there’s this guy

There’s this guy who I hate mainly out of pure envy.  And yet I also sort of want to be him. Or be best friends with. Because we’re around the same age, share a fair amount in common – regular blokey things: football, music – and I think in an alternative universe we could be friends.

The thing is, he is SO ‘in’, with the innest of in crowds in a city where it richly pays to be ‘in’. And he’s super ‘In’. A checkered, skinny-jeaned hipster, a pretty cool and stylish mod, quite dashing. It appears like he spent most of his career with one PR agency employer, steadily growing with them from a smallish size and rising up the ranks to a senior title. They are now a big name in the city’s business world, a leader in their space, arguably The Leader. This must have given him access to plenty of influential people, a great network of contacts. I don’t doubt that he’s good at his job; bashfully, floppy hairedly charming, maybe a bit cocky and a bit of a lad, but loveable.

Perhaps. I don’t really know all this. I’ve gleaned much of this intelligence through the internet and just seeing him around at stuff. We did meet once in person, a fairly quick exchange when I was representing a client and he didn’t follow through on his professional promise, but I didn’t much care. He probably wouldn’t even remember. He was confident and likeable enough, taller than expected, and imposing, but charmingly smiley. I’d bet he’s sent many young female PR executives knees nervously quivering over the years. Previously I was aware of him at a business function, flirting with people he knew at the fringes, not genuinely minded to mingle with strangers, as the majority never seem to be. And I’ve seen him once or twice at gigs or in a bar. A girl I had seen him with once, when I was single, was predictably really attractive.

I’ve often wondered if we’d have a great time getting drunk together having really open conversations and end up being mates, or if we’d just think each other dickheads.

In recent years he appears to have bravely put himself out there a bit more in his own right. He has written a novel, distributed by a local publisher, for which he’s done a fair amount of self promotion. I’m not sure how well it sold or was received, but he’s now writing another one, so it can’t have been a disastrous experience. He’s a very well respected PR name locally. The world is his oyster.

Recently my attention has been piqued because he does cool things online too; stuff to do with writing and food and stuff. I look at it and instinctively hate it.

But I tell myself to stop, grow up, and ask what is it exactly that I’m hating.

Is it his popularity and apparent success? His recognition and huge social media followings? (It still eats me that although I’ve been a fairly early adopter of all platforms and my commitment to them has never wained, I fail to have any large followings. This is mainly – I tell myself – because I won’t unthinkingly follow back the first few thousand people to follow me.)

Is it that deep down part of me thinks that he has what I deserve? If I had a little more career luck, shown more loyalty to an employer in my mid 20s, more patience, more diplomacy, been just slightly better looking.

Is it that nothing I’ve seen makes me think he is markedly better than me? (I read the opening and closing pages of his loosely autobiographical debut novel and was largely nonplussed. But then, I didn’t want to like it, so my perception was far from being warm and willing).

Is it that he is very of this place, a local guy people will identify with and want to like, a local hero? While I’ve lived here for the majority of my adult life, I could not and would not ever want to be considered a native.

Is it that so many people seem to fawn over him? There’s an extremely try-hard, busy young guy, around 25, desperate for career success, quite boring: he flaps around him like a moth round a lamp. It’s adorable and disgusting.

But then, despite myself, I can sort of see why. I want to be his friend too.

No I don’t. I bet he’s a dick. Is he a dick? He’s a dick. Yes, let’s think that.

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