They say opposites attract. I don’t think that is necessarily true, especially when it comes to personalities. The shy, reticent type seldom runs across someone who is always the life of the party and thinks, “There’s my man.”

An introvert may admire such a person’s boldness and bravado. Though despise is probably a more accurate adjective. He may appreciate such a person’s outlook on life, but really doesn’t want to be part of that life. In most cases, he just doesn’t ‘get’ him. The differences between the two can result in apathy, at best. The differences between the two rarely result in a loving relationship. At least not one that survives the first night.

The problem, and lack of attraction, between two with dynamically opposed ways of dealing with life is that their fundamental approach to life is completely foreign to each other. Even when they speak the same language. Because from a social standpoint, they don’t. The introvert is busy speaking French to the extrovert. Who’s from Arkansas.

Introspectively delving into the whys of my relationship with Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – something I’m wont to do frequently when we are not together, has led me to the realization that even though we are from two vastly different cultures and speak different languages (that’d be English and Bar Boy) one of the primary reasons we’ve gelled so well is that we both speak the same social language. But then I knew that. Every close long-term relationship I’ve ever had with another guy, sexual or not, has been with someone who duplicates Noom’s social style.

Social Styles is a psychometric inventory closely related to the better known Myers Briggs personality indicator. It’s end-use however, is different. The purpose of Social Styles is to help you better understand others, especially those who differ greatly from you. It’s about communication and how you can alter your approach; how you can couch the language you use and the manner in which you use it to be better understood. And accepted. I’m a big fan of Social Styles and have been for years. The basics are fairly simple and once you’ve learned them you can identify someone’s social style from nothing more than the way they walk across a room.

There are four basic social styles, which then are subdivided by the same four styles again to provide for the range of nuance in people’s makeup. Two styles are considered fast, two are considered slow. Two are considered warm or emotional, two are considered cold. While you can get along with any social style, you are more in tune with those that meet you on either the fast/slow or warm/cold axis.

You can think of the four styles, or identify their type, by the characteristics of certain animals. The Driver is like a lion: proud, forceful, the king of the jungle. And just a little but dangerous. They are fast and cold. And often leave bloody carcases in their wake. Expressives are peacocks in all their glory. They are fast and warm. The life of the party, they feel they are close to being divine and will readily admit to being god-like. The Analytical is like an owl, cold and slow and always with the damn questions: Who? Who? Who? Mr. Spock (not the gay one) is the Analytical epitomized. And the Amiable, slow and warm, is a big teddy bear. With a big red heart that says ‘I Wuv You’ on its chest. Warm fuzzies is what the Amiable lives for. They invented the group hug.

If you were to say, “Let’s go to the movies,” the Driver will have processed all the pros and cons of doing so and will be half way out the door before you get the suggestion out of your mouth. The Analytical will want to know which movie, when it is playing, and which theater you’ll be going to. In fact, the Analytical will be quite happy if you can produce a spreadsheet outlining all the movies showing in town along with a cost-comparison for each movie in respect to ticket price, transportation costs, and venue. And don’t be surprised if the Analytical counts the kernels of popcorn in the bucket you pick up at the concession counter.

The Amiable would prefer the movie be G-rated – a chick-flick is always good – and will start envisioning how nice it will be to be ensconced in the dark theater cuddled up next to you. The Amiable would also prefer that you would have said, “Would you like to go to a movie?” instead, but then Amiables are not exactly masters at decision making, so no harm, no foul. Like the Driver, the Expressive will be up and raring to go, visions of car chases and explosions running through his head while he contemplates how much more successful Hollywood would be if he were the leading man. You really don’t want to take an Expressive to a Merchant/Ivory production. And with an Expressive you can easily skip the movie and go stand in front of a mirror instead.

Though the styles and identifying them are based on the physical, if you are familiar with them you can easily pick out someone’s social style in other ways. The manner in which they blog, for example. If you are familiar with Social Styles, it probably would take reading maybe two posts at the most to determine I’m a Driver. By the third post you would narrow that down to Driver/Driver. And I can guarantee you that if you have been back to visit this blog more than twice, you are not an Amiable. I may fool you in person, but I allow my inner Driver free range on this blog.

While Drivers seldom admit to any shortcomings, I do recognize mine – or at least some of them – and tend to be attracted to those who fill in that which I am lacking. And no one attracts me more than an Expressive. They move at my speed, but are a hell of a lot more fun to be around. Full of emotion, full of life, a little too full of themselves, for me it’s like white on rice. Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t that ‘you complete me’ crap. I think if you are not complete on your own, nothing I can do will make you any better. It’s more about complementing each other. And Noom is the yin to my yang, the rum to my coke, the Cheech to my Chong, the bacon to my eggs, the cellulite to my spandex . . . okay, you get the picture.

For the Analytical among you, apologies. I know you’re waiting for the spreadsheet, or at least a set of bullet points, but that just ain’t gonna happen.

No one, other than other Drivers, think Drivers are all that. Expressives tend to like us though because we are the only other social style who is willing to give them their rightful due. (It’s because we are superior enough to be able to allow them their needy little sense of grandeur. But don’t tell them that.) Most social styles appreciate Expressives though. They are fun to be around. Until they aren’t. Expressives are the manic- depressives of Social Styles. When an Expressive has a cold, the world is coming to an end. Forget the Nyquil, it’s time to start composing an obituary.

You’d think because of their inability to make a decision that all Thais are Amiables. All that smiling they do would lead you to that belief too, not to mention the ‘up to you’ attitude and confrontation avoidance at all costs. Nationally, Thais are Amiables. Individually they vary. Though I have a strong suspicion there is lots of Amiable in each of them anyway. Noom is an Expressive, with the requisite Thai Amiable thrown in. I just haven’t decided if it is the Thai or the Amiable who is to blame for the fact that he can get lost turning a corner.

