Recently, I had an interaction with a type of man that I call a “peacock.” While a peacock’s plumage is beautiful, it’s a showy bird, inclined to parading that plumage. It’s this showiness that I refer to when I call a man a peacock or think of him as “peacocking.” In more generic terminology, they’re show-offs. And it’s not just men who are prone to this behavior.

1. The Literary Agent

It’s unfortunate that he was annoying. As an aspiring writer, it would be a boon to have a literary agent and bookshop owner as a connection, only he drove me bananas. I’d found his profile. He seemed interesting and attractive enough to give his profile a better look, so I clicked on it. Upon further examination he looked alright, but I wasn’t so taken in that I initiated further contact.

Seeing that I’d looked at his profile, he checked mine out in turn, responding with an in-depth direct message addressing the minutiae of my profile (i.e., Nina Simone? Ummm…okay; Chanel No. 5? Just don’t overdo it…) in critical form bullet point by bullet point (He didn’t actually use bullet points but his message read that way.). He largely dismissed contemporary art (My profile makes clear that I like art.) as well as the state I live in (I date long distance and live in Nebraska which he “apologetically” deemed a “flyover state, Sorry.”).

My issue lies not with his content (I have my issues with Nebraska.), but with his method. As a sapiosexual, I find intellect seductive, and intellect he had, but unlike the men I’m drawn to, he lacked a kindness, a gentleness, a consideration for others. He came off as obnoxiously pretentious and condescending to the point of narcissism. He obviously liked me and my profile as his message was lengthy, detailed, and responded to the specifics of my profile. We certainly had common intellectual interests. But his message didn’t invite dialogue and discussion, rather it was a judgment visited upon me, my passes and “I’ll let it go-es,” as if I was fortunate to have him visit his favor on me.

Dating is hard enough and there are enough hard feelings to be had in the undertaking. I’m a lover at my core and try to manifest a loving presence in my interactions, but he rubbed this cat the wrong way. I sent back a short sarcastic message to the effect that I’m bold enough to not write off all contemporary artists, that “Yay!” we both like art, and good luck to him. Only his vanity was such that he didn’t read my missive as sarcastic. He responded with a briefer message, to match mine, but not an unfriendly nor defensive one. As someone drawn to irony and duality, I was amused that it went over his head, that, in a way, I outsmarted Mr. Smarty Pants. But I also feel somewhat sorry for him, that with all his smarts, he lacks a certain self-awareness. That’s another attractive trait. I wish I’d found him more likeable, but I didn’t.

2. Kite Guy

Unlike Literary Agent, Kite Guy was affable likeable guy. He was warm, effusive, and enthusiastic. He’s a journalist/writer and educator, so we had common ground. He was coming into town on a story, and we arranged to meet for Happy Hour, but he kept trying to extend the date, even before we met–Do you want to come with me while I work on my story? Meet up when I’m done? Are you free tomorrow night? Enthusiastic. Clearly, he liked me, but I was still discerning our dynamics and was wary of overcommitting.

You probably inferred that Kite Guy likes kites. Before the date, he texted me that he was going for a walk/run with his kite. Upon returning to his hotel, he texted me a picture of his kite tied up to the hotel’s rooftop bar, soaring far out above the nearby field. Hauling a kite around with you, walking with it, tying it up like that embodies a sort of energy, a carefree spirit, which I admire but wasn’t seduced by. The kite-fancy could be an endearing quality to the right person, and he deserves a woman who’s endeared by it, but it’s not me.

That’s not why he’s a peacock. His eagerness to extend the date before we’d even met made his interest clear, yet at Happy Hour I hardly had a chance to talk. As a writer, I’m a good storyteller and more than capable of holding up my end of the conversation, but he didn’t give me the opportunity. Our time together consisted mostly of him storytelling his accomplishments, a narration of his resume. He was a good storyteller, but our evening together was one story–His. Once again, the failure was a lack of dialogue. He asked me three questions that evening, but he only let me finish answering one of them before cutting me off.

