Every man has something wrong with him. And I don’t mean that in the jaded, millennial, men-are-trash way. I mean it objectively and with a sense of genuine compassion: No one’s perfect—especially men.
Given this, I think there’s some truth to the cliché that women often want to quote-unquote fix the men they date. We’ve heard it a million times: He’d be perfect if only he were better at communicating or stopped flirting with other women or would shut the fuck up about nootropics or had a working dick. Famously, women love a project. (I realize I’m leaning into gender essentialism here, but someone’s got to stand for heterosexual visibility.) But how much can we expect our partners to change for us? And in trying to better our boyfriends, are we being generous—after all, we obviously know best—or taking on the world’s most Sisyphean task? Are we delusional, or can you change a man?
When I first met my ex, he didn’t own plates. He was 33 and surviving on a diet of Cheerios eaten from a Jimmy Kimmel Live! mug. I found this puzzling but didn’t want to nitpick too early. As I spent more time at his place, though, I got sick of hovering over the sink to eat tuna salad from my hands like a Gremlin. At the risk of seeming like a crazy lady from a ’90s rom-com who registers at Williams Sonoma after the second date, I took the leap and bought some dinnerware.
Months passed, and we decided to move in together. His house was beautiful, but the decor read like a frat boy’s interpretation of avant-garde: The closets had no doors, his bed was mysteriously in the wardrobe, and the bedroom was essentially a shrine to a dusty exercise bike. He didn’t see the issue. To him a home wasn’t about stability—it was a place to sleep and fuck in between going to restaurants. In my mind, this was an easy fix; together we’d decorate the house, buy some overpriced ceramic bowls and a Vitamix, host spaghetti dinners for friends, and he’d quickly learn the pleasures of a more grounded, domestic life. I saw tablescaping in our future.
Fast-forward four years. The house looked incredible, but—perhaps unsurprisingly—I was the only one who cooked, did laundry, shopped for groceries, and watered the godforsaken fiddle leaf. Turns out the cloth napkins were just a Band-Aid. He didn’t become domestic; he just learned that MoMA Design Store has chic end tables. And while this all might sound like a criticism of him, it’s truly not. I went in expecting him to change, and that’s on me. I’m the idiot.
But was it a doomed effort from the start, or was I just doing it wrong? According to Luisa, an actress-slash-self-declared-shaman (God save LA), it’s totally possible to Queer Eye your man—you just need the right strategy. “It’s all about positive reinforcement,” Luisa said matter-of-factly. “When I met Jack, he wore these oversized check shirts tucked into pleated khakis. He looked like a dad lost on a golf course. So I took him shopping and picked out a better outfit for him, and when he tried it on, I immediately blew him in the changing room. Men love to be objectified because it doesn’t happen that often.” She is now four blow jobs away from replacing his entire wardrobe.
This tactic, it turns out, also works great in bed. Getting what you want from a man sexually is a delicate training exercise, where compliments work and critique leaves you snuggling your vibrator. “It’s so hot when you go slow” is a far more effective prompt than “What the fuck are you doing? Brazzers has ruined you.” And if he adjusts, you reward him by faking an orgasm. (Just kidding?)
But what if you’re seeking changes deeper than grooming malpractice, a bed made out of scrap plywood, or sloppy tongue technique? I needed to speak with a realist—i.e. someone not from LA—so I called up my friend Kaitlin Phillips, an infamous New York publicist. She’s confident in her opinions, even when they’re wrong, which makes her the perfect person to ask for advice. I braced myself, then posed the question: Can you change a man? “No,” she responded flatly, as if I were dumb for even asking.
“If you’re lucky, you can tweak the surface,” Kaitlin admitted. “Like, I found one ex an apartment in Manhattan. If a guy’s drinking boxed wine, it’s not hard to elevate his taste. But qualities like being selfish or, worse, insecure—that’s hopeless. If your boyfriend’s an asshole, you will always be the girl who’s dating an asshole. You can’t change the central organizing principle they’ve built their personality around.”
Jarring—but perhaps the wake-up call we all need. “The worst couple dynamic is when one person is trying to improve the other or rein them in,” Kaitlin told me, visibly repulsed at the thought. “I have friends whose boyfriends smoke pot all day, and the women hated it from the beginning, and now they just nag their boyfriends full-time. But it’s like, don’t date someone who wakes and bakes. Why did you think his drug habits would change? You’re insane.”
I get it. We all know those people who are constantly complaining about their partners. But really, talking shit makes you look bad, not them. You’re the one overcompensating for his insecurities by acting like a neurotic stage mom. “The most successful couples I’ve seen,” Kaitlin told me, “are the ones who accept each other, even when they’re being too much. I was at a wedding recently, and this woman was stumbling around the dance floor and then puked into a plant. But she didn’t want to leave, so her husband was just, like, ‘Yeah, she drank too much, whatever, it’s a wedding.’ I was so attracted to him because of how he handled it.”
As the person in the relationship who pukes into plants, this resonated with me. I once dated a guy who hated how much I drank (which was a lot, but like fun a lot, rather than dark a lot, ya know?). At parties, I could feel him monitoring my martini intake, or he’d make judgy comments about how when I was drunk I sounded like “a lobotomized toddler.” So I started drinking less, telling myself it was a positive thing (“fewer calories!”). But the goalpost never stopped moving—I could’ve been Mother Teresa and he still would have found reasons to be embarrassed by me.
I was so insecure that I became this muted version of myself around him, to the point that when we broke up I barely recognized my own personality. But I wasn’t changing for me—I just thought he wouldn’t love me until I completed his implicit to-do list. But it’s like, Dude, why are you dating me if you think I’m a liability? You should be so infatuated that you don’t even notice what’s wrong with me until it’s too late.
A wise person once told me: “It’s a mistake to date someone based on their potential.” As someone who’s constantly dating quote-unquote creatives who are perpetually on the brink of being either famous or homeless, this threw me. Don’t we all enter relationships hoping we’ll both grow and learn (and get rich)? But the more I think about it, it does seem pretty condescending to be like, “I chose you for who I think you can be.” It’s giving Daddy—and not in a good way.
So yes, men are flawed. But apparently we’re supposed to love them for it. Perhaps the key to a happy relationship is finding someone who delights you despite their quirks, rather than a guy with a strong jawline who needs 25 years and $500,000 worth of renovations.
