One of the recent posts in this blog questioned whether men and women can be friends. I withheld my answer until now, my guest post, because I am a strange specimen.
I am Casey Nordman, Queen of the BroZone.
Why I Am Queen of the BroZone: A Hypothesis
The practical reason I get to be Queen is because I’m pretty sure I developed the pioneering theory of the BroZone. I named it, researched it and lived it. I am therefore the Queen.
The BroZone is a metaphysical place where crushes go to die. It’s the place where a guy farts in a room you’re in and then says, “Sorry, Case–I forgot you were here.” Oh, no problem, guy. I’ll just wallow in the harsh reality that my fledgling feelings for you will never be returned, watch the Anna Howard Shaw Day episode of 30 Rock, drink a 44-ounce Diet Coke, and get over it. I’ve obviously had some time to develop coping mechanisms.
My hypothesis for why I am Queen of the BroZone is still in its developing stages, but I have some pretty strong ideas.
1. I love football at all levels of play. I am honing my love for baseball and thoroughly enjoy college basketball and hockey. I can explain to another Christian girl that while Tim Tebow is undeniably a beautiful male specimen, he cannot be called a good quarterback. If he wants to be considered an NFL quarterback, he needs to learn to throw the football better than me. At best, he could play tight end. (This is when I usually need to explain what a tight end is. No judgment, ladies.)
2. I am usually loud and largely sassy. I enjoy profound satire and instill sarcasm into most conversations.
3. I love man movies. I love nerdy ones like The Avengers, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. I love classics like Top Gun, Braveheart and Die Hard. I know the ones that are socially acceptable for men to cry at (For the record: Return of the King and Armageddon are the two most frequently cited).
These three tenets of my personality somehow combine to make a woman that men love to be friends with. Do I intimidate them? Do I simply endear myself in a bro-like way to them? Do I make them suspicious because I am not sufficiently confused by them? Who could know? I warned you we were in the developing stages.
Where the BroZone Starts and Ends
One of my best friends is a man I’ve known since we were five. I don’t think ours is any kind of example someone could use to justify or condemn male-female friendships. What 23 year-olds have known someone for 18 years? That’s not normal, and we certainly never claim to be. This man is great. We aren’t dating, and do not intend to do so. Let that thought go right now.
This man had great roommates through college, and I have had mild crushes on most of them (the guy who farted because he forgot about me is one of them). I was also involved in Campus Crusade, so crushes are a given. They all came down to the same sentence: “Case, what should I do about this girl?”
It starts. When you’re having awesome conversations about 24 or where Russell Wilson would fit in best in the NFL as an under-sized quarterback, you still think, “This may have potential!” As soon as the girl advice is sought, call it what it is.
The curse of the BroZone is giving girl advice as you imagine the pint of Half Baked Ben and Jerry’s you’re going to consume later. The blessing of the BroZone is finishing the ice cream and going back to give more advice, crush-free and willing to help.
Where does it end? In my case, it usually doesn’t end, but simply results in sitcom-worthy relationships with the highest quality men I know.
Where the BroZone Leaves Me
I am one profoundly single Christian girl.
And yet in an awkward relationship.
An awkward relationship with the BroZone itself. I love my bros. I love when they ask me questions about girls, when they need help picking out a date outfit or need said outfit ironed. I do not resent them for BroZoning me. I couldn’t if I tried. No matter how amazing the back of a man’s baseball card is, if he BroZone’s me, I’m sure it’s for a reason.
But it’s not like I love being stuck in the BroZone. I am someone who has admittedly high expectations. This results in a lot of tough moments in the BroZone.
Oh, he wanted to come over to talk about that girl.
Oh, what I thought was happening is actually the opposite of happening.
Oh, that wink was not on purpose.
I don’t think I need to regret setting high expectations, though I could learn to manage them. I don’t think I need to change my personality to avoid being BroZoned. I don’t think I’m in danger of being the Queen Elizabeth II of the BroZone (Seriously, how old is that woman? 160?).
Some day I’ll relinquish my throne and my cape–of course there’s a cape–and someone else can reign the Land that Mutual Interest Forgot. But until then, here I am, wearing my tiara with pride. I’ll be coming over to watch Arrested Development, referee an eating challenge and decipher some girl’s texts for you.
Share your thoughts about or experiences with the BroZone! I can always use more data.