Every single day I wake up, open Instagram before my eyelids are even operating at full functionality, and am cursed to find yet another Reel of a millennial in tie-dye sweatpants comparing the TikTok famous dance moves for “Savage” to the routine from N*Sync’s “Bye Bye Bye” to demonstrate just how different teens are now than they were back in the early 2000s. It’s not much, but it’s honest work.
While I understand that those who were forced to face their middle school years armed with nothing more than a chunky layer of Maybelline’s Dream Matte Mousse foundation feel they are entitled to compensation, I am begging you to stop taking your millennial anger out on choreography. I’m pleased to share that there’s a new place to direct that rage, and no, it’s not at Olivia Rodrigo for committing the unforgivable crime of *checks notes* writing a complete banger of an album too many years after you graduated high school. Let me introduce you to a show called Cruel Summer.
Cruel Summer is Freeform’s latest teen thriller. Produced by Jessica Biel, it’s centered on the mystery a fictional small town in Texas faces when Kate Wallis (Olivia Holt), the most popular girl in school goes missing, and Jeanette Turner (Chiara Aurelia), your stereotypical “just got her braces off” baddie, seemingly takes her place. Despite the fact that this show is oddly addictive, you need to pay attention to it because Cruel Summer is coming for the sanctity of the decade you can’t stop reviving.
Set across the years 1993, 1994, and 1995, Cruel Summer is about as authentically ‘90s as the faux-vintage Friends merchandise that has been licensed to every major retailer as of late. And the fact that this ‘90s drama is extremely un-’90s is even glaringly obvious to me, a person who had not yet lost a single baby tooth by the turn of the millennium. Sure, each episode begins with a note explicitly telling you that the episode takes place on a specific date in the years 1993, 1994, and 1995… but that’s about as much effort as went into it. Whereas recent throwback shows like Stranger Things, Pen15, and Derry Girls clearly went to painstaking lengths to ensure not a single gel pen or rollerblade would expose the fact that the series was actually created after the dawn of the iPhone, Cruel Summer basically just crimped a few strands of hair and called it a day. With a soundtrack full of covers of songs that are widely accepted as ‘90s classics, but weren’t necessarily released in the years in which the scenes takes place (shout-out to “Wonderwall,” which came out in 1995 but appeared in a scene set in 1993), it’s seems like Cruel Summer’s research budget pales in comparison to what the average individual shelled out for unused streaming subscriptions to boutique fitness cults companies throughout the pandemic.
The music could maybe be overlooked (how many of us know the exact year a song came out without having to Google it), but there are even more glaring issues. As Reddit users have pointed out, the use of technology is inconsistent with what high schoolers would have experienced during the decade. Unlike what we see on the show, teens didn’t really have their own computers in their bedrooms (the computer room erasure…) and weren’t yet fully obsessed with checking email or instant messaging. FYI, AIM didn’t roll out until 1997, and even though there were earlier instant messaging platforms, the dramatic away messages are really what encapsulated the era of virtual chat.
It’s just pretty bizarre that a show whose entire personality rests on taking place in the early ‘90s does such a bad job of… taking place in the early ‘90s. The home interiors are suspiciously neutral; I simply refuse to believe that any kid who had their own bathroom in 1993 didn’t also have a fish-themed shower curtain. How am I supposed to be transported back to the past if the bathroom doesn’t look like something an independently wealthy young couple on Fixer Upper would immediately gut? I simply cannot. I’d believe you if you told me that the wardrobe department solely sourced everything from Charlotte Russe’s 2017 collection—you know, that year in which we all wore clothes covered in checkered prints and embroidered roses. A few black velvet chokers and oversized flannels does not a genuine vintage outfit make!
Besides the dodgy attempt at creating a period drama, there are also plenty of other things that simply make no sense in Cruel Summer. Admittedly, my knowledge of Texas stops at The Real Housewives of Dallas and Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob Squarepants, but it does seem peculiar that only like, one character (Kate’s mother) bothers to speak with a Southern twang. I won’t throw any major spoilers at you, but there are also some pretty huge red flags in regards to the way the media covers a court case that are used to drive plot but are just straight-up illegal and would never happen IRL… outside of maybe Fox News, that is.
With that said, Cruel Summer is still definitely worth a watch if you’re into dramatic thrillers full of plot twists—just don’t expect it to accurately reflect your childhood or adolescence. If you’re looking for epic Levis and iconic Calvin Klein dresses, just rewatch Friends or Full House. But if you’re down for a cheesy mess that’s inexplicably binge-worthy, Cruel Summer is where it’s at.
