Rodent men and noodle boys

I liked them before it was cool

First it was rodent man summer, now it’s noodle boy winter. The NYT is out with an article on “The Rise of the Noodle Boys”: floppy-haired, slender, doe-eyed male actors, hardly distinguishable from the rodent men. The king of both the noodle boys and the rodent men is Timothée Chalamet, whose #basic first name is Frenchified to impress the ladies. As if a French surname weren’t enough.

NYT suggests, and I concur, that the rodent man/noodle boy is a pushback against the slick, meaty Marvel stars and anything hyper-masculine, since that’s currently on the outs. NYT says we’ve been here before… in the ‘90s, a contrast to the macho ‘80s. I guess that explains why my first crush, age 12, circa 1998, was a pasty, skinny introvert. He was a dark-eyed boy who’d just moved here from South Africa and skulked around the back of church as my siblings and I pilfered sugar cubes from the coffee counter. We never shared a single word and I don’t think I knew anything about his actual interests. But I made up elaborate fantasies about the depths lurking beneath his shyness. (His Shyness: that should be the honorific for rodent noodle kings.)

Then the nineties were over and teenage Liz got super into beefy muscleheads with frosted tips. JK, my type stayed exactly the same, just got taller. But even then, not too tall. You see, I don’t need someone to beat me in arm wrestling; I need them to parry in a game of wits. I want to know they lift… books. I like the vibe of “been shut in a garret writing a masterpiece, about to die from TB just before I finish it, you publish it for me and get rich.” *chef’s kiss*

I’d argue that there’s always been a place for ratty noodle bros, and not just in my heart. Let me introduce you to a Victorian poet or two. They were all about playing that “me so sad, come wipe away my tears” to get a gal. Women like this because A. if a man’s sensitive in general, he might be sensitive to your feelings; and B. it’s always nice to feel you alone can nurse a tortured genius back from their emotional/psychological/physical deathbed. Or is that just me?

I love to noodle over a good rodent. But as someone who spent way too long getting a writing degree, I have known many a noodler in my time. And let me tell you this: just because they’re sensitive, it doesn’t mean they’re sensitive to you. It is quite possible for a rat king to cry onto his manuscript, nay, even onto a love letter, and still be a jerk. And as my friend Anna, poet and weightlifter, has lectured me more than once, a man can have Chris Pratt 2.0 abs and still possess a brain and a soul. Or, you know, just find an ordinary dude who likes pasta and will trap a rat when needed.

I have zero problem with men being sensitive. I grew up with a sensitive, artistic dad and all my male friends have that vibe. I’m all about it. But as an elder millennial, I warn you against the notorious “softboi”. The so-called softboi is the dark side of the artsy type. He uses his doe-eyes and Instagram poems to obscure the fact that he’s really only thinking about his own ginormous feelings, not yours. You’ll be an endless emotional resource until you wake up and wonder why this wraithlike dementor is allowed to call you up at 3 AM to read you a ten-page elegy he wrote for a flower he saw wilt in his childhood, when you have a big exam at 8 AM that morning. This can be just as scary as the alt-right man girls are fleeing from. Maybe more so, because it’s so sneaky.

Don’t think a noodle boy is going to turn into any kind of man, rodent or otherwise, until you check out his character. Is he treating your feelings with the same value he gives to his own? Does he make solid life choices you can respect? Is he capable of writing something prosaic as a resumé? He doesn’t have to be able to chop down trees after oiling his mile-long beard as did the millennial hipsters. He just has to be someone who’s a good friend and who could be a good dad (not just a “cute dad”), regardless of whether he ever becomes one. I know this all sounds boring, so go and watch Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility. Then JUST SAY NO to all Willoughbies. (Looks in mirror, slaps face repeatedly.) Aka Regency softboi.

Yes, pasta is addictive. But can I interest you in a stable-yet-romantic Colonel Brandon as an alternative? You only need to marry 20+ years older. Ah well. Alan Rickman’s voice is eternal.