I am super secure in my masculinity and spirituality so shitting on your interest in astrology is important to me Alia Thorpe Follow Oct 21, 2019 · 5 min read

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Hello, new love interest. I can’t help but notice your Bumble profile is chock-full of information, ripe for my commentary, waiting to be picked apart.

I choose my mates carefully, first swiping on every person to come across my screen, then strategically ghosting so as to show my selectivity. But you have won my attention.

Did you know I, like you, have also attended a university, gaining vast pools of knowledge that make me intellectually superior to my competitors on this platform? You must have noticed this, as you too have swiped right.

Gaze upon my graduation picture as proof of my academic prowess. It’s true. I am a scholar. I have thought critically and I have written papers, resulting in employment which has led me to a residence in this city. And this city has been my gateway to you, my potential future “u up?” text recipient.

I read through your profile. 5'5", 26 years old. I comb through your pictures. Aesthetically speaking, I am pleased. Your bio blurb is short and to the point. You are not making me read an essay, as I have done throughout my four-year career as an academic. You know I am uninterested in too many of your words, distracting me from your carefully curated slideshow of photographs.

But what’s this? An emoji sequence?

You’ve written me a riddle: ♒ sun, ♈ moon, ♑ rising.

How did I let such hieroglyphics make their way into a right swipe of mine? I have seen these before. You are interested in astrology. These squiggles hold meaning for you. I am in too deep.

It dawns on me. You may be intellectually inferior after all. But don’t worry. I can save you. I am a smart man, and I will show you the way.

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You message me first. We are on Bumble, proving I am a feminist. It is impossible for me to offend you on this dating platform, as we allow women to speak first here.

How is my day going? That’s all you have to say to me? There is an elephant in the room but I will humor you. I tell you it’s fine, asking you to tell me about your day as well.

You take the bait. This message is my TedX stage and you have given me the proverbial microphone.

I ask about your interests. I allude to astrology. I have proven that I pay attention and read your bio, deserving similar attention to my own profile, rife with references to The Office, showing my unique television interests to all of Bumble.

Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica. Now there is relevant information to include in a Bumble profile.

You admit it. Astrology is an interest of yours. An excellent tool for self reflexion, you explain.

Thank God we talk from behind the comfort of our screens, or else you would see my jaw agape. Have I matched with an imbecile?

A cult has captured the fair maiden. The only way to save her? My own expertise, not in the field of astrology or spirituality, but in my own life experiences and learned lessons from my Communications BA.

I will rescue you with logic.

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What is it about your emoji sequence that disturbs me so deeply? Is it my own lack of understanding? Is it my own deep-rooted hyper-millennial nihilism? Is it my inability to self reflect, therefore avoiding tools that promote it? Or could it be that girl I used to date, the one that made jokes at my expense for being a Gemini? No, it cannot be me. I am intelligent. Astrology is the problem.

I challenge you with a riveting thought: I think astrology is stupid and fake.

Silence on your end; perhaps I have offended you, or stumped you at that. I stare at pictures of you and zoom in on your boobs for motivation and decide this fight is worth it for our love.

I send links to tweets. There are many, my angelic dum dum. Feast your eyes upon their likes. Little do you know, I am among their admirers.

Soon we can move past this, with intermittent tests throughout our courtship to check in on your beliefs.

_____________

You have responded. I have won your attention. Knowledge prevails.

But you challenge me and my library of tweet screenshots. You tell me it’s alright if I’m not into astrology but that it’s not stupid and actually important to you.

Oh, how wrong you are.

The vein in my forehead is throbbing. Of course, it is alright if I am not into astrology. But I have taken on a new identity in the course of our exchange, that of the vigilante.

I know. I’ll make light of your comments. I will show I am on your side, gaining your trust.

“If you say so lol 🧐”

This emoji is my trump card. It shows my disbelief while asserting my intellectual superiority. The monocle, a metaphor for the years of affirmation I have received. Affirmation from professors, upvotes on Reddit, retweets, and Facebook likes on links I share with no context.

This emoji is my spirit guide. If you insist on being ‘an Aquarius’, I shall allow myself to embody this tiny academic.

_____________

I go to return to your profile. Your appearance reinforces for me that this is a battle worth fighting. Perhaps you will find my pluckiness charming, my intellect seductive.

Wait, something must be wrong here. Is Bumble glitching?

My heart, you have disappeared. A series of old, ghosted matches remain where your thumbnail once smiled at me.

Why have you forsaken me? Is it my intellectual superiority? Is it my commitment to making you understand the way of the world?

I will treat this as a learning experience. Not every match will be willing to take my lessons with grace. And that’s alright.

On to the next, a woman even more deserving of my attention.

Wait, what the shit, what do you mean you’re a vegetarian?