Image: Freeform/Bill Matlock (2)
There are a few extremely important things to filter for when drowning in navigating the online dating cesspool: fuckboyness, serial killer potensh, and height. Now I know you might think that height shouldn’t be as big of a deal as probability of murder, but we all know you spend more time analyzing the likelihood of him actually being the 5’7″-plus he claims to be than you do pondering whether or not you’ll make it home alive (btw share your location with at least one friend during all first internet dates).
The shorties have two options when approaching their height on dating apps: either they lie to get a date and have to be the perfect man (which they aren’t because they lied AND they are short) to get a second one, or they are honest about their vertical deficiency and live in No Match Land for the rest of their lives. One might argue that as a betch who is 5’3″ on a good day (like when I wear one of those beanies with the little balls on top), I am lucky that legit everyone is taller than me and I should just shut the fuck up about it and match with them. And really, some of the best guys I know are under 5’7″: my cousins (one of which recently won a reality show, is Instagram verified and is like, a millionaire), and the now live-in boyfriend of my brave friend who defied all odds and gave a shot to a five-foot-six-er. But despite glaring evidence that short guys are worth a shot, I just can’t give my number out to someone who I haven’t been able to verify with photographic evidence (full body shot next to someone they are taller than) is over 5’7″). And on the days that I feel particularly vulnerable and consider taking a risk on a short looking match, I end up thinking to myself:
“But what if people see us holding hands and say: ‘Aww cute, look at that miniature couple'”? Poodles and golf should be miniature, me in a couple should not be. Or, God forbid we get married and have children, our kids would definitely be short—I don’t want them to suffer the way we had to. And, fuck, what if I weigh more than him? Given my current eating habits, that’s highly possible.
And in the end I just don’t do it, and let’s be honest—neither do you. And you know what, maybe we are seriously missing out on a gigantic pool of untouched 5’4″-5’7″ winners: maybe fuckboys don’t even come in sizes smaller than 5’7″, and maybe fear of commitment is just a symptom of being taller than me, but fuck it. If I am going to maybe get serial killed by my date, he should at least be a tall serial killer.
So no, I will not ruin the one good thing about online dating—where ladies have the power to decide who they will allow to fuck with our emotions offer to buy us a drink. And if you can’t tower over me when I wear three-inch heels, change my smoke detector batteries without a ladder, or snuggle me like the tiny little spoon I was meant to be, then you CANNOT slide into my DM’s. But if you are over 5’10” and a total asshole—hit me up.
Remember the days when the only way to predict what kind of man you’d end up with was to spend $200 on a psychic, another $100 on crystal healing stones, and then wait for a “man of great riches” to show up in three to six months?
Oh…was that just me?
Anyway, I’ve saved a lot of money since joining Hinge—the profile prompts alone are enough to give any single betch a glimpse into her wifely future. Read on to uncover the read-between-the-lines truths.
1. The Husband Who Wants Sons But Will Only Get Daughters
I have noticed the millennial men of Hinge take to 90’s classic The Mighty Ducks like a fuckboy to the phrase, “You’re on the pill, right?” If any one of his prompts references this movie, take note: your future husband expects you to produce male heirs only. Consider letting him wear a Henry VIII-inspired cape to your wedding, because that’s what you’re in for.
Inevitably though, because this happens to every past-his-prime jock, he will be cursed with daughters. This is the universe’s way of punishing him for every “U up?” text he sent before settling down with you, his Hinge princess.
Parenthood with this guy may start off grim (prepare for tears at your gender reveal), but he will soon realize he can lace up hot pink hockey skates just as easily as black ones. Before you know it, this guy will be playing Pretty Pretty Princess with a competitiveness usually reserved for Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final.
2. The Fancy Husband
Look, I know there’s a lid to every pot and all that hopeful shit, but is this guy serious? This is his “go-to dish”? Excuse me while I put on my ball gown and set the table with 15 forks for my “relaxed dinner.”
If you marry this guy, prepare for a lifetime of dinners resembling every meal at Richard and Emily Gilmore’s house, and Thanksgiving meals where sweatpants are not only discouraged…they are forbidden. Amazingly, some people enjoy this lifestyle. These are also the types of people who name their children “Winifred” and “Watson.”
I’m not into it, but I’m confident there’s a Barbour-clad betch somewhere out there just itching to release her inner Martha and enjoy a casual foie gras in front of the television Great Gatsby-esque, wood-burning fireplace.
