Christie laughed nervously as she got the bartender’s attention. “It’s true. Guys don’t look at you in a bar. You can’t do that anymore. There’s very little interaction in real life,” she said as she ordered a round of white wine. “That’s just the age we live in.”
Sassy and I nodded. Clearly we didn’t know the rules.
“I’ve done everything. I’m on every dating app. Tinder. Match. Plenty of Fish. Bumble. I even met with a matchmaker. You don’t know what’s going to work, so you have to keep planting the seeds.”
Was she having any luck?
“I’ve met great guys, but the guys I like don’t like me. Sometimes I feel like there’s something wrong with me. If I could identify what it is, it might be easier to find someone.”
She leaned in a little closer. “I think I need to sell myself more. Because no one is willing to buy me.”
Sassy sipped thoughtfully on her drink. “Are you a commodity that needs to be bought?”
Christie nodded. “I am a commodity. And I need to repackage myself.” She paused and looked around. “But doesn’t everyone feel that way? Even if you’re in a relationship with your friends you’re a commodity.”
“Look,” she continued. “I love my life the way it is. I love my job, I love my friends. But I want that something extra. That’s the only thing I feel like I’m missing out on. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had that for myself, but I want that missing piece.”
Keep Playing
As I sat down to write, I realized that as long as women still wanted men, and as long as there was still a chance to get one, even if the odds were gamed against them, women would keep playing.
I took the discussion to the young-youngs. Meaning they were too young to drink, too young to vote, and probably too young to be on dating apps like Tinder.
“As soon as I broke up with my boyfriend, I joined Tinder again because he’d made me delete my profile when I was with him,” said the sixteen-year-old. “And immediately I started feeling good. All these people were liking my pictures.”
“It’s the attention. The attention makes you think everything in your life is great,” said the seventeen-year-old. She leaned back in her chair and sipped her latte. “I always say this. All social media is like a drug. I know that every time I get a like on Instagram my body is flooded with endorphins.”
“Listen.” The sixteen-year-old looked me in the eye. “A lot of the time you have a hookup. And you’re fine with it just being a hookup. You don’t want anything more. But then the guy starts bothering you. And all you want to do is go back on Tinder. Because on Tinder, it’s all about the chase.”
Tinder Always Wins
Emma called me up. “What’s the takeaway?” she asked.
The word “takeaway” made me uneasy. It made me think of fast-food restaurants and those giant menus lit up with photographs of mouthwatering food.
I wondered if this was the future of dating: Takeaway. People would become items to be ordered from a menu. Like a hamburger done exactly your way.
I was still pondering this when Jude texted me and asked if I wanted to see Henry IV at two o’clock at the Brooklyn Academy of Music on Saturday. He’d already purchased the tickets.
I couldn’t say no.
And so, on a cold Saturday I got into a taxi and headed to Brooklyn.
The taxi ride was thirty dollars, but I didn’t mind. Jude had paid for the tickets, and they probably cost a lot more than that. I reminded myself to split the ticket price with him.
I got to the theater and went inside.
And then, like the classic sad sack who’s about to be stood up, I looked around at all the people. And as they eventually paired off, I realized Jude was not coming.
I texted him: Hey, did we mess up? I’m at BAM. And then, for reasons still unknown to me, I added: Eeeeee.
I wasn’t really expecting to hear from Jude again, but I did. That evening I got a text: Oh fuck wow I had no idea how late it was. I am so, so sorry. I ended up in the ER last night.
I sighed. Of course you did.
For a moment, I was curious about this so-called ER adventure. But the moment passed. And then I realized I, too, had become Tinderized. Because I just didn’t care.
Apparently Jude did, though. The next day, I got another text: