I had an interesting conversation with a guy friend the other day who said something that initially struck me as gross.
He said sometimes successful men throw money at women because they like having a pretty, perky, fun little thing bebopping around, giving them attention and making them feel good about themselves. And if they have the money to spend, that’s what they spend it on.
I knew pretty privilege was real. I’m just beginning to realize how much of an actual economy exists around it.
Maybe I never fully understood it because I’ve always valued my brain more than anything physical about me. Maybe it’s because I know beauty is temporary. Bodies change. Faces age. Novelty wears off. Or maybe it’s because I’m a sapiosexual and I genuinely cannot imagine being deeply interested in someone who doesn’t interest my mind.
But I’m realizing I may have been making the mistake of assuming everyone is looking for depth.
They aren’t.
Some people aren’t looking for an intellectual equal, a great conversationalist, a challenging perspective, or someone who makes them think differently. They want something pretty to look at. Someone entertaining to be around. Someone who makes them feel admired, desirable, important, young, powerful, or successful. They all sound like nice things to feel unless they’re purchased. Then they’re not authentic.
And apparently, some people are perfectly willing to pay for that transactional experience. It is the oldest industry around after all.
At first, I wanted to judge it as shallow. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized we all have our own currency, and we all have our own hobbies and vices.
Money is only one currency.
Beauty is currency. Youth is currency. Intelligence is currency. Status is currency. Attention is currency. Access is currency. Sex is currency. Validation is currency. Peace is currency. And time may be the most expensive currency any of us possess.
We are all exchanging something. The difference is what we believe is worth the price.
Maybe that’s why I called this thing Deeper Than a Puddle in the first place. I have never been particularly interested in what exists on the surface. I want to know what happens when the pretty wears off, the money stops impressing you, the room gets quiet, and there’s nothing left to perform.
What is underneath all of it?
Because if I’m going to invest my time, energy, resources, loyalty, or love into another human being, there better be something down there worth diving for.
Maybe the lesson isn’t that everyone should want what I want. Maybe the lesson is recognizing that they don’t.
Some people want the ocean. Some people are perfectly happy playing in the puddle.
And if that’s where they’re having fun, maybe the mistake is expecting them to suddenly want to swim.
Deeper Than a Puddle 