Tag Archives: whyaretherenogirlsinsanfrancisco

Why are there no girls in San Francisco? is a blog that explores just that: why are there no girls in San Francisco? If there are any, the author has gone out of his/her way to explain why SF is paltry at best:

Self-aware SF 7s, for example, will, in order to avoid environments in which they might be judged solely on their appearance, do things like promote day culture and frequent wine bars and wear layers and, in order to avoid direct comparison to more physically beautiful women, express a haughty animus towards the “Bridge and Tunnel” chicks or LA girls and anywhere either might show up, and these carefully and studiuosly cultivated attitudes will – for a time – make them feel like 8s or 9s but only so long as larger, more powerful leveling forces, such as a romantic relationship, Perez Hilton or anervous guy on MUNI making a bold move, are squared off and kept at bay, and all of this together tends to make the SF 7s feel genuinely fabulous and superior and also genuinely bereft and alienated. It’s a wierd dichotomy to be packaged together in one person, you can’t decide if it’s cool or pathetic, if they are the tormented Sisyphusean hero or the dumb kid who puts on a cape and jumps off the roof.

Don’t worry. The author doesn’t just leave it at the women:

The paradigmatic example is the guy who is handsome, clever, and well-built but, at the same time, 5 foot 7. Every grad school class or large corporate office has one of these dudes. He is secretly obsessed with his looks and all the cute girls platonically flirt with (but never date) him and even though he is vaguely cool and caddish he somehow doesn’t seem to have any close friends and deep down you suspect he is miserable.

His curse is this: he’s fractionally too short to be a Mark Whalberg man-on-campus and fractionally too tall to be a Dudley Moore diminutive wiseacre. He misses by one and a half inches in either direction. And worse, he lives out his days experiencing these brief, throw-away moments when, because everyone around happens to be seated or Asian or he’s rollerblading, the world actually perceives and treats him as the unchallenged alpha. He’ll spend three months getting used to being above-average ordinary, and then boom! this completely different, totally superior existence is thrown in his face for a moment or two before being ripped away. He’ll never grow that one and half inches, and for this he’s almost certainly doomed to the comparative obscurity of being pretty cool/athletic/handsome for a short guy, but he never feels 100% sure. There’s no one in Palm Beach County to retally the votes and make an official pronouncement. So he can’t let go and he can’t get comfortable. He’s consumed by vain ambitions and counterfactual thinking.

This is pure gold. There’s another good bit about those dreaded San Francisco hipsters, too.

(Thanks for the link, Jose.)