Make sure you have ample ball gowns. You’ll need them.
3. The Husband Who LOVES Activities
In life, there are two types of people: those whose bucket list consists of “not hitting the snooze button 12 times,” and this guy.
On the surface, this future Hinge Husband looks like a shitton of fun. Four dates in, however, and you’ll realize the level of stamina it takes just to hang. Six dates in, you’ll find out about his “second” Instagram account—the one that’s sponsored by Red Bull and consists of thousands of GoPro pics of him leaping off mountains and dirt biking through jungles. Eventually, mainly because he gets an “influencer” discount at LuluLemon, you’ll agree to marry him.
Fair warning: This dude is exhilarating AF to be around, but your entire marriage will be like an episode of The Amazing Race with no prize at the end. He’s the type who, on your honeymoon, will say things like, “I’ve mapped out this relaxing itinerary for us.” When you look at it, one day will have enough activities crammed in to last the entire week.
4. The Childlike (But Loveable) Husband
No, this is not a quote from your future son or daughter. This is a real-life grown-up man. And someday, if you’re lucky, you could be his sprinkle-covered B&C (ball and chain, duh).
Married life with Mr. Ice Cream will consist of pretty much all things good: He will willingly take your brats to the amusement park, no questions asked. He will enjoy eating in bed with you while watching reruns of 90’s Nickelodeon game shows and The Nanny. He will never forget a birthday or anniversary, because he enjoys any type of party, period.
If you spot this guy on Hinge, run, don’t walk, to your spiked milkshake date. (Yes, these are a thing, and yes, he will suggest this.)
Images: Rawpixel.com / Unsplash; Hinge (4)
Pet Benatar once said “Love is a battlefield,” and I think the more modern and infinitely more accurate saying would be “Dating is a minefield.” There’s so much shit we have to watch out for: bad pickup lines, dudes who are still posing in their profile pictures with dead fish, Trump supporters, catfish. And now there’s a new dating horror story that’s apparently everywhere, if sites like the Daily Mail are truly representative of modern dating. It’s called kittenfishing, and before you ask what is kittenfishing, just know that it’s probably happened to you more than once.
Okay, so you know how catfishing is when you blatantly lie about who you are, what you look like, and basically everything about yourself so you can get someone to like you and then hopefully appear on an MTV show with Nev and Max? And you know how a kitten is a baby cat? Right, so kittenfishing is basically baby catfishing. Like, instead of stealing some Instagram thot’s pictures and passing them off as your own, maybe you use some old pictures from college when you were 10 pounds skinnier and had a fresh spring break tan. Or, say, you work at the Apple store hawking iPhones and tell people you work “in tech sales.” SPEAKING FOR A FRIEND.
Did a lightbulb just go off in your head because you’ve totally been kittenfished? Yeah, I know. Same. I feel like we all have one kittenfishing story. Ready? I’ll go first. So I meet this guy on Bumble, as one does. He seems like the full package. He’s cute—I mean, a little skinny for my taste but whatever I’m on Bumble, I’m not about to be picky. So yeah, he’s cute. He’s funny. He’s got a job, one that isn’t selling iPhones (if you can tell, I’m still a little bitter about that). He’s smart—I’m talking like ivy league smart. I give him my number. We’re texting. We’re vibing. He’s laughing at all my jokes and seems to be mildly impressed that I, a white girl in 2017, know a few things about rap music (remarkable, I know). We set up a date, and I’m thinking this is the one. I’m mentally introducing this guy to my parents, wondering if I should tell everyone we met on Bumble or just say we met at a bar when everyone will know the truth is we met on Bumble anyway?
But before I emotionally masturbate myself into my wedding dress, my common sense kicks in. “Wait a sec, Betchson,” I say to myself. “This guy is too good to be true. If he were really all that, he wouldn’t be on Bumble in the first place. You already stalked him on Instagram so you know he is who he says he is, but something’s got to be wrong with this picture.” I know, I’m ever the optimist. “What if he has like, a really bad haircut? Eh, I could live with that. Or—no, wait—he probably has a really weird voice. No—a face tat!” I laugh to myself at the idea of it—it’s just too ridiculous. “You crazy for this one,” I think to myself, because sometimes I think to myself in Jay Z’s ad libs.