I love Noom’s Expressive qualities. And while I’m not overly fond of Amiables in general, when that part of him comes out it melts my heart. Being a Driver, you’d assume when a problem arises within our relationship it’s due to his Amiableness. (You’d more rightfully assume the problem is with my Driverness, but we won’t go there.) But the few times conflict has occurred it’s been his Expressiveness at the heart of the matter. Expressives are high maintenance. They require a lot of care and attention.

“Where do you wanna eat?” I asked Noom. “I think tonight you pick.”

Silence. It wasn’t just a lack of response, it was a lack of acknowledgment that I even existed. We were in Phuket along with my dyke friends and their friend Chris. Dinner time, we were walking through town with no particular destination in mind. Helena and Pretty Boy were out front, far enough in advance to barely qualify as being part of the group. Walking slowly, Dee and I came next, my arm wrapped around her while I listened to her pour her heart out, troubled once again about her and Helena’s tumultuous relationship. Noom, several paces behind us, was bringing up the rear.

“Um, how about fish?” I tried. “You want seafood for dinner tonight?”

I hate fish. Noom knows I hate fish. That I was willing to sacrifice a meal to a type of food I detest, and that he loves, should have garnered a reaction from him. But he didn’t take the bait.

The other kind of fish, even when it is dyke, are always women first. Their social style doesn’t matter. Drama and hours of talking about their drama are as necessary to their existence as oxygen. Knowing Dee was upset, I’d lent my ear as we stumbled along what passes for a sidewalk in Thailand. Partially listening while navigating past obstacles, avoiding missing grates, and detouring around piles of stuff you don’t want to think about, I’d been concentrating on Dee’s needs. While temporarily neglecting Noom’s.

Fuck me.

It is an immutable law of nature that in a group of five, the Expressive will never be the odd man out. But Noom was. And was hurt. Mortally wounded. As soon as I realized a problem existed, I warned off Dee and dropped back to try and make amends in my best Driver fashion. By completely ignoring that a problem existed. Noom reacted in his best Expressive fashion by pouting like a petulant three-year-old child. And like most things Noom does, he excelled at it.

Noom sulked in silence throughout dinner. It didn’t help that Helena, an Expressive herself, who for the first time during the trip was able to steal the spotlight from the hunky local boy, kept asking what was wrong with Noom. As though he wasn’t there. But then that really wasn’t about Noom but rather Helena’s attempt at pulling the group’s attention back to where it belonged. On Helena.

Dinner completed but Noom’s wounded ego and bout of silence still alive and well, we headed down to Patong’s Walking Street, SE Asia’s tropical version of the debauchery run amok Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Dee had grabbed Helena in an effort to patch up their troubles, or at least to inflict some of the agony Dee was experiencing on someone else. I took my proper place at Noom’s side and attempted to bring him out of his funk. That’s not a skill Drivers excel at. Rather than empathize, sympathize, or apologize I went with what has always worked for me in the past: being annoying.

We’d barely made it a few feet out of the restaurant before I accidently stumbled into Noom and then apologized with a complete lack of sincerity. Noom ignored me, plodding along staring at the ground.

A few minutes later, I did it again, this time voicing my concerns over his despondency. “Ooops!” I muttered.

Noom finally reacted. He scowled. None too successfully. When Noom scowls he’s just that much more cute. It’s like a golden retriever trying to look like it’s annoyed with you. We continued walking along in silence and every few feet I continued to accidently bump into him. Noom went from being pissed, to being slightly hurt, to being rightfully annoyed, until he finally couldn’t help himself and started giggling. Whether pouting or giggling, he still channels the three-year-old within. That’s the nice thing about an Expressive. What kind of attention he is receiving doesn’t matter as much as that he is being attended to. By the time we hit the Walking Street, Noom was his normal self, his face coruscating its usual state of heady enjoyment and pleasure in life. And Helena’s star dimmed, taking second chair to the constellation known as Noom.

Expressives are a touchy lot. They require both constant attention and sensory input. Social injustice – when they are on the receiving end – is mortal sin, the blow to their sense of fairness (and ego) as devastating as the effects of a nuclear bomb. The few times I’ve seen Noom get angry – other than those when I’ve purposely done something to piss him off so he’ll tell me he’s angry because I love the way he pronounces the word – have all been when a fellow Thai doesn’t afford him the respect he feels is his due as a Thai. Noom is cute when he says he is angry. When he really is, you don’t want to be anywhere within striking distance. That’s part of being an Expressive. It’s the dark side of Noom. It may not be pretty, but I love that part of him as much as I do rest.

Drivers are not known to waste much time considering the needs of others. We can be cold, some would say calculating. Often abrupt, generally we are difficult to deal with. The Driver’s world is black and white. There are no grey areas. We relish drawing lines in the sand. Almost as much as we relish someone stepping over them. But we have our good points too. We are those you turn to, the go-to guy, when you need something done. Especially when it is the impossible. Afterwards, it’s best if you put us back in the box and firmly turn the key in the lock. When I’m in Thailand though, my Driver characteristics tend to soften. Partially it is because I’m on holiday. Partially it is because I’m in Thailand. A lot of it is because I’m with Noom.

Helena picked up on the difference soon after the gang hooked up with Noom. “It’s like there’s a whole different side of you I’ve never seen!” she exclaimed gazing with awe. Not at me. At Noom. And his magical ability to temper the worse in me. Yeah, I admit Noom sometimes pouts, sometimes gets angry over silly things, and almost always needs to be the center of attention and properly admired. But then all things considered, I think the dark side of Noom is really me. And I’m still trying to figure out how it is that a bar boy from Thailand, without the education or life-experiences that I have had manages to make me a better person.

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