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It’s like some weird form of hypothetical showing off.I don’t know that he can even do any of these things, nor does he have any reason to believe I’d have any interest in participating in these things. I work in corporate IT management and Twincities being small for management consulting, I have to be little discreet about my fitness modeling!I knew, very literally, that love wasn’t going to happen overnight. We poured ourselves glasses of wine and set about describing ourselves in the best, most attractive, most unique, most intriguing ways we possibly could. Is this what guys are thinking when they list their heights as five-ten even though you know, in your heart, that they are five-seven? It didn’t matter what he looked like (or what I look like, for that matter), or if we had anything in common, or what we were even talking about. More fitting would be “trite,” “absurd,” “weirdly insulting,” and “grotesque expressions of the soul-sucking vortex known as humanity.” Some messages were innocuous enough, but these were in the minority. Less horrifying.) For some reason it seems like standard operating procedure, among those with opposite-sex interests, that GUYS message GIRLS and that is that. I am, however, interested in the betterment of humankind. But I also knew that if I really wanted to meet someone as much as I was saying I did, I might have to step outside my Comfort Zone, which is what I call my flannel pajamas, and into the big, hopeful, scary world of Internet dating. My friend Jenna came over on a Wednesday night, because it was February first, and we decided that something like this should happen on a first day of the month. I mean, yes, technically I’m five-eleven and a half, but I’m not going to round up to six feet online, am I? I checked out the profile of the guy who’d messaged me—tall, dorky, kind of funny—and though I didn’t find him all that attractive, I impulsively decided to chat with him anyway. On the first day of online dating, that is sort of all you really need. I think I was just overwhelmed by how much it took me back to middle school, flirting (well, talking) with boys on AIM for the first time. ” Everyone was always telling me that, if nothing else, having an online dating profile would be a confidence booster because of all the flattering messages I’d receive. Of the many, many things that my messages could have been called, “flattering” is not one of them. When a little message popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen saying “Hello, tall girl,” I screamed. I say “around” because I deleted so many of them immediately (having them sit in my inbox felt contaminating) that I cannot report with scientific precision the exact count. I actually think it makes me decidedly un-special, because to many of the messages’ authors I was clearly no more than one more female-looking thing who might be intrigued by the dashing brevity of a message reading only “sup? I had myself signed in to chat accidentally, because I didn’t even realize it was there. In a month on Ok Cupid, I received around 130 messages.
In any case, here are some all-too-real examples of negging in action. “Oh man, my freshman year roommate was a total ISTJ, one of the worst guys I’ve known. None of these messages even garnered a half-second’s consideration of a response.
) be slowly roasted in a stew of his own fedoras, watched over by the legions of women who have to try to figure out why this person who ostensibly wants to date them just called them “pretty but not in an intimidating way.”1.
The Neg For the blissfully unacquainted, to “neg” someone is to basically insult her while pretending to compliment her.
I felt bad enough going online to date in the first place, but the influx of negs made me feel worse. But the desire to demean someone and the desire to date her are, I think, mutually exclusive. I figured you probably hear it all the time, but hey, I couldn’t let someone as gorgeous as you get away without me at least telling her first. I tend to ramble.” When I first got this message, I had been on Ok C for a few days and was already getting tired of the bullshit two-word messages and the negging and the total absence of shallow compliments I thought I’d be getting to at least compensate for the rest of the trash in my inbox. I like talking about myself as much as (and probably more than) the next person, OBVIOUSLY.
It made me feel like I wasn’t a person, and I guess to the people sending the messages, I wasn’t. I could be wrong about that, though, because I’m just a woman.2. When this message came, and I was mildly flattered, it was only because my spirits were already broken. And then the three of us drove to West Virginia, where his profile said he lived (that’s right, he’s copy-pasting girls in other states), kidnapped him, carried him over our shoulders to a marble slab in a deserted forest clearing, and sacrificed his blood to the devil. He tried to tell us that we really were all good shit, but it was too late.3. It is my hope that by continually doing what I love to do, which is talking about myself, someone perfect will eventually just fall in love with me. But some part of me—the part that is familiar with social interactions and general guidelines of human conduct—recognizes that this is neither the most practical nor the most thoughtful way to get to know a person.