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Tough love II

They loved the first one so much that they asked me to write a second one.

TOUGH LOVE II

Love. What a complicated thing. It hasn’t always been like that though. I mean, far be it from me to proclaim that we should ‘go back to the olden days’ (I like my women to be able to vote, for example) but you can’t deny that it’s all gotten to be a little bit difficult nowadays.

With the rise of Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and all of those other highlight reels we’ve all come to expect perfection. From our lives, our careers, our wives, and we’re even snapping photos when we’re out drinking beers. Our love lives aren’t any different in that regard.

If you would’ve told me ten years ago that we’d be swiping away on a slab of glass and aluminum, judging potential partners as if they’re fucking fruits we’re picking out from the supermarket I’d have called you an idiot. Even back when Tinder launched it seemed so foreign to me. ‘Seriously? Who would do that?

And the next thing you know I’m sitting on a train on the way to the city with a girl I met on Tinder. I ended up going to her place to cook for her a few days later, and after dinner she said ‘do you want to go to the bedroom?’

Now, to you, the reader, that might seem like the world’s most obvious hint, but do you want to know what my answer was?

Nah I’m good here.

There it was, the proverbial elephant in the room, wearing a pink jacket with the words ‘she totally wants to have sex right now dude’ written on it, and I managed to somehow completely ignore said imaginary elephant. To top it all off I ended up falling asleep on her carpet (the literal carpet, this isn’t some sleazy sexual innuendo, you pervert) only to wake up to an empty living room a couple of hours later.

The hint’ was aimed straight at my face. It even hit me right between the teeth and I still somehow managed to just not get it. It took a friendly slap to the back of my head from a friend a couple of days later in order for me to realize what I’d been gleefully ignoring, and even after acquiring this newfound knowledge I didn’t actually act on it afterwards.

If there is any major advantage to this brand new style of instant gratification dating (I don’t want to know how many perfectly nice and super fun girls I’ve swept away like an evil maniac, just because their noses weren’t 100% the right shape) there’s the fact that clueless morons like me can somehow get the hint. I didn’t in my example, but you get the point.

Getting the hint has historically always been a massive issue between men and women. Romeo and Juliet, the world’s most famous couple, killed themselves because none of the people involved in the story could be bothered to just fucking clearly say what was going on.

How many times have you heard people say ‘oh gosh I was so into him/her back then but they never responded to my advances’? If your friends and acquaintances are anything like mine then you’ve heard that way too much. What is so difficult about expressing your desire for someone else? I’m not saying you should go full Jersey Shore and pronounce that you want to smooch smooch everyone you’re interested in, but there is a middle ground between doing that and going ‘well I mean, I briefly touched my hair when he said that joke the other day, so he should definitely know I’m into him.’

Now, I know men and women are different and I know not every guy or gal is the same, but I’m gonna take the risk of sounding sexist and fielding some angry emails by saying to every person who’s reading this: men have no fucking idea what you mean with your vague hints.

I’ll tell you what happens when most men become interested in a woman, romantically speaking. They turn into massive, clueless idiots. Some are even scared to death. That confident dude you met at that party who seems like he’s got the world under his direct control? He’s internally screaming and experiencing a feeling of dread probably not unlike the one you experience when you’re in a war zone and someone shouts at you to ‘not take any step further’ right after you’ve heard a soft ‘click’ under your feet.

I value all sexes equally (we are all part of the human race and, as such, equally useless and moronic) but there are certain things the ‘other side’ does better, and from my experience women are definitely better when it comes to those first stages of a relationship.

But maybe that’s because the pressure is on men, right? Historically it’s always been men who have had to take the first step, and while you could easily walk up to a woman and get rejected without anyone knowing it a couple of decades ago it might as well be live streamed to fucking Facebook these days.

The fear of rejection is (for all sexes) a very real thing and it’s that, coupled with the fact that when it comes to these non-verbal communications men and women might as well be different species, which makes the whole thing so Goddamn difficult.

And don’t get me started on the whole ‘hard to get’ thing. Why would anyone old enough to tie their own shoelaces pull shit like that? I’m not saying you have to hump everything that looks at you sideways, but if you know you’re interested in someone and you know (or at least have a vague idea) that they’re into you why would you make this nonsense any more difficult than it already is?

I once read an impromptu poem by a famous Reddit user (which is a dubious title to begin with but eh) about this whole ‘hard to get’ thing and I found it so beautiful and moving that I’m going to copy it here:

I never chose to run the race,

And so I don’t regret –

The fated girl who loved the chase,

And played it hard to get.

I simply watched her run away,

Beyond the farthest hill –

’Come after me!’ I heard her say.

… perhaps she’s running still.

-/u/Poem_for_your_sprog

I don’t like running. Never did. It’s why I became a goalkeeper. Ever so often though I find myself at the starting line. You know the feeling; just met someone, you have an almost audible click, your wingman friends are giving you the ol’ two thumbs up, …

I rarely ever start the race though. I almost always find a way to (elegantly) back off from that starting line, place myself in the audience, and yell at the other people who are waiting for the start to ‘get on with it you pussies!’.

