Throughout time, there have always been Bye Felipes: There were cave dudes who, once they were kindly rejected by a girl, fell back on, "Yeah well, fuck you bitch."
For that one gentlemen left on Earth who might not get it, Bye Felipe is the meme of capturing text convos where the dude loses his mind/dignity and the fair lady blows him off with a non-shit giving "Bye Felipe."
These "men" are like toddlers who've just been told they can't play with their toys anymore.
"I think you're beautiful!"
"Not interested, thanks."
"Fuck you, you ugly fat ho."
"Wanna suck my dick?"
The logic is flawless.
Before humans learned how to screencap things, women would share these oral tales round a sewing circle, but now we can all laugh collectively at these douchecanoes. And my most recent Bye Felipe encounter is, if I have to say so myself, one for the ages.
A dozen years ago, in 2003, I spent two hours in the company of one such Felipe, and I have always wanted those two hours back. He was a suit-and-condo clone and a self-described Brad Pitt lookalike.
We met at a bar in Toronto called Hemingway's, which is one of those bars frequented by guys who think they look like all-together Don Draper but really look like hungover Don Draper. If I'm being honest, I don't remember much of what we talked about or really anything about him. He didn't make much of an impression, but I do remember going back to his place and sitting on his face just to shut him up. I was bored, he was boring. Some 45 minutes later, I was home. And I never saw him again.
He asked to see me again, of course. Back then, I was in my early 20s and less adept and telling guys to take a hike, so instead of telling him I wasn't interested, I told him I was menstruating. (Side note: ladies, that line is the easiest way to separate the boys from the men.)
Over the past 12 years, he has messaged me sporadically. At first I thought he was just saying hello, but each conversation quickly revealed itself as an opportunity for him to insert some dirty smut into an otherwise innocuous conversation.
It's important to note: I don't have anything against dirty smut talk. If two people agree that this is how they like to speak to each other, then more power to them. I have enjoyed that on many an occasion, as any other red-blooded woman has. But I never once gave this dude any indication that that kind of talk with me was okay. His assumption that just because we had slept together automatically gave him some kind of tacit authority or social licence to speak to me like a web-cam girl is pure, unadulterated fuckery. After years of politely enduring his "hey gurl BEWBS" talk, my patience wore thin and my respect for him plummeted from near-zero to zero.
So, last month, when I received a message from him on my birthday, I was automatically suspicious of his well-wishes. I knew right off the bat that he wasn't just saying hello, and what follows is our complete and unedited Facebook chat. I have redacted his picture and name to protect his privacy, natch. Because that's what adults do.
This was precisely the moment, two minutes into our conversation, where my Spidey-sense started tickling. Am I all "growns" (sic) up now? I think that was his attempt at flirting. If so, COOL STORY BRAH. But that is not a question you ask a woman turning 34. That's a question you ask a child turning 10. So, at best, his flirting game is weak, and at worst, he thinks that infantilizing adult women is fun.
You hear that ladies? He rejects societal norms! Don't you all want to trust-fall into his arms now?
As always, he says. I'm dripping in seething sarcasm and he is patting himself on the back. And now this brings us to his attempt to steer this conversation toward an indiscretion. Aka I WANT TO MAKE DIS GURL TALK BOUT DEM BEWBS. He asks an inane question referencing some "research project" which he knows will garner a "buh?" from me, in order to keep the chat going.
Hey gurrrrl, remember that time that we boned? Remember that time I inserted my genitals into your genitals? Let's grab a cup of Folgers Crystals and sit by the fire and let me coerce you into this convo without asking for your consent. COOL? PS, don't forget I'm a nice guy! He is nice-guying me all up in hurrrr.
This was where I'd had enough. After 12 years, I was done holding my tongue. It was my birthday and I was planning on celebrating with my friends and family, and The Ghost of 12 Years Past was shitting all over it.
WHY DO YOU THINK I NEVER SAW YOU AGAIN? I haven't been non-stop menstruating for 12 years.
Ugh, I mis-spelled "horney" as "hornet." This is massively embarrassing for a writer. Apologies for that one. But he more than tops it with his next reply, which quickly devolves from a sort-of-apology to him ejaculating his neuroses all over me. I mean, how many times can you use an ellipsis in one paragraph? And use it incorrectly. Such a lady-boner-killer.
"I can get jerked off by a number of willing participants."
BUT DON'T FORGET I'M A NICE GUY.
At this point, there wasn't anything else for me to say except the truth.
Does it make you feel awesome that even women who are fucking sad won't sleep with you?
OK, you might need a little backstory here. The groceries thing he is referring to is a recent spoken word piece that I performed at The Moth in New York City where I talked about the past two years of my life. I had to deal with an unexpected turn of events that, admittedly, wasn't in my favour, and I became a waif just to survive. I muddled my way through it and eventually everything righted itself, but it was a period in my life where I was battling depression and a depleted sense of self. I had kept my dire situation to myself (not even my family knew) and never spoke about it until I returned to Canada, and even then I only spoke about it in summary.
And he's like I like to laugh at your misfortune because of my tax-bracket! PS: NICE GUY.
And then he goes on about his penis, like it deserves a knighthood:
SLAMMIN' HONIES SINCE FOREVER: THE E! TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY.
After this the chat gets a little foggy because I'm a faster typer and as such, his replies don't really make much sense in sequence. You can see the full chat below, if you can figure out what he means when he says "5 22" and "Ummm, OM," you let me know. I'm assuming the OM is him trying to do a Sun Salutation whilst we're sparring.
Can't win an argument with a woman? Call her fat. BITCHES HATE FAT.
Also 150lbs is not an insult. 250lbs is not an insult. I don't exist on this planet for his consumption. My worth is not defined by the way others look at me. I have no idea what his body looks like (did I mention the 12 years thing?), but it sounds to me like his "perfect body" merely covers up the fact that he's wildly boring and also in love with a lie.
You can read the full exchange below.
So, lesson learned.I will never let anyone speak to me in a manner that dehumanizes me at every turn, for the sake of maintaining a friendly demeanour. This is the great thing about being an adult: you get to decide who is and isn't allowed in your life. Don't make excuses, just cut out those defective circuits. Much more happiness will come to you that way. #ByeFelipe
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