the Word!

I’m Glad I Was a Sexless, Hopeless, Unattractive Nerd

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

Names in this story have been change to protect everyone’s identities.

As I’m approaching 30, there are many parts of my life I can look back on, and many more wonderful things to look forward to, and generally speaking, I have a smile on my face the entire day.

It wasn’t always like this. For many years, I was a hopeless nerd, whose life was filled with nothing but rejections from the opposite sex, with no resolution in sight. The word “no” became such a constant that when I finally did pick myself up by the bootstraps and tried to become a better, more attractive, more fulfilled person, the accompanying rejection and push-back did not faze me at all. I was molded by the word “no,” and it made me stronger.

And then I think: what would have happened if one of the girls I was obsessed over, one of the girls that told me “no” actually said “yes?” Would I still have grown into the man that I am today?

Probably not: I was blue pill to the core. I wanted so desperately to believe the fantasy that my parents, the people around me, Hollywood, and everyone else were feeding me. I would have probably turned into the sloppy, chubby mess of a “relationship guy” dominated by his woman and society that we all make fun of today. It was almost certain because most of the women that have said “no” to me have, in time, become the types of women that bring about such men: the fat, the psycho, the bossy, etc. So I must thank all of my nerd hobbies, which made me completely undateable in these girls’ eyes, for protecting me from such a fate.

The inspiration for this post came on a random day at the office (if you can call it that in my case, but that’s another story). I had just finished setting up a date with a cute 22-year old for next week. By this point in my life, this is a rule, not an exception.

As our plans were finalized, I was enjoying my lunch and browsing Facebook when I saw Jenny, who was pregnant.

Jenny is a girl I was obsessed with in college, but I never made a move because she was dating a friend of mine. We hung out all the time: went to parties, clubs, concerts, and did just about everything together. I considered her a close friend, but I secretly pined for more. Looking back, she gave me all the “open doors,” all the opportunities, all the signs a more experienced guy would have jumped all over, but I never did. I remember, years later, having a breakdown and confessing all of my feelings to her. It went exactly like you probably think it went.

However, years later, with my improved game, with my improved life, I saw Jenny on Facebook and noticed she was rather… hideously plain, and had gained some weight. As shallow as it seems, I jokingly wiped my hand on my forehead and said “whew, another bullet dodged.”

By this point, my bullet-dodging has become rather impressive. By 2014, I’d dodged so many bullets I’d make Neo jealous.

Kid Strangelove browsing exes on Facebook.

My adolescence and a chunk of my twenties was spent being rejected by women left and right. I was so socially disabled that even the fact that I played sports didn’t help me.

But what if one of those girls had said yes? What if one of those girls I pined for actually gave me a chance? What if I hadn’t dodged all these bullets?

Mary was my first middle school crush: she rejected me and would hang out with older boys with cars and cigarettes. She gained a bunch of weight, moved to Sweden, and is a walking anti-smoking ad considering what years of cigarettes did to her skin.

Julia’s adolescent cuteness didn’t translate well to adult beauty. The extra pounds didn’t help. We reconnected, she asked me where all the good men have gone, I had a chance to have sex with her but felt too guilty, then I blogged about it. Since then her standards—and her weight—have both gone up.

Anastasia, my last high school crush, got married, got divorced, got fat, and got a terrible, short haircut.

Stacey, after making out with me during what seemed like the most romantic night ever, hooked up with an “older bad boy” who was taking freshman-level college classes at 25. Then she hooked up with a rugby player, then she hooked up with a man who I shared a name with (I have a rather unique name, and he was the only other guy in our 30,000 person college that had it). It wasn’t until years later that I realized just how… plain she was, and the fact that I wasted so much time and effort on her really pissed me off.

She lives in a boring Florida suburb, has a boring job, is married to a boring husband, and while there’s no sign of kids, there’s many signs of cupcake abuse. Their dog is the most generic dog in the world: a golden retriever.

Olga, the hot, large-breasted Russian girl at my college with a penchant for white T-shirts—just begging to have water poured on them—married an American guy and instantly got fat.

Irina, the Russian girl obsessed with assimilating into Southern culture, did what she thought she would never do: marry a much younger New Yorker. What else do you expect when you stop being hot the second you leave a school that’s 70 percent guys?

Kendra got fat, then got pregnant, then got fatter.

Sarah got extremely fat.

Sarah 2 got even fatter.

Sharon dated an Atlanta Falcon. Her tanning obsession caught up with her at age 29. She looks like wrinkly, burned bacon now. Went through about seven different college majors and five different careers (and counting). She’s still single.

Farah slutted her way through college, drinking more than men twice her size, and even hooked up with a member of Outkast (or both of them). She went to med school, deleted 95 percent of her Facebook pictures, got married a year later, and had a kid. When I looked her up for this post, she’d reverted to using her maiden name and all mention of her marriage has been scrubbed clean from her profile.

Andrea, my first post-college date, really took advantage of the fact she was the first girl I ever took out with an adult paycheck. Yes, she even brought along a friend. She has since dyed her hair purple and gotten really fat.

Evelyn went to therapy for a myriad of issues, including an eating disorder, which was surprising because she was the definition of “skinnyfat.” Her Facebook posts consisted of her talking about how “level” she felt that day and all the meds she was taking. Despite all that, guys still worshipped the ground she walked on because she had nerdy interests (including cosplay). She has since written articles for XoJane. I’m not even kidding.

