Cornelius
is a rail-thin dirty hipster (he is as disinterested in food as he is in
washing his hair) who recently quit his job at an ad agency to pursue
photography, whose mustache gets mixed reactions from all who encounter it, and
whose passion is inspiring. His aversion
to texting effectually makes you feel omni-important when you’re with him and
frustrated when you’re not. And after an
unfortunately long string of dates that ranged from horrid to eh, it felt nice
to actually feel something. Did I
mention he’s the son of a minister? What
can I say? Little Jewish hearts want
what they want.
I will
embarrassingly admit (only embarrassing if he reads this) that he was the first
guy in a long time about whom I got a little excited.
And
this is when Snapchat entered my life.
Snapchat,
an iPhone app I can only assume was invented with the intention of facilitating
d*ck pics (pictures self destruct Inspector Gadget-style after a predetermined
number of seconds) is the most narcissistic form of digital communication
yet. People send pictures of themselves
and/or what they’re doing without any recognition of or response to the picture
they have just received, creating two simultaneous, but totally separate,
self-involved conversation threads. Since
the d*ck pic revolution, Snapchat has been adopted by teenagers who use it to
send their friends mildly embarrassing photos.
Of course, by teenagers, I mean 20-somethings who are desperate for yet
another way to avoid actually talking to each other.
Once finally convinced by a (bad) friend to
experience Snapchat for myself – because it’s “fun” – I discovered that it is
just another communication device on which I will have to learn how to be cool,
which is essentially inherently impossible.
So far, it has served just as a way to prove further that I have no
digital game. It’s
literally the worst.
While I
only recently allowed Snapchat into my home and my heart, my familiarity with it
dates back quite a bit. I was first
introduced to Snapchat through a family friend who has consistently Snapchatted
with her long-distance on-again/off-again boyfriend since its emersion onto the
scene. I would watch, slightly baffled,
as she made a weird face, snapped a pic, then smiled to herself as she sent it
along. Unfortunately, this boy is as
confusing as they come and her barometer of his feelings for her depends almost
solely on who initiates Snapchat and/or how long it takes him to reciprocate.
My
family friend’s mom, feeling unable to offer solid advice on dating in the
digital age, sends me updates of the daily drama and seeks my opinion/advice
(which is confusing to me both because of this guy’s inconsistent behavior and because
I don’t quite understand why anyone would want my dating advice). Having entered into a similarly Snapchat-based
communication pattern with Cornelius (now more colloquially known as Dirty Hipster),
I answer the best I can, drawing comparison to what has been happening with DH
and me, but convincing myself it is somehow different. (The
only even halfway justification I can come up with for why I have allowed this extensive
Snapchatting to continue is that while I am a writer and prefer written
communication, he is a photographer and prefers visual. Just let me have it.)
For a while, I was getting multiple Snapchats a
day from Dirty Hipster; he would share his latest work-induced injury, videos
of him on his bike or at the bar, and my favorite, pictures of himself with a
simple “Hey” scribbled on it. Snapchat
can be oddly flirtatious. Or maybe just
perceived as oddly flirtatious. Regardless,
however impersonal I thought texting was before, I now miss the days of
full-length text conversations.
Recently, I found myself seeking the input of
friends, contemplating the same things that once plagued me with AIM and
texting. (How long do I wait to respond? Well, he initiated yesterday, so can I
message him today? Does he like me or is
he just bored? How big of a factor is it
that he just split with his girlfriend of two years?)
And every time I hear myself referencing
Snapchat interactions as though they are any type of legitimate indication of
anything, I immediately am forced to reevaluate my life.
About two weeks ago, my family friend’s
boyfriend made it official that they were off again just as DH’s communication,
aka the frequency of Snapchats, began tapering out. I should probably mention that my family
friend is 14-years-old. And as our
dating lives aligned, I realized I am living a life directly parallel to that
of a pre-pubescent teenager.
As disappointed
as I am about Dirty Hipster, this is the saddest part of all.
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