Sometimes, there’s an alignment of the stars and it seems like being patient has paid off, and sometimes…
She wondered if this was a part of what she was looking for. He looked the part; he was an opportunity for her to move forward. She thought she’d place a few chips down.
There was a lot of talk about the negative effects of capitalism in the dating space and how it created an environment of toxicity, and thus, events like this began to spring up.
They weren’t owned by the Match Group, so they weren’t interested in making a fortune. No, they existed as a means to connect people and to genuinely make the world a better experience.
Everyone at the event arrived and was given a pair of mixed-reality glasses. When you looked at someone, you were able to see their basic information, and if you raised your eyebrows, you got to read their full profile. After that, it was up to your social skills.
There were always more men than women at these events. Initially, they tried to fix this with a ratio of two women for every man, but found that patriarchy was well ingrained into society… women liked to be approached by men. So, eventually, they relaxed it and the women that attended were happier. Now it was two men for every woman, and the women were happier still.
And yet, with all the odds stacked against her, she had found something she liked. After reading his profile, she was determined to get him, or at least engage him.
She slunk over to him across the bar and, with a deep breath, introduced herself. “Hi, I like your profile. You sound like my kind of person. A lot of what you wrote resonated with me, so I thought I’d come and say hello.”
“Hey, I’m outside your work,” she said.
“What? You are?” he asked.
“Well, we were talking about being spontaneous, so surprise!” she exclaimed.
“Kinda,” he drawled.
“Come on, it’s a date,” she said.
“I guess so. Come in, I’ve gotta do a few things before I can leave,” he invited.
If he was being honest with himself, he was only there for the atmosphere. He hadn’t been out in a while and he needed a little inspiration to finish a project at work.
He was the epitome of understated success when it came to dating. He had times when he was prolific, and times when calling it a drought was an understatement. Of course, like everyone, you’d have to ignore the options he had that he ultimately wasn’t interested in for one reason or another.
However, now that he was here, there was no point in him actually coming unless he participated. And with that, a young lady had just approached him and introduced herself. As she spoke, he raised his eyebrows to read her profile.
She introduced herself and he was pleasantly surprised; she actually put effort into the interaction and he told her so. He spoke on how capitalism had eroded social interactions and expectations, especially when it wielded patriarchy as a tool.
“What do you think?” she asked expectantly.
“…”
“That look isn’t good,” she mused.
“…”
“Wait, let me guess… you’re not a fan of the lighting or the colours?” she asked.
“…”
“Too zoomed in?” she pushed.
"…”
“Say something!”
The chemistry between the two was great. Though newness generally does that. That excitement and infatuation. The sheer belief that their various different itches could be mutually scratched was something that excited them both, and thus they exchanged numbers.
“This is my first time here. Are you going to give me a tour?” she asked.
“Sure thing, let me just do a quick security check and lock up, and then I’ll give you your very own private tour,” he told her.
They racked up hours of conversation on the phone, trying to work out if the attraction was real or whether it was just a yearning to scratch their itches. They were moving past a level of superficiality and into something that was real. As such, he decided to take it to the next stage.
“I don’t remember telling you where I worked,” he said in a tone half curious, half accusatory.
“You told me enough,” she replied offhandedly.
“Honestly, it’s been too long since we met,” he said.
“I was thinking the same,” she said.
“We should take it to the next stage,” he said wistfully.
Perplexed, she asked, “Huh?”
“Well, I’m gonna need to be able to recognise you for our date. Why don’t you send me a picture?” he asked.
Her heart dropped. Just when everything seemed so hopeful…
“Not a nude, just a picture of you that represents you. One that I can set as your contact picture in my phone,” he clarified.
Her dropped heart rose once again. “Give me half an hour.”
“Security check done, doors locked, now time for your tour,” he said.
“Can we start with the bathroom? I need the loo,” she said.
“Of course!” he replied.
What should’ve been a thing of simplicity quickly became overwhelming and daunting. She told him half an hour.
Twenty minutes remaining.
The issue she was facing was that she actually liked him, and she wanted something that really represented her.
Fifteen minutes remaining.
The issue was that she’s an artist, so she was thinking of putting an artistic spin on it. And him, he’s a curator for a gallery, so she was worried he’d look at it with a professional eye rather than a personal one.
Ten minutes remaining.
She sat there staring at the two portraits of herself that she had on hand and considered which to send.
Five minutes remaining.
She ran to her studio, a corner of her room cordoned off with a bed sheet covered in paint, and grabbed her easel. She ran to her hallway and grabbed the flowers that her flatmate always put there because she knew she liked carnations, and then ran back to her room and tore off her t-shirt. She put the phone on a timer, split the bunch of flowers in two, covered her nipples with the bunches, and smiled. She checked the picture and smiled in relief.
He was breathless. Literally.
“You sound out of breath,” he said.
“I do?” she replied.
“Yeah.”
“You sure it’s not just that you take my breath away?”
“It could be that, I suppose. I mean, it’s one of my skills after all.”
“Calm down, big head.”
“I’ve been called that, but how did you know?”
“Not like that.”
They laughed.
“I sent you a present.”
“I did just hear a notification.”
“Oh… thanks.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m grateful.”
“Is that it?”
“What do you mean?”
“For all the effort I put in, I thought you’d say more.”
“You don’t want that. Sometimes you’ve just got to appreciate what you’re given.”
“But I want to hear your thoughts.”
“Can we not?”
“I insist.”
“Is it that bad?”
“No, it represents you and that’s enough.”
“But?…”
“It’s a bit low effort, but sometimes that’s what makes things special.”
“Low effort how?”
“Can we not?”
“Again, I insist!”
He sighed. “The lighting is terrible, it’s barely in focus, and the colours are washed out.”
“Anything else?”
“Why is it zoomed in so much? You already know I’m attracted to you, you didn’t have to crop it.”
“Wow!”
“You insisted! I didn’t wanna lie.”
“Can we… can we speak later?”
"You insisted… sure.”
She stood there, holding his head, staring at the canvas.
The canvas stood there atop the easel, dripping… dripping with his blood… that trickled down from his eyes and tongue that were nailed to it.
“Maybe it’s just my style?”