“A new dating app for queer women.”
“So you’ve given up on Fluttr?”
“No,” Dani said. “I just wanted to try something else. Fluttr has a decent interface for LGBTQ users, but my thinking was that maybe a woman-only space would have a different sort of vibe—less bullshit, more tact. But so far I’m not having much luck.”
“Why is online dating so horrible?” I moaned.
“I suspect it has something to do with the detachment associated with digital correspondence, and the inability to establish a true connection with someone in the absence of physical cues. Philip Brixton has conducted numerous studies about the importance of nonverbal communication. The results are fascinating.”
Only Dani could turn a Friday night bitchfest into an academic analysis of human behavior. Don’t get me wrong: I was proud that she was doing so well for herself, but the rest of us weren’t getting a PhD in Sociology. Her ten-dollar words and references to obscure research studies were lost on us. But I didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious, so I said, “Interesting,” even though I had no clue what she was talking about.
Whit was less subtle. “Speak English, nerd.”
Dani tossed her braids over one shoulder and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “It means that it’s really hard to give a shit about someone unless you can look them in the eye. Body language is crucial to building relationships.”
“See? I always say body language is important.” Whit adjusted her Bombshell Bra with such vigor that her breasts nearly spilled out of her deep V-neck T-shirt. The drunk guy next to me muttered something lecherous, but Whit ignored him and continued, “I’ve never had a problem with the guys I’ve met on Fluttr, though. True, I get the occasional weirdo with an Asian fetish, but that’s certainly not a Fluttr-specific phenomenon. So that blows your whole detachment theory out of the water.”
“I wouldn’t classify what you do on Fluttr as ‘building relationships,’” Dani said, as the server delivered our drinks. Lia and I snorted, but Whit smirked triumphantly. She’d had a ton of success with dating apps because she used them purely for hookups. No guy in his right mind would ever left-swipe Whitney Hwang’s photo: pouty red lips, silky black hair, cleavage for days. She listed her occupation as “Provocateur,” which wasn’t completely inaccurate given the fact that she worked in PR. I’d lost count of how many one-night stands she’d racked up thanks to Fluttr.
Which was great for her. But I wanted something that lasted more than a night.
“I just wish there was a way to weed out the profiles of people who aren’t interested in a meaningful relationship,” I said. “Or people who say they’re interested in a meaningful relationship, but really aren’t.”
“Like people who ghost out of nowhere after weeks of pointless messages,” Lia added.
“Or people who stand you up,” Dani said, with a swig of her martini.
“Or people who send you dick pics,” I said.
Dani cringed. “I’ve never had that problem.”
“Of course you haven’t. You only date women.”
“I love how they’re always non sequiturs, too,” Lia said. “Like you’re just texting about the weather and out of nowhere—surprise! It’s a penis. What’s the point?”
“It’s pure exhibitionism,” Dani said.
“It’s borderline abusive.”
Whit cocked her head. “You know, I don’t really mind the occasional dick pic.”
“Men are the worst.” I drained the rest of my martini in one dramatic gulp, then slammed the glass down so hard on the table, I was shocked it didn’t shatter into a million pieces.
“The problem,” Whit said, “is that you’re going about it all wrong. Fluttr isn’t the place to go looking for a happily-ever-after.”
Lia raised her finger. “Well, I did use it to meet Jay.”
“We know,” Whitney said, with a roll of her eyes.
“I’m not even looking for a happily-ever-after,” I said. “I’d be satisfied with a happy-for-now. To meet a guy who actually took the time to get to know me and told me the truth and treated me with respect.”
“Well, you’re not gonna find that on Fluttr.” Whit fished the lychee from the bottom of her martini glass and popped it in her mouth. Then her eyes got wide and sparkly. “Hey, why don’t you write your own dating app?”
Lia and Dani oohed and aahed.
“That’s a great idea!”
“Yeah, you can make it super selective. Ban all the losers.”
“You could totally put Fluttr out of business.”
“Aren’t you surrounded by start-up investors all day? I’m sure they’d go crazy for a new dating app.”
“It’s not that simple,” I said.
“Who said anything about simple?” Whitney said. “Just because it’s not easy doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”
“I can help you design a front end, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lia said. It was sweet of her to offer, since she was already swamped with the demands of her day job as a graphic designer for a big ad agency.
But designing a user interface wasn’t what worried me. It was everything else. I saw what those founders went through. Months of endless demands and sleepless nights. Disappointment. Failure. Rejection. At the end of a three-month incubation period, only half of all Hatchlings went on to receive additional funding. The rest of the fledgling start-ups just died.
Not to mention, putting an app out there with my name on it was a lot of responsibility to deal with. If it sucked, I had no one to blame but myself. Sure, working the help desk wasn’t glamorous, but at five o’clock, I punched out for the day and left the stress of it all in the office. It never followed me home.
“I just can’t,” I said.
Whitney sighed and steepled her fingertips beneath her chin. I knew what was coming next. Another one of her lectures on “leaning in and claiming my seat at the table.” Advice on how to define an action plan for my life, tips on how to see it through.
I didn’t want to deal with this now. All I wanted was an uncomplicated Friday night bitchfest. Why was it so hard to make that happen?
Before Whitney could get into it, though, our server came by with a tray full of shots. As he set them down before us, I said, “We didn’t order these. Did we?”
“No,” he replied, tucking the tray under his arm. “These are compliments of the gentleman to your left.”