So I get to the bar where I’m supposed to meet this guy. I’m sending a “here” text because I never like to show up early, but then I hear off in the distance, “Sgt. Olivia Betchson?” I almost don’t turn around because my name, my real name, is very common and also because it sounded to be a small child uttering it. “It can’t be” I think to myself. But I turn around anyway and IT’S HIM. My date. A full-grown man, exactly like in the pictures, but with the voice of Elmo. I immediately know it’s a wrap. I don’t know about you all, but I just could not fuck Mickey Mouse with a straight face. Part of me curses myself for having jokingly predicted this outcome, while part of me is smug that I was right, yet again. It’s a blessing and a curse, really.
(In this guy’s defense he was a perfectly nice dude except for the fact that one of the first things he said to me was to tell a story about how one time a girl showed up for a date who was heavier than her pictures and he literally pretended to be someone else and ran away. Seemed more than a little hypocritical, if you ask me.)
At the time, I asked my friends if “voice catfishing” was a thing. Now I know. I was a victim of kittenfishing, and if you think hard enough, you probably once were too. Comment below with your kittenfishing stories, and maybe I’ll feature the best ones in an article or something.
In spite of showing up to class hungover after dollar beer nights almost every week, you still made it to graduation. Congratulations betch, you’re about to leave the best time of your life and just be in… the rest of your life. Before you join the real world and have to make small talk with Annie from sales every Monday morning in the office kitchen, you need to enjoy your summer after graduation by some much needed traveling. So after you throw that cap up and attend approximately sixty graduation parties, go explore (aka get drunk in) these cities and celebrate never having to write another paper again.
1. Thailand
If only you could get free miles for every time you order pad thai, you could get a free trip to Thailand. Chances are this isn’t a place you studied abroad in, so it’s the perfect candidate for a post-grad trip. The Full Moon Party is an all-night party on an island that every visiting foreigner is going to be at. It’s like the Coachella of Thailand, but with more neon and less cultural appropriation. Well, actually we can’t promise the last part, because there will be Aussies there and they’re unpredictable.
2. Road Trip Across The U.S.
This is perfect if you’re already moving to a new city, because you’re going to have to move your shit somewhere anyway. Road tripping across the U.S. is something you thought about since you saw Britney in Crossroads and honestly it’s worth doing. Just make sure you get a good enough group together so you have someone to switch off driving with you. Plus the more rural you get the cheaper alcohol is. Bring a polaroid camera to get some IRL Instagram photos. Wait, are those just called photos? *stares off into space for 20 minutes* Also, you’ll be surprised how fun thrifting is in small towns, and you’ll be able to pick up some dope clothes and finally get rid of your Forever 21 shit from college.
3. Berlin
Berlin is like the nice guy we friendzoned in freshman year and then got super hot when he started working out. Like, we imagine it’s a chill city but now it’s one of the best places to be as a young adult. Everyone speaks English so you can get by without doing much work, and people are friendly to Americans. People love getting naked in clubs, but not in the creepy way. Plus people judge you for having your phone out at bars, which means you can actually have a good time off-line and be present in the moment or whatever my mom is constantly yelling at me to do.
4. Australia
Before you have to think about the answer to the “what’s next” question, get on a plane and get as far away from your anxiety about the future as you possibly can. Australia has hot people, beaches, and adorable koalas. Everyone in Australia is constantly traveling outside of Australia, so you might as well return the favor. Plus even if you don’t land the jobs you want, getting bad news while learning to surf from an instructor named Monty isn’t such a bad thing.
5. Iceland
If you don’t want to spend money before you actually start working full-time, we got you. Iceland is between Europe and the U.S. and it’s always cheap to fly there. You probably know it from every Instagram model’s page ever, but you can swim in the Blue Lagoon and who knows, maybe you’ll get a new Linkedin headshot out of it. Sure, you’ll be dressed completely inappropriately but at least everyone will know you’re adventurous. Iceland is a beautiful place and cheap to visit, which is perfect for your uncertainty about your future.
6. New Orleans
Take a graduation trip to New Orleans, trust us. If we had to describe New Orleans we’d say it’s the back tattoo of the South, but like in a good way. NOLA knows how to party. It’s a great place if you want to celebrate but still feel like an adult. Like, you’ve graduated from making out with randos in Mexico on Spring Break, and now you’re meeting strangers while surrounded by a ton of culture and great music. Plus the next time you come back it will probably be for your bachelorette party and that’s not going to be the same. Also Beyoncé filmed all of Lemonade there so you can hit up all the spots and pretend to be Bey even more than you normally do.
