Los Papis
There are people in this world that you’ve just gotta hand it to. Geniuses in their particular field or area of expertise. One example is Sarah Palin in the ‘Looking Good’ category. She’s a terrifying human being, no doubt, but has she or hasn’t she successfully cornered the market in that respect? You know she has. She’s hot to death. Keeps that Botox in her back pocket and brings it out exactly when the time is right.
And in the sector of romance and wining and dining and seduction, we have papis. Have to give props where props are due. Because you’ve gotta love a papi. They have that ’suavecito’ je ne sais quois on lock. There’s just nothing else like ‘em.
I used to live in the Dominican and Puerto Rico and also spent some time on Planet Univision, so I’ve dealt with a papi or two in my lifetime. Which means I’ve also spent days cursing their kind and praying to Dios that the word ‘papi’ would get old, but unfortunately it just never does. Maybe I should keep repeating it until it loses its meaning to get away from the mesmerizing effect it has on me and pretty much every other woman in existence?
“Papi papi papi.” (Nope, not working. Exciting still.) Because the fact remains: Nobody does it like a papi. Nobody.
It’s pointless to resist their advances really. You can swear them off all you want, “Oh, I’d never get caught up with a smooth talker like that,” but sooner or later you’ll succumb, you’ll see. It just takes watching one Dominican man dancing bachata and you’ll be a goner. Just one.
They’ll flip you and you’ll never even see it coming. You’ll just wake up one day and start rerecording your voicemail message over and over (and over) until you get that perfect ’sexy’ one. (Because if you’re curious whether a girl likes someone new, just listen to her message. If it changes from ‘cute and fun’ to ‘phone sex operator’ and her voice drops a couple octaves, you know something’s up. Never fails.) The possibility she’s converted to papi-ism isn’t that farfetched either. Totally plausible in fact.
Because they have the ability to get under your skin in very quickly. And every time you try to get out, they’ll pull you back in. If it’s not with how good they look (very), or how sexy they are (exceptionally), it’s by how they have an answer to everything under the sun.
When you don’t have enough money for dinner and the waiter just happens to be a papi, he’ll say with a smile, “Don’t worry nena, you can pay with besos.” And a novice might just hear ‘pesos’ (honest mistake) and think nothing of it, but to a skilled papista, the true meaning is caught right away.
If a papi asks you to dance and you tell him that you’re married with five kids, he’ll just say, “No importa aqui” (translation: Doesn’t matter here.) Doesn’t matter here?! What the f! Well, it should matter here. Here, there, everywhere. This is real life, not a telenovela, although soon after you start dating a papi you will find that your relationship inevitably bears a striking resemblance to Por un Beso or Un Amor Real. I guess life always imitates art anyway though, so I shouldn’t be so shocked. Just par for the course.
Yes, it’s pretty much a given. The telenovelas will dictate what’s acceptable or not in your relationship, might as well get used to it. You can count on enormous amounts of drama for starters. And expect to hear “I love you” very early on (anytime after the 3rd date is fair game.) Note: This will also be their answer if they don’t call when they said they would.
You: But I thought we were doing something last night…
Them: You know I love you, right?
Mine even used it to console me once. My life was in a shambles at the time, (no job, no idea where I wanted to live, no man I saw as a real possibility, a birthday looming), and I was hanging out with my papi when it hit me all at once. “Wow, is this really what’s in store for me? Really? This is going to be my life?” The thought was so unbearable that I started crying.
He must not have known what to do and figured you can’t go wrong with ‘ole’ faithful’, because that was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. “Hey, I love you. Look at me, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you forever.”
Which of course only made me cry harder. Was that a misdiagnosis of the problem or what! Obviously I couldn’t explain why I was crying since he was part of the problem, so I just kept on with my tears. Which made him console me more, which made me cry more, which… you get it. It was a vicious cycle.
Latino society is a very sexually charged one too, so it’s easy to get caught up and lose perspective to the point where the world becomes your personal novela. Fell victim myself actually. In the DR, my tolerance for drama got so high that I had to start dating five guys at once just to keep things exciting. Apparently two or three would not have done the trick. My e’panish was shaky then too, so I’d make plans with one on the phone and have no idea who was coming to pick me up until I answered the door.
My study abroad family was shocked, since I’m sure they’d never hosted an American girl before who dared act out like yours truly. My ‘mom’ had to have a talk with me over a little asopao y café con leche. I was touched though, because it’s a very comforting feeling to have people looking out for you like that. It’s a big drawing card for me that Latino culture is so family-oriented. Everything is just so easy.
