The truth be told, I have problems with the alpha - always have.
There are those, especially in the wonderful world of romance (the readers and the writers), who spend a lot of time deconstructing the Alpha (male).
I, for one, beg that particular question.
Sure, people talk about Jaime the Red (in the Gabaldon Outlander series), Ranger (in the Evanovich Plum Series), Sherlock Holmes (hey, Watson may not have been a romantic interest, but he wasn't the alpha either, was he?). Or the ultimate in the perceived alphas, Mr. Darcy (Bridget Jones or Jane Austen versions).
In the real world it is more than that. Different than that. It goes beyond who controls the remote control, who earns more, or even who drives.
At night, who turns off the lights in the bedroom?
Who dictates dinner time? More to the point, whose tastes are catered to for most meals?
Who sets the exercise (or lack of) schedule?
At one time, my husband liked to think he controlled those things. But not true.
The correct answer is the Blond.
The Blond ran the roost for many years, now he is the alpha-emeritus. His influence is mostly by his control of the remote control in the bedroom (if he liked a channel, he'd lay on the remote ... if he didn't like what was on the boob tube, he'd have it between his paws). Dinner was served promptly at 6:30, presents in the form of stuffed toys arrived at least once a month, and his head was on the pillow while someone, who shall remain nameless, turned off the lights.
It was a benevolent dictatorship, but we all thrived. Or seemed to.
So, when you think of the alpha. Think about what that really means when you are at the grocery store and are determining what kind of peanut butter to buy. Whose tastes do you really cater to. Be honest about it. Does the dog like the chunky or the smooth? Skippy or Jiff? And then you will know that the alpha has indeed arrived.