7. Amsterdam
Amsterdam is like the Vegas of Europe with less wedding chapels. Everything looks like it’s taken straight out of a Snow White storybook, so when you get high on the (legal) brownies, you can actually feel like you’re a princess from a fairytale. Unfortunately if you’ve got drug tests for your jobs you might want to skip the coffee shops here, but also you could just pass your drug test and then take a quick vacation before starting work. Plus you can bike everywhere here, which means you can work off whatever remaining Freshman 15 you still have on you.
On this week’s Betch Slapped, we talk about Bachelor Ben and Lauren’s breakup and how much we love the upcoming Bachelorette, Rachel Lindsay. We discuss a reader response to our Bill O’Reilly discussion and give a male listener advice on how to not be a fuckboy. We also give our thoughts on extravagant weddings.
We’ve officially reached a point where dating apps are a standard way to meet people. Much like CD’s replaced the cassette and the record before that, technology is changing and making things more convenient, which your grandma will argue makes them less worthwhile. Can I live, Nana? In the case of dating apps vs meeting people IRL, you’re still talking about yourself to people and judging their ability to make you happy for life. We’ve just gone from watching their dance moves at the sock hop or whatever to swiping through vacation photos and judging their ability to write a short witty bio and wondering why so many guys pose with dead fish.
But no matter how witty someone is on Tinder, they still don’t matter until you’ve met them in person. I mean, remember Smarterchild? You can talk with a bot on AIM for hours, but that bot will never care how your day went. So obvs the goal of dating apps is to actually meet someone in person to decide if you’re into them or not. How long should you actually talk before meeting up? Here is our definitive guide to when you should and shouldn’t meet up with someone.
You’ve been talking for about week constantly but you haven’t exchanged numbers yet: So if you and a guy are hitting it off, you should make a plan to hang out within the week you matched. That means you probably have had time to figure out the basics like job, location, whether he can reply to texts on time or not, and how likely he is to murder you and wear your skin. Plus by then Facebook will have decided he’s your soulmate and start putting him in Suggested Friends. You know he’s seeing the same thing on his profile. If you don’t make plans to meet and he’s already worked his way into your algorithm, you’ve waited too long.
It’s best to make a plan for that weekend or the next week, because anything later means you’ll probably just cancel on each other. Once you make plans, instead of simmering on the dating app, you should give him your number so you can text each other in the day leading up to meeting IRL. Switching from dating app messaging to texting a few days before the date will make it feel like you’re building to something. You’ll be able to have longer conversations that won’t feel like you’re talking to ten other people at the same time.
You’ve been talking on and off for almost a month, and neither of you have made plans to meet up: I mean, he sees that you’re witty and hot and still hasn’t asked you out? Then he’s probably in a relationship and def just using Tinder to power play his way out of feeling trapped. If he hasn’t asked you out yet but you’re also not that into it, you’re probably both keeping each other as backburners for when you’re both bored. You should unmatch him because your time is precious and why waste perfect conversation on a mediocre match?
He asks you to get drinks as soon as you match: If he asks you to meet up on the first conversation you have, he’s just trying to fuck. Like, this guy doesn’t even know that you have a job or that your hobbies don’t include arson, and he’s already trying to meet up? Only reason he’d risk that is for the pussy. He’s not trying to get to know you. So unless you’re one day post-breakup territory, him pushing to get drinks right away is usually a red flag. If that’s not what you’re into, just unmatch him. Don’t even bother giving an excuse.
He asked you for your number after talking to you for a few days: He probably does want to meet up with you but is intimidated. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? If he’s already asked for your number, he is interested. Ask him if he wants to get drinks—if he made the move to get your number he’ll appreciate you taking the lead on setting a plan.
He says things like “We should get drinks sometime” but doesn’t actually make a plan and sometimes takes weeks to respond: Fuck this guy. He wants to keep you on his radar for a hookup in the very distant—and I mean distant—future. I mean, if you’re into that and need to add a new guy to your rotation, then by all means entertain this fuckery. But you’re not a priority to this dude and in reality you’re more likely to meet John Stamos on a plane and have him tell you you’re pretty than actually get drinks with the Tinder dude. It’s like he’s already gone out on dates and came back around and found you and thought, “oh yeah… her.” You don’t want to be a sweater he found while cleaning out his closet that he decides to try on for fun. Block that bro.
He makes a plan for two weeks from now: He is either going to cancel on you, or you’re going to cancel on him. Neither of you really care that much about each other or you’d try harder to hang out. In the back of your mind you think he could be the love of your life if you just met him, but deep down you know that’s def not true. Like, you probably enjoyed 3 out of 5 of his photos, and he may have said something politically insensitive that makes you think you are not going to enjoy talking to him. Unmatch him and move on, you don’t need new friends.
