This millennial life is killing us. No amount of
houseplants, meditation apps or CBD oil supplements will ever be enough
to fix the mess that these boomers got us into. I remember a time when I firmly
believed that life imitates art. It turns out that modern life imitates
Instagram, instead. It’s Kylie Jenner’s world... and we’re living in it.
Of all the ways in which Instagram has taken control of our
lives, I am always amazed by how it has become the ultimate flirting tool, without which
I would never be able to gauge people’s romantic interest in me before I start with subtly targeted posts (backed by incontrovertible evidence such as
their position in my IG stories views etc.).
I quickly became convinced that the time has come for me to
start a Love series on this blog, philosophise about life, talk to cool people
with interesting stories, express my shock and disbelief at new dating trends…
the work. I already know where I am going to write it from: my new,
highly instagrammable East London flat, huddled in my very pinterestable
writing corner (which doesn’t exist yet) with a little wooden desk under a
window and a table lamp and a tartan rug and maybe a framed picture of Jeff
Goldblum.
I’m going to write about love, yes. And I’m going to force
my flatmate to take cute pictures of me writing about love in the age of
Instagram and then proceed to post said pictures on - guess guess - Instagram,
to impress my new romantic interest and give life to the meta-comedy of the
century. Move over, Black Mirror, for He is coming. Am I a genius? I
wouldn’t rule it out. Of course you have a right to disagree – but I have a
right to be offended about it and voice my disapproval on Instagram for my
three followers to drag you. Because they STAN, and you should too.
Anyway, back to writing about love. It was never easy (or
particularly original) but Carrie Bradshaw did it so well - and it wasn’t even
that long ago! But love in the age of Tinder is something that none of us has
learnt to navigate, let alone explain. But that’s what makes it fun, right? I’m
thinking something along the lines of a millennial Sex and the City but with
very little sex and a medley of mental health issues and student debt. You’ll
love it.
We’re going through a very peculiar moment of time. The
rules of love are being rewritten and really, no one knows what’s right and
therefore no one can tell me I’m wrong. I might turn out to be mistaken in a
distant future, when the dust has settled on the desolate landscape of dating
in the late 2010s and everything will have become clearer, but for now I’m
good.
I am no authority but in the age of whatthefuckisgoingon
I am as much of an expert as the next person so you might as well listen to
what I have to say, because I may be wrong - but at least you’ll get a laugh
out of it.
I just know that the stories I have heard and the
experiences I have gathered are too good not to share with an audience of
sexually and emotionally frustrated strangers. My friends have crazy lives and
sex talk with them has become a grotesque and terrifying pantomime that unfolds
over pitchers of tequila sunrise and bags of stale tortilla chips. I know at
least two Scandinavian authors that would feel inspired to write a best-selling
thriller about our love lives (Jo Nesbo, if you’re reading this, let’s
talk).
Life’s messy, love’s messier. I am a writer so I’ll write
about it. It works well for my portfolio - and It’s cheaper than therapy. You,
on the other hand, may be wondering why you’re so unlucky in love. I’ll tell you
what works for me. When you think you’ve had it bad - listen (or read) to the
stories of those who had it worse. You may still be sad - but boy, you will be
glad it didn’t happen to you.
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