T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is literally about a man in a "prude frock" (how did I not notice this at first? oh well).
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He tells us to follow him through "certain half-deserted streets,/The muttering retreats/ Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels /And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells" (4-8) that are presumably in London. He describes the yellow fog and keeps on insisting that there will be a lot of time to do things socially.
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But then Prufrock seems to agonize over his social actions, worrying how other people would see him if he does something wrong socially. We learn that he is a middle aged man at this point "With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—/(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)" (40-41). He is constantly worrying about women which means that he has never talked to them. He walks and watches, but never actually speaks. He even admits that he is afraid of social interactions!
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He then ponders if any form of reaction with a woman would be worthwhile if rejection is possible. He ponders dressing like a young man and hearing mermaids singing. But he knows that the mermaids will not sing to him. So he will sit there, grow old, and die without ever knowing the truth about life or love because he never does anything. The way that he describes himself reminds me of this guy:
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Have fun sitting there because you never even tried, dude! Human interaction will not come to you, J. Alfred Prufrock! You must come to it! Women will never fall in love with you (or you with them) if you lock yourself up in a tower and complain
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Let people know how nice you are by being, you know... nice! Stop being a child and just treat people the way that you would want to be treated. That is literally the secret to being a good friend and keeping good relationships.
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