We've already announced to the world that we've got a thing for nerds. Whether it's Michael Cera's fumbling high-school track star in Juno, the Seth Rogen/Jonah Hill show, or the cardigan-wearing McSweeney's fan behind the counter at our local Apple store, we're completely sunk by striped shirts and clever sneakers, not to mention that combination of sweetness, smarts, and self-deprecation. But as we cracked Benjamin Nugent's American Nerd: The Story of My People, an exultant study of the Dungeons & Dragons set, it dawned on us why our crushes never work out: because nerds in adulthood — post-nerds — are the biggest players out there. It's the same thing every time: We fall for a horn-rimmed mouth-breather, basking in the kind of gratitude that can only come from a guy who spent his formative years having his underpants yanked over his head. He wins us over, then moves on. Why? Because his high-school invisibility didn't result in lifelong menschiness; it inspired him to spend his 20s regrouping. Now he's eternally trading up, making up for lost time. Here's how it works: Pigeon-toeing his Converse One Stars, eyes downcast, he confesses over a tumbler of Basil Hayden's that he "could never talk to women." Feeling magnanimous and hiply counterintuitive, we decide we could love a man with aggressively short pants and no muscles to speak of — that only we can detect the sexy devil within. Him? He's wondering why we're still wearing last season's Louboutins.
This Video of Every Guy You Meet on Tinder Is Genius
"Finance. You're welcome."