Kite Guy was a good guy, but he wasn’t sensitive to the shared space, the give-and-take of conversation. It’s ironic that his peacocking was largely for my benefit, to impress me, but that by peacocking he conversationally neglected me.

3. Paul Newman

Okay, he wasn’t really Paul Newman, but he had a striking resemblance to Paul Newman at middle-age with a beard. Frankly, that’s why I went out with him. I have my weaknesses. I could get into some real trouble if a guy looked like Cary Grant.

Paul didn’t have a profile bio, which is generally a “no” for me. I want to have a sense of the person behind the profile and sans bio, that’s hard to do. Initially, I didn’t respond to Paul because of that. He was also local, and I hadn’t gone out with someone local in almost a decade. But he kept showing up, messaging me, looking at my profile, and after awhile, with Paul Newman looking back at me, I had a weak moment and responded. But I gave him an assignment–before I’d go out with him, he had to write the profile bio that he should have had. I also needed to know his surname so I could be certain of who I was meeting (Years ago, I briefly dated a scam artist, so I’m careful on this point.). He provided both, but explained that there was scant information online to be found about him due to the nature of his work. I was reasonably skeptical (Scam Artist taught me well.), but willing to give him a chance (After all, he did look like Paul Newman.). So we met for dinner.

He was twenty minutes late. Not a good move on a first date (or any date for that matter). And he didn’t text or call to explain that he was running late. I decided to give him the grace of a glass of wine and he managed to show up before I drained the glass. He was apologetic for being late, but explained that he was detained because he wanted to bring me documentation to prove that he was who he said he was. He’d said he was a courier for the State Department (There aren’t many of them; I checked. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t one, but it was slightly suspect. Again, Scam Artist taught me well.). He brought me a redacted document with references to him and his work. Now, this could’ve been valid confirmation of his identity or it could be a really good artifact created by a…scam artist. Regardless, it didn’t explain why he didn’t start the process earlier if he was authentic and why he didn’t let me know he was running late either way. Unless, of course, it was all a manipulation…

At one point, he showed me a scar on his leg from where he was shot. Supposedly, he’d been shot three times in three separate incidents, the most recent in Ukraine at the beginning of the current conflict. He told that story twice during the night, and while a good memory isn’t my strength, the details did seem to change a little in the retelling. I’ve learned to pay attention to details.

The evening ended with the heel breaking off one of my shoes on the way back to my car. It looked beyond my ability to repair and not worth taking to my cobbler. Paul said he’d fix it for me. I thanked him, grateful.

The next morning he texted that he’d successfully repaired my shoe. I expressed my gratitude and appreciation for his trouble. He replied that he was happy to do it having enjoyed our time together very much, and that it would make him happy if he could someday be in a relationship with me. Very flattering, but I still had some discerning to do, information to gather. I like information; information allows for informed decisions. Our conversation then wandered to what our plans were for the rest of the day, and that’s when he showed his true self…when I mentioned that I was going to dinner with a [male] friend.

Back it up, he?

Yes, I have male friends. I could see where this was headed.

No woman of mine will go out with other men for dinner.

Excuse me? I don’t belong to you. We only met last night. And no man’s going to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. And no man is going to manipulate me and restrict my universe. G’bye…do what you like with the shoe. And so I blocked Paul Newman.

Paul was a peacock because he tried to impress me in a showy way. My instinct that something was off about him was correct. He was peacocking, but his plumage was a costume to mask his insecurities.

Encore

The common thread among these three is that regardless of the underlying purpose behind their peacocking, their showiness was ultimately off-putting and created a situation that was singular, about them, rather than creating a shared space where we could dialogue.

I’ve dated plenty of exceptional men. An exceptional man doesn’t need to parade his plumage because he’s secure enough in himself to allow space for others, to value others, and to try to see them. A person who offers you their authentic self and makes an attempt to see you for who you are is performing an exceptional act. Drop any pretense; see and be seen, for to truly see and be seen by another human being is a beautiful thing and a wonderous place to begin. And watch out for peacocks!