DiGiTAL GiRL

why men are unable to act on their desires + are stuck in an aimless orbit

Are you sure he wasn’t just nervous?

No. I think he was just BORING AS HELL.

My friend was recounting a recent BAD DATE.

She had met him on Hinge and spent the better part of two weeks on a rollercoaster. Their banter was good from the start. He talked about taking her out soon. Then he disappeared for a couple of days.

Sorry, work has been intense.

They continued flirting, updating each other on their days. A photo of a cute dog he saw while running on the West Side highway. She sent a photo of her barre class.

Then he set a TIME and a PLACE. Hyped up the restaurant.

Then the day before she texted to CHECK IN. He didn’t reply till the following morning, apologizing that he got caught up again with work.

She was tearing her hair out at this point. I asked why she didn’t just move on after that? She said HE WAS HOT. And it felt like there could be something there. Anyways. A few more days of dry texts. At this point she is moving on, texting a couple of other guys.

Saturday night she’s OUT WITH HER FRIENDS. He sends her a text message saying he’s sorry and he for sure will take her out next week. She senses he may be overwhelmed, so suggests to him that they just grab quick drinks—no need to plan a nice dinner.

He says he doesn’t drink anymore. She says ok, how about ice cream? Sure, ice cream.

Ice cream?

Yea. Ice cream.

I laugh.

That’s actually kind of cute. I like that.

I mean, I did too. I just wanted to finally see him.

The ice cream rendezvous arrives. He’s even more handsome in person. He’s ON TIME.

He’s a CARDBOARD CUTOUT.

What do you mean?

She describes how stiff he is. How devoid of personality. How he was mostly quiet. Didn’t ask her any questions. She wonders where his texting confidence went. They walk around Washington Square Park, the sound of their little spoons scraping the cup.

A girl with a wolf cut comes up and compliments her on her necklace. The only lively moment of the night. After 45 minutes of trying to squeeze a response out of him, she finally excuses herself, says she has to GET UP EARLY.

It’s only 8:45.

Suuuper early. I don’t know why I sign up for these early classes!

She debates even sending him a I GOT HOME SAFE text. He gives it a thumbs up when she does.

The next morning he texts her he had A GREAT TIME and wants to see her again. She looks at her phone and rolls her eyes.

Sends a SORRY BUT I DIDN’T FEEL A CONNECTION text later. He never replies. But he keeps watching her Instagram stories. She pulls out her phone and shows me.

I believe you. I watch all your stories religiously.

She slaps me on the arm.

No but seriously. What the fuck is up with men?

This conversation with my friend made me think of a NY Times article I read over the summer. Titled MEN WHERE HAVE YOU GONE? PLEASE COME BACK. The writer details a realization she has while dining out with a male friend.

THE MEN ARE GONE.

They’re not outside, they’re not interacting, they’re not trying. They’re isolating. They’re withdrawing. They’re imploding. Not just in love, but across the board. But their lack of drive to pursue a meaningful romantic connection is one of the most obvious symptoms. They want stimulation on their own terms, with little risk. No selflessness, no inconvenience.

I’ll tell you what I told my friend.

For many men, women are a BEAUTIFUL MIRAGE.

He consumes them on his own terms. Safe. Through a screen. My DIGITAL GIRL.

Maybe he takes a plunge into dating through an app. Matches with a few cute girls. Even the messaging is nerve wracking. His impatience and uncertainty rule him. He stumbles through, largely on his own good intentions and her social grace. She thinks his clumsiness endearing, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Now comes to the time to meet up with her.

Oh.

As Baudrillard says, of course, it will no longer be a dream, so its charm will be lost.

Or is that the dreamer is afraid of making himself real?

The fantasy is 3D. Real. Alive. She stands on her own two feet, in her own solar system. The many satellites of her own character orbit her center. She has contradictions, desires, goals, hopes, shortcomings. She can accept herself.

But can he? He has no center.

So he balks a bit. Continues the idealization. Better to transmute his doubt and fear into pedestalizing the simulacra. He turns her into icon because it is easier to polish the image of someone else than to unknot your own insides.

He’ll stalk her socials. Maybe even brag to his friends that he’s got this girl he’s gonna get with. Meanwhile the gap between them is growing. She presses him playfully. When are you free?

Never. I am forever trapped in my own mind, he thinks to himself.

How about Thursday?

Thursday comes. He wants to disappear. The night before he was excited. Turned on even. He looks at a picture of her. He thinks about her as he finishes. Her. Not them.

Her. Her in the flesh.

He is frozen. Collapsing in on himself.

The real life her. A duality, he feels.

She is under stimulating, compared to his daydreams. His objectification. His rose tinted portrait.

But she is also nerve wracking in her profundity. She has depth he has refused to explore in himself. An unwelcome mirror.

He has nothing to say because he has everything to say. All the feelings, none of the words. And she is there.

Being herself. Soft, strong, open, sovereign.

He is...paralyzed.

He is torn between wanting to orbit her, and wanting her to orbit him. This is all too much too fast. Way too fast.

But in the morning after glow, he thinks—there was something there. I think it was good for me. I just need to step in to it.

Too late. There was nothing there that she hasn’t already felt. After all, it was mostly her that was there.

So he retreats back. To the places he feels welcome, where he doesn’t really have to plumb himself. Where he can stand out and be seen, in ways that are familiar. Work. School. Video games. Sports. Art. Drugs.

And so the universe self organizes. In one galaxy, stars that aren’t afraid to shine. Real matter. Real magnetism.

But no one to pull in. At most, someone to crash into them and be burned up before landing.

And in the other galaxy? A bunch of cratered moons with their eccentric paths. They’re real too. But you have to look closely. Otherwise you might mistaken them for some pixels on a screen.