would not believe me to be an expert on anything. We were asked to comment on all things dating, from celebrity dating to the mating rituals of dogs (they are quite similar, actually). Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by the response to the book. My website crashed three times due to the amount of traffic—mostly by women with questions they didn’t feel were addressed in the book, though I tended to disagree. (Maybe we didn’t use his name, but he’s in there!) Sometimes I would write back things like “Hey, you’ve just written a ten-page e-mail about your relationship to a comedian. How do you think it’s going?” But then I would give my assessment. I also got quite a few e-mails from men, and not just the “If I ever see you in a dark alley, you are going down like a sack of lead potatoes” kind, but the “I like this girl but she never returns my calls” kind.
There were some questions that kept coming up over and over again—some from people who had loved the book, and some from people who were really not members of the Liz and Greg fan club. The truth is, I loved the questions. We loved it. One person asked if it bothers me that people now come up to me in public and ask me questions about their relationships. And the answer is “Never!” Not even the time I stood shirtless in the dressing room of a fancy department store and explained to the pretty salesgirl that if he doesn’t want to marry her because she doesn’t speak German, then he’s just not…well, you know the rest.
I hope this book will answer some questions for you, and I hope your current and future relationships will be the better because of it. That’s why we wrote it—because we’re totally into you.
—Greg
It started out just like any other day. We were all working in the writers’ room of Sex and the City, talking, pitching ideas, our personal love lives weaving in and out of the fictional lives we were creating in the room. And just like on any other day, one of the women on staff asked for feedback on the behavior of a man whom she liked. He was giving her mixed messages—she was confused. We were happy to pitch in and pick apart all the signs and signals of his actions. And just like on any other day, after much analysis and debate, we concluded that she was fabulous, he must be scared, he’s never met a woman as great as her, he is intimidated, and she should just give him time. But on this day, we had a male consultant in the room—someone who comes in a couple of times a week to give feedback on story lines and gives a great straight-male perspective: Greg Behrendt. On this day, Greg listened intently to the story and our reactions, and then said to the woman in question, “Listen, it sounds like He’s Just Not That Into You.”
We were shocked, appalled, amused, horrified, and above all, intrigued. We sensed immediately that this man might be speaking the truth. A truth that we, in our combined hundred years of dating experience, had never considered, and definitely never considered saying out loud. “Okay, he might have a point,” we reluctantly agreed. “But Greg couldn’t possibly understand my very busy and complicated possible future husband.” Soon we went around the room, Greg, the all-knowing Buddha, listening to story after mixed-message story. We had excuses for all these men, from broken dialing fingers to difficult childhoods. In the end, one by one, they were shot down by Greg’s powerful silver bullet. Greg made us see, after an enormous amount of effort, that if a (sane) guy really likes you, there ain’t nothing that’s going to get in his way. And if he’s not sane, why would you want him? He could back it up too: He had years of playing the field, being the bad boy, being the good boy, and then finally falling in love and marrying a really fantastic woman.
A collective epiphany burst forth in the room, and for me in particular. All these years I’d been complaining about men and their mixed messages; now I saw they weren’t mixed messages at all. I was the one that was mixed up. Because the fact was, these men had simply not been that into me.
Now, at first glance it seems that this should have been demoralizing to us, it should have sent us all into a tailspin. Yet the opposite was true. Knowledge is power, and more importantly, knowledge saves us time. I realized that from that day forward I would be spared hours and hours of waiting by the phone, hours and hours of obsessing with my girlfriends, hours and hours of just hoping his mixed messages really meant “I’m in love with you and want to be with you.” Greg reminded us that we were all beautiful, smart, funny women, and we shouldn’t be wasting our time figuring out why a guy isn’t calling us. As Greg put it, we shouldn’t waste the pretty.
It’s hard. We’re taught that in life, we should try to look on the bright side, to be optimistic. Not in this case. In this case, look on the dark side. Assume rejection first. Assume you’re the rule, not the exception. It’s intoxicatingly liberating. But we also know it’s not an easy concept. Because this is what we do: We go out with someone, we get excited about them, and then they do something that mildly disappoints us. Then they keep doing a lot more things that disappoint us. Then we go into hyper-excuse mode for weeks or possibly months, because the last thing we want to think is that this great man that we are so excited about is in the process of turning into a creep. We try to come up with some explanation for why they’re behaving that way, any explanation, no matter how ridiculous, than the one explanation that’s the truth: He’s just not that into me.
That’s why we’ve included questions from women taken from real situations. They represent the basic excuses we all use that keep us in situations far longer than we should be. So read, enjoy, and hopefully learn from other women’s confusion. And above all, if the guy you’re dating doesn’t seem to be completely into you, or you feel the need to start “figuring him out,” please consider the glorious thought that he might just not be that into you. And then free yourself to go find the one that is.
So I’m sitting in the writers’ room at Sex and the City pondering my good fortune to be the only straight male on the predominantly female writing staff (actually I’m just eating a cookie), when the writers begin talking about guys they’re seeing. This is a common occurrence, as it is part of the writing process for a show that explores romantic relationships. It is endlessly fascinating. I know that sounds sarcastic, but I’m being for real.
So on this particular day, one of the ladies pipes up with, “Greg, you’re a guy.” She is very observant, this one, for I am indeed a guy. Then she says, “So I’ve been seeing this guy…Well, I think I have.” I know the answer. “See, we went to a movie and it was great. I mean he didn’t hold my hand, but that’s cool. I don’t like to hold hands.” Still know the answer. “But afterward he kissed me in the parking lot. So I asked if he wanted to come over, but he had a really important meeting in the morning so he didn’t come over.” C’mon. Are you kidding me? Know it!
So I ask, “Have you heard from him?”
“Well, that’s the thing. This was like a week ago”—now you should know the answer—“and then today he e-mails me and is like, ‘Why haven’t I heard from you?’”
I stare at her for a moment while the answer is bursting out of my eyeballs. (Oh, ladies, you make me so mad sometimes!) Here is this beautiful, talented, super-smart girl, who is a writer on an award-winning TV show, a show known for its incisive observations about men, who you would think could have her pick of just about any dude around. This superstar of a woman is confused about a situation that to me is so clear. Actually, confused is the wrong word, because she’s too smart for that. She’s hopeful, not confused. But the situation is hopeless, so I break the news to her: “He’s Just Not That Into You.”
And let me tell you, that’s the good news, because wasting time with the wrong person is just time wasted. And when you do move on and find your right person, believe me, you’re not going to wish you had gotten to spend more time with Stinky the Time-Waster or Freddy Can’t-Remember-to-Call.