I’m not writing this because I feel the need to open up to a bunch of total strangers (I have a psychiatrist like any self respecting adult) but because I know that I’m far from the only one who has this feeling. That’s probably always been the case though, relationships are now and have always been a huge commitment from both sides, there’s nothing new to that.

What is new is this whole new world of the internet. I don’t have any scientific research to back this up (if you’re reading this and are expecting to get anything substantiated from this then you’re shit out of luck) but it seems to me that young people are now under more pressure than ever before. I mean, disregarding things such as war and stuff (never thought I’d write that) and just looking at how a regular young adult lives their life, you’ve got to admit that the pressure is crazy.

Want to have sex? Good luck living up to the expectations of all of those porn viewers (i.e. ‘everyone’) with inexplicably jacked forearms. Think your vacation was the most fun ever? Nah fuck you, look at Jerry on Instagram, he’s swimming out there giving Rolexes to dolphins in Dubai. Got drunk for the first time and stupidly exclaimed your love for Katherine whilst wiping away traces of vomit? That’s too bad friend, it’s all been filmed, put on Facebook, and is now property of the Zuck.

The point I’m making here (and I promise I’m only 26, not 76) is that with everything being so open the expectations have become skyhigh. Take my Tinder, for example. I explicitly take care to not put my very best photos on there because I’m terrified that if I ever do get a match (maybe I should put my best photos on there) and meet up they’ll run away in fear whilst screeching ‘UNMATCH! UNMATCH!’.

As Bo Burnham said it: this is the generation that was told we could be anything we wanted, and we wanted an audience, at all times. And we’ve got it now. You might only have 120 followers on Instagram and 200 friends on Facebook, but that’s still an audience. And we’re constantly having to perform for them, and it’s exhausting. If you’re not perfect you’re a fucking loser.

But dude, you can still not have all of those social media things!

Yeah, good luck getting invited to any parties, reunions, or other social gatherings. And even then, even if you somehow manage to stay away from the world stage you still have to deal with the expectations that come with that stage. Everyone has days where they’re just lying in the sofa eating nuts and looking like a bag of shit, but it seems like no one wants to acknowledge that anymore. We all have to be happy, perfect, beautiful, smart, and satisfied all the time. Most of our self worth nowadays is tied to what others think of us. Imagine that.

Anyway (holy shit I went off on a tangent there) all of this has naturally also affected the way we view relationships. For lots of people who are just a bit younger than me it seems like relationships have become much like social media; it has to be easy to consume, and perfect and happy at all times. But everyone knows no relationship is like that. Except maybe for Prince Harry and Meghan’s. Fuck me, that’s a fairytale if I’ve ever seen one. But yeah, every normal relationship has moments where it’s just going a bit shit, or where you’re both just staying in bed all day and, ew, none of you showered.

When I’m (going) out or typing and posting away on social media I’m usually pretty happy, outgoing, witty, and what have you. You know, ‘the social media package’. It’s easy to type a ‘=D’ even if you’re feeling like you want to take a bath with a toaster. But, like every other person, I also have my off days. I can be a grumpy mess, desperately forcing myself to not smash my monitor to bits because ‘fuck that client in particular’. Most people don’t get to see that though, except for my close friends and relatives, since I tend to not go out or post on social media and so on when I feel like utter garbage. Wouldn’t want Ralph to think he’s having a better weekend than I am, right?

Maybe that’s why I don’t want to start running after that person when we just ‘clicked’. Maybe I’m afraid I’m only worthy enough to be around when I’m at my social media best, and maybe I think that deep down inside I’m a fundamentally different human being than whatever version of me she’s perhaps starting to fall for and I don’t want to put her through discovering that.

Maybe I think I’m performing, all day long, and I’m just barely holding it together as it is. I could be afraid to be found out. Afraid to drop the mask and to have to face the fact that I am not ‘that person.’ Maybe I’m tired of performing.

Perhaps I climbed upon that stage years ago, excited for what this brave, new, completely connected world had in store, and maybe throughout the years I’ve become disillusioned with it all, much like a failed Hollywood actress who burned her hands on the coffee jar at the place she’s ‘temporarily’ working a job as a waitress, her hope of ever making it in her dream job fading away like she was when she drunkenly let herself get banged by that ‘producer’ who was going to launch her career.

Maybe I feel like I need to keep performing. Maybe I think I can do just a bit better. Like settling down with someone who’s a solid 7 instead of a 10 is somehow a personal defeat, as if you’re relegating yourself to the amateur leagues if you’re unable to snatch the next Brad Pitt or Emma Watson.

Maybe I just want to stay on the stage a little while longer. To ‘enjoy my youth’, until one day I’m finding myself sitting alone at the bachelor’s table while my last single friend is getting married to a solid 7.

Or maybe I misread her hints and she’s just not that into me, who knows.