JOYCE CHAN Illustrator
Worst Dates
The over Explainer SARAH ROSE Features Editor
A woman’s early 20’s is a fragile period. Fresh into adulthood, we’re already at the peak of the attraction curve for heterosexual men of all ages while under immense existential pressure to make major decisions about life. As William Gibson eloquently illustrates in Pattern Recognition, how do we plan for a future when the future is already over? Wrestling with generational traumas and unable to reason meaningfully about a stolen future, the early adulthood of women is marked by leaning into a culture of eternal youth—or making a Tinder profile. At least that’s what seemed reasonable to me after coming out of a traumatic breakup. At the tender age of 22, I’d signed up for OKCupid under the impression that the algorithmic love promised by the platform couldn’t be that bad, or at least not somehow worse. Within two weeks I’d made the “hottest users” list, which vaguely translates to a symphony in my inbox of 40-year-old men asking for threesomes and messages of “Hey, do you like drum and bass? Let me lick your feet.” At some point, I swiped right on some attractive pilot, a real Maverick in Top Gun type, who described himself as an avid reader. We agreed to meet up for a pint at my favourite haunt, The Wise Hall, and sitting across from the bar I genuinely felt excited, until he opened his mouth. 1 8
Our editors band together to reminisce about failed courtships, soiled jackets, and how many times Fight Club can be mentioned in one night
“Do you like Fight Club?” “Sure,” I replied. Most people have encountered something by Chuck Palahniuk before. Like a friend of mine who encountered a water bottle from Palahniuk thrown at his head at a book signing, followed by ‘now you have a story about meeting Chuck Palahniuk.’ Which I should’ve taken as a sign that bringing up Fight Club on a first date is shorthand for a very particular type of guy. Afterall, the first rule of Fight Club is don’t admit to liking Fight Club. To be fair, Fight Club grapples with the same early 20’s dilemma of empty futures, but it resolves it through toxic anger and violence. It’s the kind of story that belongs to the guys who enjoy “debating me” in class, and that’s exactly what my date decided to do—launch into a two-hour debate over whether the ending of the movie captured the essence of the book. “No, like, you just don’t get it!” he went on. A friend of mine from across the bar felt so bad for me taking center stage in this horror movie that when my date excused himself for the bathroom, he threw me over his shoulder like an Irishman smuggling out a sack of potatoes in the 17th Century. A few hours later, I’d get a text from Fight Club man, “I assume there won’t be a second date.” Sometimes, making decisions about the future is abundantly easy.
