The Subtle Art Of Manipulation
Getting married before the age of 25 comes with a divorce rate of over 60%. And I got married one week before my 25th birthday, right in the danger zone. When I tell people I was married so young I always quickly follow with the assertion that it wasn’t for religious or child legitimacy reasons, but because I knew Nick would take better care of me than anyone else ever would. He has always made me the best food, keeps a neat house, is very reliable and is a good dad. I knew he was a good dad before we had kids because he was always a good dad to me, washing my hair when I was drunk and dismantling the toilet paper towers I would so painstakingly assemble when I’d stagger home after a big night out. I often joke that he is my DADsband (a portmanteau of “dad” and “husband”, LOL I’m so funny). And I also like, love him and he’s my best friend. The final two, I feel, are a given in marriage, so why are people stricken with horror when I don’t lead with these generic, mundane reasons for choosing someone as a mate? And why, as I was told recently, does this make me “calculated”? I knew what I wanted for my life and I found it. Why is that a bad thing? And I guess the real question is, why is calculating so terrible, when you have a goal and go about manifesting that goal in a methodical way? I’m also, often, told that I’m manipulative which is surely the kissing cousin of calculating. This is such a regular occurrence that I’ve started to worry I’m actually a psychopath (I looked it up and apparently if you worry you’re a psychopath, it means you aren’t one). It seems the only difference between manipulation and just being a good friend is your motives and how sneakily you go about getting what you want. So, for the sake of transparency, here are all the calculating and manipulative things I do, or have been told I’ve done, and you can decide whether this is just my inherent charm and undying friendship offered in exchange for getting what I want or if I’m actually a cold, machinating bitch.
Friends
Where to begin with how I (allegedly) manipulate my friends? It’s best that I make this list in dot point form because there are a few, so brace yourself friends (but also, honestly, aren’t these just the ways people bond and form friendships, or am I some sick outlier? Because I honestly don’t know how else to endear myself to people):
I work really hard to make my friends dislike the same people I dislike. But I don’t do it in some underhanded way. I just come out with “I don’t like X for these reasons, could you please agree with me?” I feel the fact I’m so up front about this makes me not manipulative, just honest and petty. (But also, my reasons for not liking people are always valid. I’m sorry, but no one should like someone who follows you into the toilet in an effort to keep talking to you. I’ve gone into the toilet to avoid you and also, give me my privacy for fuck’s sake!)
Sometimes I’m a little scathing. Particularly when it comes to social media and writing. This is to the point where there is one particular mum blog I have mocked so incessantly, that a friend told me recently when she reads it now, it’s my voice in her head narrating it. This, for me, is the highest form of compliment: I’m literally the mean voice in someone’s head <3
I baked a cake for a friend’s birthday the other day. It was followed by a thank you text but also a “I know you made the cake because you were bored and needed an excuse to come in and distract everyone from work”. Unfortunately this is completely true. The positives here for me are that I knew his birthday from a source other than Facebook, and I baked a cake, thanks. The caveat though (other than the original shady motive): it was a terrible cake that was somehow oily AND burnt, maybe that’s what happens when you bake a cake with selfishness rather than love?
I don’t know if this counts as being manipulative but I fully expect to be the most important person to basically all my friends. If you move away, I take it seriously personally. If something is going on in your life and you won’t tell me about it but I’ve found out by other means (gossip, Instagram, watching you when you don’t know I’m watching you) I am breaking down inside. I have no real grasp of boundaries. But I do warn all my friends of this. I like to get everything I want and I like to know everything, but I’m not secretive about it, I’m just a super nosy little person. Just don’t leave me alone in your house because I will look through your stuff.
I absolutely and totally curate my online persona very carefully in every social facet. Practically every post I put up is targeted at one or two people in particular. I will also make what seem to be kind and genuine comments on some people’s posts, but I’m not being genuine, I’m baiting other friends who don’t like that person/political opinion/style of speech (eg. “thanks BABES ;) LOLOLOL luv ya xxx”). I know my over-exuberance annoys you and I love it when I can feel your silent annoyance across the internet. Even on fucking running social media I’m fiddling with shit to seem better than I am (ie. I pause Strava when I want to sit down and read the internet for five minutes so my time per kilometre doesn’t increase and it looks like I’m way faster than I am when, in fact, what says it was a 30 minute run actually took me an hour).
