“Obviously,” Johnny said, “we’d also be adding the ability for Fluttr users to review women.”
“Really?”
I imagined the kinds of reviews I might find on my Fluttr profile: Snooped beneath my bathroom sink. Stalked my ex-girlfriend. Kept a huge secret from me then accused me of being the liar in our relationship. Horrifying!
Johnny snickered. “Of course. To allow women to rank men but not the other way around is reverse sexism, no? And let’s not forget we have a tremendous number of LGBTQ users who would also be participating. We can’t just narrow this down to a man-versus-woman thing.”
“Right,” Mitch/Will said. “Anyone on Fluttr would be able to review anyone else. No restrictions.”
I swallowed hard. None of this felt right.
“What role would I be expected to play in this whole project?” I asked.
“Role?”
“Would I be joining the Fluttr team to assist with integration?”
He looked insulted. “Why would you want to join the Fluttr team? We’d be giving you half a million dollars. Take the money and enjoy yourself. Go travel or something.”
“Well, I feel like I could bring a lot to the team.” Although, now that I realized what the team was going to be doing with this data, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on it anymore.
Of course, it’s not like that had ever been an option.
“Listen,” he said, slowly, as if he were talking to a child. “I’m not sure you’re the right culture fit for Fluttr. To be clear, this isn’t an offer of employment. It’s a one-time business transaction.”
I bristled at the words culture fit. What did that mean, exactly? Was he referring to the fact that I was wearing a dress and heels while they were decked out in hoodies and jeans? Or was he talking about something more deep-rooted, something completely immutable?
“So.” Johnny clapped his hands together so loudly, I jumped. “Do you have any questions for us?”
There were lots of questions swirling around in my brain, but one of them stood out above all.
“In that Reddit thread yesterday, there was some debate over whether Fluttr was designed for finding hookups or for helping people find love. Which one is it?”
They all laughed. “Does it really matter? People use it for both, don’t they?”
“Right. But what was the intention? When you first developed Fluttr, what problem were you trying to solve? How did you envision this app would help people?”
“Who said anything about helping people?”
I kept waiting for Johnny to say, “Just kidding!” but instead, the room filled with stony silence.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“We’re not in the business of relationships here. We’re in the business of data collection. Do you know how many people use our app every month? Twelve million. Every day, we average over a billion swipes worldwide. That’s an incredible amount of information. Our databases are overflowing with locations, interests, behaviors, messages. That data is powerful and valuable. That’s what matters.”
“To who?”
“To advertisers. Personal data is what drives this economy. Not relationships. But, hey, if we help a few people get laid, all the better, right?”
“Right.” I forced myself to smile, even though I felt like I was going to be sick.
It turned out Fluttr wasn’t a hookup app, but it wasn’t a way to meet the love of your life, either. It had absolutely nothing to do with human connection. It was all about gathering data, and trading that data for money. Counting swipes, tracking whereabouts, collecting statistics. Hooking into a person’s most private moments and deepest desires purely for a profit.
“So, what do you say?” Johnny smirked. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
“I need some time to think.”
Even as I said the words, a panicked voice inside my head shouted: You fool! What are you doing? Take the money! Now, now, now! But I was too conflicted. Yes, I needed the money, but was this really how I wanted to earn it? I wasn’t so sure.
Johnny’s lip curled. A man who was used to getting what he wanted wasn’t too thrilled when he heard the word no. Or even the word maybe.
“You’re taking the red-eye tonight, right?”
I nodded.
“Then sleep on it,” he said. “Let me know in the morning.”
The three of them left the room without saying goodbye.
25
My desire to see the sights of San Francisco quickly vanished. Instead, I went straight to the airport and switched to an earlier flight, then spent the entire five and a half hours downing complimentary vodka sodas and spiraling into an anxious abyss.
I know, I sounded ungrateful. After all, I’d been offered more money than many people would ever see in a lifetime. I should’ve been whooping it up, bouncing around in this spacious First Class seat and planning a student loan payoff party. But I couldn’t move. It felt like a cinder block had lodged itself deep in my guts, pinning me to the buttery leather.
As I stared out the window into the darkening sky, I kept thinking about how wrong I’d been. The flight, the chauffeur, the hotel—it all had me feeling so convinced that today was going to be the first day of the next phase of my life.
But it wasn’t. It was more like a false start.
Don’t get me wrong, half a million dollars would’ve changed my world significantly. It could easily get me out of debt, with enough left over to buy a small studio apartment in an uncool section of Brooklyn. I could even quit the help desk, remain funemployed for a little while.
Once I did that, though, what came next? I couldn’t very well kick my feet up and do nothing for the rest of my life. Even if I wanted to, half a million dollars wouldn’t sustain me forever. So where would I go from here?
I’d always said I wanted to create something of value. Not just monetary value, but a product or a service that would improve people’s lives. With JerkAlert, I’d done that: I’d created a safe, communal space for women to vent about being harassed, to call men out on their inappropriate behavior, and to help find a trustworthy partner. To me, it wasn’t just “data.” It was one huge cautionary tale. It was catharsis.
If I accepted this offer, though, I’d be selling out to the very same man who’d created the problem I’d been trying to solve. A dick pic apologizer, who enabled Fluttr to become a free-for-all of harassment and emotional detachment. A man who reduced everyone’s personal experiences to a bunch of data points. Handing this database over to him meant JerkAlert would be dismantled, the information would be sold to advertisers, and all that value I’d created would go away.