Manophere readers are familiar with the idea of the situational alpha. He’s the football star who allows his girlfriend to disrespect him. The wealthy entrepreneur dripping tinkle down his pant leg because a rowdy ass-beater popped off at the bar. Basically, a situational alpha is a man who is extraordinary in a particular field of his life but ordinary in all the rest.
Recently, I noticed something interesting. I discovered a type of man who could be called an inversion of the situational alpha. I call this man the Outdoor Alpha. The Outdoor Alpha is dominant everywhere except inside the walls of his very own home. For that reason, the Domestic Beta is another good name for this type of guy.
Here are some common characteristics of the Outdoor Alpha:
- The outdoor alpha is a visually pleasing guy. If he is not tall, he is usually handsome, well-groomed, physically strong and dressed attractively.
- The outdoor alpha is a professional success. He might run a successful internet business. Maybe he is a hot shot lawyer. Whatever his line of work may be, he makes big coin and his associates respect him.
- The outdoor alpha has cool hobbies. He could be a member of the Lake Michigan Boating Club. Or maybe he is a Golden Gloves amateur boxing champ. Either way, the outdoor alpha does not spend his weekends couch surfing.
- The Outdoor Alpha is attractive to women. Girls are drawn to him on account of his good looks and above average flirting skills. When at the bar it is not unusual for women to approach him. And he’s the guy all of the women gossip about at the office. The Outdoor Alpha is not a nerd.
Despite his success, there is one domain where the Outdoor Alpha becomes a Domestic Beta bitch: In his own home.
I meet these guys all the time when I’m selling. I met one this week. Devon and I were chatting in the backyard of his Country Club Hills mini mansion. Devon is a wealthy, retired engineer. In his spare time he enjoys traveling to exotic locations all over the globe. He is no shorter than 6’3 and his concrete muscles come at you in big bulges under his luxurious clothing. He’s the kind of guy that intimidates everyone he meets. Not only because of his stature. And not because he seems aggressive or vicious. Devon intimidates people because every word that leaves his mouth is spoken with such unflappable confidence that it is as if he is reading words from a teleprompter written by God himself.
I was about to leave when Devon’s wife made her appearance be known. Cue the Ice Queen. Cue the coldness and the eye rolling and the incessant whining. Before the Wicked Witch of Country Club Hills showed up I was trying to sell Devon on a $400.00 tree and shrub package. His purple leaf plums were being ravaged by beetles. A beautiful pair of pom pom junipers near his circular driveway were rotten from winter stress. I wanted our techs to get out there to feed the plants and keep the bugs off. Devon said no, no and no. He said it was a waste of money with that Godlike assertion I spoke of before and I dropped it.
Guess what happened, though. The wife announced that the landscaping was in dire need of some professional treatment and I watched Big Bad Devon wilt like a wax tulip a under a scotching, equatorial sun. He didn’t even put up a fight. He just handed over his Am Ex. I couldn’t help but shake my head and give Devon a smirk after the Honey Badger marched back into her den. Devon saw my expression and said, “You know how it is, son. Happy wife, happy life.”
Sure thing, Devon. The two of you look really, really happy.