Those men get along best with women who can get along best

Hear, O seekers of love and wisdom, the words of Charles Baudelaire, the poet who gazed into the shadows of the human heart and found truth hidden within its passions: “Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them.” These words are no idle jest, but a revelation of balance, of freedom, of the strange dance between strength and desire. For in them lies the recognition that true companionship is not born of need, but of choice, and that the fire of love burns brightest when neither soul is chained by dependence.

The meaning is this: when a woman is whole in herself, when she does not cling desperately to a man for her sense of worth, she commands a respect that awakens admiration and desire. And when a man, freed from the burden of being her sole anchor, can meet her as an equal, their bond becomes one of harmony rather than of suffocation. Baudelaire, a man who saw both the beauty and tragedy of love, knew that need breeds resentment, while independence breeds attraction. Thus, the man who thrives in such a relationship is not diminished by the woman’s strength, but uplifted by it.

This truth has echoed through history. Think of Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, who held empires in her grasp. She did not need Julius Caesar or Mark Antony to define her power; rather, they were drawn to her precisely because she was already radiant in her independence. Her allure was not in weakness, but in strength, not in dependence, but in sovereignty. The men who loved her most deeply were those who recognized that she could, at any moment, stand alone without them. This is the essence of Baudelaire’s words: independence is the soil in which true partnership flourishes.

Or recall the tale of Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of both France and England, who wielded influence in courts, commanded armies, and shaped the destinies of nations. Her marriages were not chains but alliances, and those men who walked beside her—Louis VII and Henry II—found themselves both challenged and transformed by her strength. It was not her dependence that drew them, but her independence, for she was never merely “wife” or “queen,” but herself, unbroken and untamed.

Yet the poet’s words also carry a warning. For many, love is confused with possession, and strength mistaken for threat. The insecure soul seeks a partner who “needs” them, believing that control is safety. But such unions wither, for when one clings and the other bears the weight, resentment takes root. Only when two souls meet freely, each able to stand without the other, do they truly choose each other every day anew. Love that is chosen, not required, is the deepest love of all.

The lesson for us is this: seek not a partner who is incomplete without you, but one who is complete in themselves. For in their wholeness, they will honor yours, and together you will weave not a prison of need, but a tapestry of shared strength. If you are a man, do not fear the independence of women; cherish it, for it is the sign of a spirit worth walking beside. If you are a woman, do not diminish your light to please another; let it shine, for the man worthy of you will not be threatened by it, but inspired.

As for practical action, cultivate independence in yourself before seeking it in another. Build your own life, your own passions, your own strength. Learn to stand alone, so that when you stand with another, it is not from fear of solitude but from the joy of companionship. In your relationships, ask not, “Do they need me?” but rather, “Do they choose me?” And be worthy of that choice by remaining whole, free, and true to yourself.

Thus, Baudelaire’s words, born from the fire of passion and the scars of experience, endure as a timeless truth. Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them, for only then is love no longer a chain, but a dance—fierce, free, and eternal.