Dear Man Who Thought Insulting Me Would be a Turn On

I almost titled this letter “Dear Man-child” or “Dear Boy with the Napoleon Complex…” but, like most people, I realize it’s hard to convince people to listen to my point of view if I start out by insulting them. 

But, let’s get back to the matter at hand. I was minding my own business, talking to my friend about what an amazing week we had in our first week of classes. We were both in the middle of a career change and we were sharing a beer talking about what being back in school was like and how excited we were about changing the trajectory of our lives. 

I was energized. After spending four years being depressed, dreading work every day, feeling like I wasn’t living up to my potential, I felt like I was finally doing it. I found that thing. My thing. 

We were speaking in Spanish, which wasn’t weird since I’m fluent in Spanish and my friend is Cuban. You took it upon yourself to inject yourself into our conversation, test my abilities by talking really fast, laugh, and impersonate my Spanish accent (y si me permites… fue una versión de mierda.)

You assumed that I was trying to impress you and thought maybe I learned my Spanish when I studied abroad in the “Madre Patria.” (I didn't. And I won’t waste my time giving you the actual story of how I learned Spanish, which is better than yours.)

And after that, I called you on your bullshit. I turned to my friend and said, “see this is what I meant when I said he was full of shit,” because you brought it upon yourself to insert yourself into our conversation and suck up all the free oxygen in our space. 

If you had approached me ten years ago, maybe your strategy would have worked.

Maybe you’re so “woke” that you don’t have social media. Maybe you missed the #10yearchallenge. Maybe you missed the fact that “It’s 2019!” and we won’t put up with this crap any longer. 

Maybe my high school self would have put up with, or even fallen for, your pitifully regurgitated version of “The Game.” But that was before. 

That was before I was Feelin’ Myself.

That was before Ariana, Bey, and CardiB. 

That was before #MeToo. 

That was before a woman almost became president. 

That was before Michelle and what she Became. 

That was before I left my hometown of 16,000 people and left my country utterly alone to live on an unlivable stipend for two years. 

That was before I figured out that instead dating someone I admired, I could just be those things that I saw inside them. 

That was before I climbed volcanos by moonlight and almost drowned in the ocean — twice. 

That was before I fell in love and broke someone’s heart and my own in the process. 

That was before I tried to heal those wounds by soaking in the attention of anyone who made eye contact with me. 

That was before I met a man who respected me, respected himself, completed me without smothering me, and we decided to weld our lives together permanently. 

That was before I lost people I loved to death, to pride, and to circumstance. 

Let me say it plainly: 

I will not put up with someone—whoI don’t even know(!)—disrespecting me any longer. I will not turn off my high beams just because you are blinded by my brightness. This is my lane and I will not let someone in their oversized, overcompensating Hummer try and run me and my Corrolla off the road. 

I won’t apologize for my opinion. (Sorry, not sorry.) 

Sir, I don’t know what I did to intimidate you. 

Maybe it was that I was taller than you. (Fun fact! Around 75% of the MEN I’ve ever been interested in were shorter than me. I dunno biology is weird.) 

Maybe it was my recently-purchased, red lipstick.

Maybe it was simply the fact that I have a vagina and I dared to be talking intelligently with someone else about a subject relegated to the “boy’s club.” 

I’ll let you in on a little secret, a woman worth her salt will never be wooed by your ability to insult her. A woman looks for a man who challenges her, not one who belittles her.

If you do find a woman who can’t see behind your shroud of shit, please be kind and Leave her alone!She is on a winding path to self-discovery with much to do still. You’ll only be slowing her down. 

After I was done listening you tried to save face by saying, “people love me for my honesty,” and “people either love me or hate me, but they’ll never forget me,” I sacrificed my more patient, better-natured friend and went to sit by someone else. (I’m really sorry, man!)

But be warned. 

Next time I won’t be so nice. I might be one of “those girls” and cause a scene. Maybe I’ll dump my beer on you or slap you across the face circa a 90’s soap opera. Maybe I’ll unzip my lady skin suit and use my dragon-like fire breathing capabilities to roast you. Literally, rather than metaphorically. 

That “crazy” bitch

P.S. Please send my condolences to your mother, your sisters, your female friends and relatives, any past teachers or bosses, and any future women who happen to occupy the same space as you. 

P.P.S. To all my ladies, I know youknow that it’s 2019 and we really don’t need to take this kind of stuff anymore. I just wanted to give you Athena’s full blessing to blast a man with an inferiority complex the next time he tries to kill your vibe. 

-Haley Kirk


Haley Kirk is a midwesterner currently living in Miami. She has always enjoyed storytelling whether it be through art, theater, or writing. Favorite things include: snobby coffee shops, jokes in Spanish, and competitive outdoor games. She is working as a UX designer - you can see her work at