The papis are as into having relationships as the women, so they’ll put their feelings for you right on the table. They don’t keep them to themselves like white guys have been known to do, where you’re stuck playing the guessing game ‘he likes me, he likes me not.’ Have to admit, it’s kind of refreshing.
Their desires are made perfectly clear as they stare you down in an appreciative fashion in places like church. Yes, apparently it’s perfectly fine in church to say “G-d bless you” in a suggestive way that’s a lot more religulous than religious.
One benefit of living in a Spanish-speaking country, (Italy works as well), is that your self-esteem gets a huge boost, although it can be an adjustment of sorts when you come back and nobody is staring at you, much less catcalling or whistling. It’s a little upsetting. “How come they’re being all respectful and normal and talking to me in a non-sexual way? That’s weird. I must be having a bad day.”
Yes, the papis are extremely good at what they do. They may not be the tallest bunch, but they learn early on to work their strengths and downplay their weaknesses. They’ll sweep any machismo under the rug initially and wait until the relationship is stable before they start being mancentric and saying absurd things when they see you at a club like, “What are you doing out without my permission?”
The papis hold mandatory ‘rite of passage’ training sessions for their sons, the papitos, and school them until the teachings become second nature. “Where were you last night?” the teacher accuses them during role play. “Helping my dad,” they answer in unison. “And who’s that girl in all those pictures at your house?” he asks during a quiz. “Oh her, (hand wave to show her insignificance for extra credit), that’s just my cousin.” (They’re so believeable too that the girls buy it hook, line and sinker and say lines from Ferris Bueller to themselves. “So THAT’S how it is in that family.”)
The papitos get templates they’re expected to follow from which they never stray. And why should they? Those who came before them have done the work already. No need to reinvent the wheel.
Truth be told, many of them have rebelled entirely and gone on to become faithful and loving family men. Others just ‘get by’, and then there are those prized pupils who just can’t get enough, the best and the brightest who go on to receive that ultimate title - Papichulo. And if you thought papis were bad…
Papichulos are a parent’s worst nightmare. They’re papis on steroids. Masters of womanizing and latin loving and dirty dancing. And where a papi can be a good guy, a papichulo is bad all around. Born to be wild.
There’s a whole hierarchy going on within the papi organization. The highest ranks, made up entirely of papichulos, get tenure and a corner office and their input is forever taken into consideration when creating the syllabi.
The Papis are 95% Latino, although a few have squeezed in on ‘that affirmative action’, my dad being one of them. (It’s funny; he actually is my ‘papi’ were we to use the dad/father definition of the term.) Lucky me. Everybody else growing up in my suburban neighborhood had a ‘Dad’; I got a ‘Papi’.
He probably used me in his application too when convincing the powers that be to let a wuero audit the classes:
Look, I know I’m white and all, but I think my credentials speak for themselves. I’ve fulfilled all the prereqs, and nobody does deadbeat dad like I do deadbeat dad. If you let me in I will dedicate my life to the papi cause.
Where there’s a will there’s a way, because let him in they did. And you know how they say that the white kids in the hood are always the toughest ones because they have to prove they’re down? Well, that was my papi. He came in and stole the show. He’s so ‘down’ now that it’s virtually impossible to tell him apart from the rest in a papichulo lineup. Indistinguishable from the rest.
Parallel factions have sprung up independent of The Papis as well, like the black ‘Players’ and the white ‘Musicians and/or Actors’. They’re all modeled after the same principles though. In essence, my papi really paved the way. He’s a real, dare I say a word that has caused countless hangovers amongst the American population, maverick?
My papi must have been at least partially responsible for the bad reputation his people have had of late too. I’m sure he’s the one who strictly forbid any mention of taking care of your children, emotionally, financially or otherwise.
The Papis really should have known better though. That’s what happens when you let one of them in; before you know it they take over and everything goes to sh*t. (KIDDING, which I must point out in case a stray Redditor is reading this and has already begun formulating a nasty comment.)
So the moral of the story is this: If you encounter a papi or a papichulo, enjoy the ride while it lasts, but never forget who you’re dealing with. You can’t go in with blinders on or he’ll eat you alive.
Don’t feel bad about yourself though if (and when) you find yourself mixed up with one. Happens to the best of us. Because remember, nobody does it like a papi. Nobody.
