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Which also means it was my first real breakup, rife with re-examination, fictionalizing, joint custody of friends, finger pointing, and painful silence. I mean, I'd love to have some, but that'll probably be an ugly first couple go-'rounds. But like I said, let's aim where everyone's aiming, more or less. I'm standing in front of my closet in a towel, imagining all the ways tonight could go. Donning high heels can express the very opposite of anxiety, but the point is I don’t think I’ve seennot wearing high heels.The “ladies” invariably show up bearing (or wearing) the fruits of several thousand cumulative pounds and labor-hours of aesthetic grooming and accessorizing investment.date – threatens to determine one’s subjecthood wholesale.At the same time, where love is concerned, money is supposed to be ‘no object.’ Given that money is finite, when love has failed to germinate by the end of a date, the politics of the ‘bill’, ‘tab’ or ‘check’ becomes a freighted matter. Reluctance on the part of the masculine figure to shoulder it – given the endurance of patriarchal power in society – communicates a low assessment of his interlocutor’s value. I haven't gotten dressed for anything but pragmatism in far too long. I walk away from my first night as a truly singly man, excited to know that even truly adorable women will talk to you at great length about their most personal homicidal tendencies, if only you give them the slightest excuse. I also quickly find her to be some sort of bi-polar lunatic with a boyfriend with his own ex-wife and child who when she "looks in their faces I want to kill them." I ask her if upon being approached a guy — a man, even — whether she gives a damn what he's wearing. I slink away in my fancy white shirt and my punky black jeans and my Chelsea boots, laughing at myself without mutter so much as a bad joke.
Also: she's stumbling drunk, which eliminates any goal much beyond just attempting conversation. My boyfriend has annoying energy, but I wanted to fuck him.
At the same time, a certain forced collectivization of living has lately been imposed on more and more of us. The show produces the submission of individuals to these oppressively high stakes, at least as much as it responds to it.
Unaffordable housing markets, stagnant wages, austerity and widespread job precarity represent class violence that metes itself out along gendered and racialized lines even as racism and gender oppression are treated as though they were dead in many of the discourses of the western powers. Staging the process makes everybody’s uniqueness look commensurable.“Dating,” as it is currently known and practised, casts ordinary people as perfectible investment opportunities in competition with each other across myriad platforms (OKCupid; Tinder; Grindr; Match; Ashley Madison; Plenty of Fish, etc).
And I'm assuming my clothes should play a part in all this. Maybe whatever's working for the rest of the nocturnal predators and after-sunset adventurers.
Let's aim low: I want to wake up naked next to a girl with whom I share something minor in common, and have her look at me with some minor expression that's not regret.