Katelyn and I became good friends. One night, she drunkenly confessed the immense amount of hookups she’s had (triple digits wouldn’t be surprising), and she was proud of them. She ended up marrying a friend of mine who was okay with her high partner count. They seem to love each other. However, the only place that would accept her for a masters or PhD program was in a desolate Rust Belt town. My friend came with her, and since there were no jobs available in his field, he spends his days moving boxes for money.

Jenn is the same girl at 27 that she was at 22: incapable of showing love or taking care of another person, selfish, perpetually drunk, living with her parents. Except now she has twenty extra pounds.

Tina was the single prettiest girl I have ever gone out with, even by my current standards. We didn’t work out; however, I made friends with one of her closest friends (they’ve since had a girl fight and don’t speak to each other anymore). Through her friend I found out that she had two STDs and then got pregnant because she “might have forgotten” to take her birth control pill. The kicker: the baby’s father and I share the same first name (again, my name is rather unique).

Any one of those girls could have changed my life, probably for the worse. Any single one of those girls could have taken advantage of my family-oriented, sacrifice-everything-for-your-wife-and-kid family first attitude. Any one of those girls could have gotten me at my most romantic, most doting, and ultimately most unattractive. Any one of those girls could have married me, gotten fat, gotten bored, gotten ugly, and I would have completely believed them if they blamed it all on me. They could have turned me into a decrepit mess and left, and I would be sitting there with the bill.

All they had to do was say “yes.”

I could have become that sadsack married guy. Would I be hitting the gym nearly as hard as I do now? No, probably not at all. I’d still be the post-college fat fuck I already described, but with more years on me. But I’d likely be hitting the bottle and giving terrible advice to my single friends, because as we all know, a happy wife is a happy life.

I was blue pill to the core. That’s why my transformation was so drastic, so thorough, so long. I had so much to learn about myself, and this learning hasn’t stopped.

So while people try to distance themselves as far as possible from the failures of their past, I must embrace them. Thank you.

Thank you, Dragon Ball Z, Spider-Man, Magic Cards, Sega Genesis, PlayStation 2, Street Fighter and anything else that turned me into a giant nerd.

Thank you, Dad: because of your poor excuse for parenting, I resolved to be the opposite of you when I grew up, which in turn turned me into the Nice Guy Syndrome doting pussy that makes girls puke and their vaginas dry up.

Thank you, hip hop music and fashion: my love for you got me called a wigger more times than I can remember and made me an outcast all throughout high school.

Thank you, ice hockey: you took up all of my weekends, leaving me zero time for socializing.

Thank you, New York, because you are the only city that can make a kid with a good degree from a good school feel like garbage.

Thank you, Hollywood, for teaching me how to date, and almost everything I knew about relationships. I followed your guidance to the letter and got rejected over and over and over again.

Thank you, Coke and Pepsi, for making me fat as fuck. Thank you, beer, for helping out as well.

Thank you.


Because if it wasn’t for you, one of those girls might have said “yes.” And I would be trapped.

I would never have discovered game, I would never have discovered the red pill, and I would never have gone on this massive self-improvement kick that I’m on now.

I would have never slept with all the beautiful women that I have, not even remotely close. I would have never learned ideas and concepts that would change my worldview so completely: politics, economics, personal freedom, philosophy, all of the stuff that has made me an overall happier individual.

Or I might have. Lots of people discover the red pill once reality beats then down and smacks them in the face. People readily make fun of these guys on forums or on Reddit, but I have pity for them. Many are guys who think they are doing the right thing, doing what society tells them. Many have no clue that there is an alternative.

I have more than a clue: I live the alternative. And I’m just glad I had the chance to, instead of being forced to.

Read Next: Why Married Men Deserve to Get Screwed Over in Divorce

  • ng85

    Kid Strangelove, not sure if you’re gonna see this, but I wanna say that this post pretty much mirrors my life EXACTLY. At 30 I can go on Facebook and find all these girls I had crushes on who rejected me 10+ years ago and realize I’m in a much better place. A lot of them just turned out to be losers, and a few developed major health problems that would’ve made them a burden more than anything else.

    I was a late-bloomer in every sense of the word, and while it sucked at the time I’m glad life went this way. At 30 I’m in the best shape of my life and I’m at my most charismatic (Although I still have more work to do in those areas). I also have a cool freelance job and my band just recorded an album with a well-known producer and we’re planning to go on tour. Meanwhile, at 23 I almost proposed to my first girlfriend because I believed I couldn’t do any better. When we broke up I knew I had work to do and I began improving. The girl, on the other hand, almost immediately became a Tumblr feminist and disfigured her body with tattoos and piercings and dumb haircuts and blogs about her mental illness – I dodged a MAJOR bullet. Had I married her I’d either be a divorced shell of a man or a domesticated animal who never would be doing the cool things I’m doing now.

    One of my best friends growing up is what I could have become. He and I looked alike, had similar upbringings and similar interests, etc. But while I chose to improve myself, he ended up MARRYING an almost 40 year old ugly fat troll feminist who treats him like absolute garbage (He also took her last name). He’d keep telling me over the years that he wanted to leave her, but he never did. Even before they got married he looked like a beaten dog and she controlled every aspect of his life and he would never talk back to her because she’d go nuts on him. She’s maybe a 3/10 at best, so I’m amazed this guy who’s actually out of her league wouldn’t tell her to fuck off the second she blew her top at him 7 years ago when they began dating. But he’s a schlub who is comfortable with being uncomfortable. It’s no surprise to me that he hates his job and won’t shut up about how much he hates it, but he’ll do nothing to leave it.

    So at times my life does have its low points, but even at its worst it’s better than most guys’. So yes, I’d like to thank Stan Lee for making the reading material that never got me laid and made me a wallflower all those years.

  • :)