I write down my friends’ dreams, small stories and tidbits they tell me about themselves. I will bring these out a year or so later and seem like I have an amazing memory and also, like I’m fully invested in their life story. Is this weird? Probably. Am I weird. Definitely. IS IT MANIPULATIVE THOUGH? I DON'T KNOW!
I will automatically dislike anyone new to my social group. I’m so sorry people who are my friends now, who I was cold to at the start. I’m just insecure and scared people will like you more than me, so I find it important to undermine you a little at first for my own comfort.
Crying. This is a big one for me, I am super emotional. If you saw me sad when I was pregnant and thought my weeping was pregnancy hormones, you’d be wrong amigo. That was just pure, unadulterated Maz. When I was two I used to cry at the end of the picture book “Are You My Mother?” when the bird found its mum. Nothing has changed in the intervening 29 years. I just cry at everything. I cried the other day because one friend said something mildly harsh about another friend behind their back. Once I cried at IGA because they didn’t have the ice cream I wanted. And yes, sometimes when the emotional burden of something is too much for me to bear alone, I will cry in front of my friends. Sometimes I will get snot on them. Sometimes there will be no calming me down. But if I can see that you’re sad that I’m sad, I’m comforted knowing you love me enough to be moved by my display. It’s not like I cry on purpose, but I could probably hold it in. I just don’t want to.
Have you ever noticed that I organise most social outings? Have you assumed this is because I have professional experience in the field of event management? Incorrect! It’s because if I organise events I can make them at places I like, on days that suit me, in a price range I can afford and I get to do the guest list. This one is probably manipulative.
Family
I HATE playing with my kids. I know this makes me practically the worst person ever, but it is so boring. Not a day in my mum life has passed when I’ve been playing with my kids, at the park, at playgroup, at friends and family’s houses when I haven’t looked around and thought “gee I hope it looks like I’m having fun” before I shrilly scream “weee, this is fun!” “Are people buying it?”, I think as I look furtively around. I don’t know. But so you all know from now on, I’m LYING if it looks like I enjoy watching a monster truck go down a slide or I seem impressed at someone running in a circle.
I also, often, feel annoyed that I’m not the kid anymore, and in the mother/son dynamic I am always expected to be the bigger person. This fell apart the other day when I wasn’t allowed to listen to my favourite song on the “Sing” album because it was Max’s favourite song (stupid kids with their no logic). So I turned it up really loud and screamed along while Max sobbed and cried in the back for me “stop singing” and “turn it down”. I literally cackled as I did it. Is that fucked? That’s fucked isn’t it? But surely, sometimes, you’re allowed to just be an asshole. Maybe not a manipulative move, but an asshole move for sure.
Boys
I suppose my manipulation game when it came to dating was predicated on the notion that I am small and helpless and need immense amounts of assistance in all parts of life, mainly focused on the cleaning/feeding/chore part. But if I am genuinely helpless then is this a manipulation? Or do I just offer heaps of cuddles and no silences in conversations ever again in exchange for someone cleaning my room for me and doing all the stuff I can’t be bothered doing? Maybe people just like me for my combination slap-dash terribleness at domestic tasks and eternally ebullient nature. When I was 15 a boyfriend cleaned my room for me and found like, 10 forks. When I was 17 my ex and current boyfriends came over to paint my bedroom mist green. At 18 I had a boyfriend come to my work and do my job for me, wearing the large size Civic Video shirt I found out the back, so that I could watch neighbours on the small black and white TV I stole from my dad and eat Greek salad. Then I would get paid for that work day. I never gave him any money.
I want to say crying again here. Crying gets you out of a lot and gets you a lot. But I don’t want to say too much more, lest I give away all my secrets and lose my ability to cry and win arguments/be given gifts/curry favour with people.
Ok, so I’ve unpacked a lot of my manipulative behaviour and I want to say I’m on the fence as to whether or not I’m just a delightful cad or if I’m a tad sociopathic. Really, I think I’m just a little insecure and have honed various techniques that result in getting the most love from the people I care about, so let’s just call it a wash.