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I think it’s about time I try to understand my digital privilege. Do they want their men to have some pudge (lookin' at you, Leo), or are they hell-bent on the cut, chiseled look?She will offer to split, but you think she doesn’t mean it and you don’t want to be a jerk.You will march home to an empty inbox and the desire to spend another hour browsing and writing will start to fade.Finally, one of the cool girls writes back, and you will banter a bit, swapping favorite restaurants or concert venues.You will ask her to meet up “in real life.” At the bar, you will chat nervously for an hour (she is not as pretty or as funny as you had hoped she’d be), and then you will be saddled with the check even though she ate most of the sweet potato fries.
You set up a profile, pick some cute photos, write something witty about the things that you love (Beyonce, Hillary Clinton, Battlestar Galactica), list some books you like, and then sit back, kick your feet up, and wait for the messages to roll in.You will try to split it, but he will pay, and you will stand to re-wrap yourself against the frigid wind.You will part ways, and you will probably, almost certainly, begin again the next day with another “Hey there…” message from the next contender.Why do I not respond politely to every message, even the ones I’m not interested in? Once we make it out of the safe cocoon of the Internet and into the real world I’m better about aligning my actions with my values.Why do I alternate between playing the damsel and the playing the demanding entitled a**hole? Out here, at a bar or restaurant, I work really hard to make sure that you know we are equals participating in a traditionally unequal transaction.