A Peacock’s Guide to Human Extinction: Pretty Boys and Birthing Hips

These are my observations on Pavo cristatus (aka the peacock). But this challenge calls for a story, so we’ll give the birds human names to make it sound more like a parable.

To make our protagonists relatable, we shall call the male Gallivant and the female Calypso. They could easily be your neighbors.

Stretch your anthropomorphic imagination and picture them as human-animal hybrids. Older readers might remember something resembling Zoobilee Zoo.

Gallivant’s most notable feature is his magnificently attractive but completely inefficient plumage.

Inefficient because growing his luxuriant, iridescent feathers requires enormous energy, solely to attract a mate like Calypso.

Calypso may strike you as a dull, plain, wouldn’t-notice-her-in-a-room potential reproductive partner.

Gallivant resembles a beautiful woman courting a suitor who promises security while she offers him an heir to his mediocrity.

Except peacocks reverse the arrangement. The male expends disproportionate resources being pretty, while the plainer the female, the better. Her inconspicuousness improves her chances of reproducing without attracting unwanted attention. Indeed, if Gallivant doesn’t lure Calypso from hiding, no competitor might notice her. Pure strategic adaptation.

What fascinates me is not merely that nature rewards such impractical beauty, but that the burden of displaying it falls on the male. Gallivant must advertise his worth while Calypso can remain comparatively anonymous, judging his performance from a safe distance.

Meanwhile, the female has little incentive to compete in this pageant of vanity. She can devote her resources to survival and reproduction, leaving Gallivant to exhaust himself in the pursuit of her approval. It seems an enviable arrangement, at least for Calypso.

It makes me wonder whether our current arrangement—women wearing makeup because men like what they see, and men lying because women like what they hear—is sustainable for the species.

Lately, I’ve observed more garish young men flaunting flamboyant attire, seemingly taking greater delight in one another’s company than in a wholesome gal of sturdy reproductive stock. A woman with “good birthing hips,” if you prefer.

Could this correlate with falling birth rates and dwindling populations?

Perhaps the lesson from avian evolution echoes 1960s visionary Jimmy Soul: “If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life… never make a pretty woman your wife”?

For my bio, I’d like to address a recent review of me by fellow Vocalite Tina D. Lopez.

Her analysis as presented in her recent story, The Fab Five (link at the bottom of this story):

“Jesse is one of my favorite writers to read because he’s all over the place in the best possible way. He writes across multiple genres and has plenty of nerdy interests that I happen to share, including Pokémon. I also love that he does stand-up comedy because funny men have always had a way of catching my attention.

Truthfully, he looks like the kind of man I would approach at a bar. We’d chat, I’d think we were hitting it off, only for Jesse to end up asking for my friend Sheri’s number.”

Well, this review is spot on! All of the people closest to me in real life laughed out loud and agreed with it completely. I apologize in advance to all interested female parties for giving the wrong impression, but if I find you interesting, I’ll give you my attention, and it isn’t necessarily romantic interest. I just ooze sexual confidence. 😏

The only exception I take to her description is that if I wanted Sheri’s number, I would ask Sheri for it directly—or, more likely, slide into her DMs and win her over by offering reels curated to her unique tastes until she craves my attention.

It’s called pebbling, and it likely means I’m on the autism spectrum... Sup, ladies? 😉

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