I was just hate-reading Cosmo, as one does, when I came across an article called “6 Men And Women Get Real About What It’s Like To Be A Sapiosexual.” Because I enjoy angering myself (and because I continue to ignore my doctor’s advice to avoid stressful situations to keep my blood pressure at a healthy rate), I clicked on it. Now, I’m vaguely aware of the concept of “sapiosexuality” because I listed to one Ab Soul song one time. For those of you who don’t spend 16 hours a day on Tumblr aren’t familiar, a “sapiosexual” is defined as “a person who finds intelligence sexually attractive or arousing,” aka ALL FUCKING PEOPLE who would describe themselves as smart. Like, come on. You don’t find it attractive when someone is dumb as rocks? Congratulations, you’re a member of the not completely shallow section of humanity. Welcome. We’ve been here for years without trying to make up a fake-ass label for ourselves to seem “special” and “interesting.”
In case you’re like “well IDK maybe this is a real thing, who am I to judge” let’s look to the original article for clues as to why this is definitely not, in fact, a thing. And in case you’re wondering, yes I am qualified to judge given that I am God. Anywho, in this piece, Cosmo interviews six so-called sapiosexuals. Like, I don’t want to sound like a certain recently fired conservative talk show host, but if there was ever a case for the “special snowflake millennial syndrome,” this would be it right here.
Cosmo starts with, “Sapiosexual isn’t just a buzzy word popping up on people’s OkCupid profiles, it’s a real thing.” Uh, okay. Compelling point you made that’s backed up with zero evidence other than this blanket statement and the word of a handful of millennials (we’ll get to that in a sec).
First off, every person interviewed is between the ages of 22 and 26. That already should tell you the type of people we’re dealing with (*cough* hipsters *cough*). Here’s how a few of them describe what being a sapiosexual means to them:
Woman A: That I find a person’s intelligence, wit, grasp on academia, and worldly perspectives far more attractive than their looks.
You and literally everyone who’s gone to college.
Woman C: I identify as a sapiosexual, because to me talking about chemistry is the equivalent of talking dirty to me.
Great, you’re a nerd. Last time I checked, that’s not a sexuality.
And here’s them on when they first “realized” they were a sapiosexual.
Woman A: Definitely early in college when I figured out what I wanted to be in my life.
Woman B: Probably when I was 20 and had just left my high school boyfriend and entered the college hook-up scene.
Woman C: I think I was 17 when I realized it.
Man C: I guess I realized I was sapiosexual in college? That’s when I really started to date women from outside my friend circles and realized what turned me on other than looks.
Okay so…. two-thirds of y’all are in or about to go to college aka an institution of higher learning when you “just happened” to realize you’re attracted to smart people? And you don’t think that could be a product of being in an environment that’s focused on learning and not, ya know, because you fall under some new sexuality category that has only been “discovered” in like, the past three years?
On what makes someone attractive to them:
Woman A: I’m attracted most to men if they can engage me in debate-like conversations (whether it’s about who the best Mario Kart character is, or discussing John Oliver).
Oh, so you’re attracted to regular fucking people who can hold a conversation.
Man C: She needs to be cute, smart, and classy
In other words…
Man C: *Goes on record to Cosmopolitan to talk about how novel his sexuality is*
Also Man C: *likes the same qualities in a woman as every fucking straight guy ever*
Yeah, that’s all I’m getting into for today. This shit is ridiculous. From what I was able to glean through the power of context clues, every single one of these people is straight, and every single one is a millennial. How much do you want to bet they’re all white? Because I’m white and even I can recognize this is some grade-A level extra white people shit. Just say intelligence is important to you—it’s not that hard.
Look. Every smart person is also attracted to smart people. That’s because generally most people want to date other people they can relate to and talk to…this is not a new concept. Could one perhaps be so into intelligence it can border on fetishism? It’s possible. Does it warrant a special sexuality label and the self-righteous belief that you’re ~different than other straight people? Fuck no. You are just a garden-variety straight person. WHICH IS FINE. Accept it! Why not just enjoy your continued privilege of being able to marry whoever you want and not get harassed or attacked for being seen with your SO in public, rather than trying to make up new sexualities so you can feel edgy and misunderstood and slightly oppressed?
Yeah, you can all kindly GTFO of here with this. And I recommend to you all that if you come across a dating profile that says “sapiosexual”, RUN. Or like, swipe left.
