by Ferdinand Bardamu
Perhaps I’m simply old-fashioned, but I’ve never once considered online dating. Maybe it’s because I’m a Luddite, slow to adapt to new technology — I used a crappy prepaid cell phone until a year ago, I only bought a Kindle in October, and the only video game system I own is an ancient PlayStation 2. Maybe it’s because online dating sites are gigantic bratwurst parties, with men outnumbering women by a huge margin. More likely, it’s because I have an inborn prejudice against meeting women online, birthed during my formative years. Back in the Wild West era of the Internet (early 90′s – early 00′s), the only people who would even think about online dating were the most awkward of freaks, socially maladroit lumps of flesh who barely qualified as human. There’s nothing like watching a stick-thin, bucktoothed geek exchanging vows with a pear-shaped she-thing with coke-bottle glasses on a video game forum to make eugenics seem like a great idea.
The point is that all the women I’ve ever been with, I met in the real world. I don’t even like Facebook that much — I maintain a profile so I can keep tabs on all the happenings in town, but that’s it. I explicitly tell my friends to text or call me if they need to get a hold of me. If you run into me at a party or bar or club, you’ll never see me hunched over staring at my phone playing Angry Birds or whatever. I like talking to people in the flesh — what a novel concept!
So when I heard about Tawkify, a new dating service with the following tagline:
Tired of online dating? We are too! We’ll match you over the phone.
…I was mildly intrigued. That lasted all of thirty seconds, until I realized that Tawkify is just another insidious vehicle for misandry.
The concept is simple. You give the site your name, phone number and email. After getting a code from a robocall, you fill out ten questions — your age, your state, your sex etc. — and upload your photo. Then you select whether you want one match or three (the former costs $8, the latter $15), pay via PayPal, and that’s it. The site’s owners will personally match you to someone based on the info you’ve provided and you’ll get a seven-minute long phone call from them the following Monday. Okay, so no problems so far. Unfortunately, we have not yet reached Tawkify’s heart of darkness.
Enter the site’s founder, E. Jean Carroll, whose claim to fame is being a writer for Saturday Night Live back in the eighties. Reader Lushfun alerted me to an interview Carroll gave for Betabeat concerning Tawkify, in which she dropped this little tidbit:
So do people send in pictures?
Oh yes, they have to have pictures because I have to see what they look like. But one of the reason why so many women signed up is because they’re protected. Nobody sees their picture. So creeps and jugheads and assholes are not sending them messages.
So if you’re a man, you don’t even get to see what your match looks like, but the women can scrutinize every detail you provide — your picture, income, job and interests. The only thing you learn about your match is what you can squeeze out of her during a seven-minute phone call. If my blind date turns out to be a frothing psycho bitch, can I hold E. Jean responsible?
If you’re picking the matches, how are you planning on scaling? Say it really takes off?
No, we’re keeping it small and select. This is not gonna be three million people, this is not going to be Match.com. I am not going near people like this guy who emailed —are you ready for this? This is what he wants in a woman: “Not a whore. Not fat. But an intellectual.” [laughs] Now I am not going to match him! I don’t care how much money he pays me, he is not going to get a match. Not a whore, not fat, but an intellectual?
Yeah, right on girl! A man wanting a woman who is intelligent, fit and chaste? That is CLEARLY too much to ask for! What an audacious, creepy scumbag!
So, let’s recap — pay money to have your identity and picture cross-examined by a menopausal old hag and her computer geek slave, and matched with a woman you know NOTHING about for a phone chat that is cut off after seven minutes. Gee, where can I get in on this amazing business opportunity?
I don’t begrudge E. Jean Carroll for trying to make money. I don’t know anything about her personally; she might be a laugh riot in person, I’ll never know. But Tawkify’s business model revolves around stripping men of their dignity and self-worth in hopes for a piece of tail. She’s disturbingly open about it as well:
What was the inspiration for Tawkify?
The inspiration, do you live in New York?
So you know what the situation is. There’s loads and tons and an overrun of beautiful, accomplished, sexy, incredible, incredibly skilled, affluent, athletic women. They love football! They love everything! And there are less men. So what has happened is in a Darwinian sense, women are now competing for the men, instead of [laughs] the two-and-a-half billion year plan where men compete for women. So the men have now become the women.
How many people have signed up so far?
Let’s say lots of women. And it’s not that we don’t have men signing up, we have not as outstanding… I can’t match these superlative women with these dudes.
Yes, no men on earth are good enough for these princesses. Where have all the good men gone? After American society spent the past three decades beating men down, drugging them, handicapping them, and blaming them for all the world’s ills, we’re now expected to shed a tear for the poor successful, accomplished women who can’t find a man. Even in victory, women are always the victims. If you haven’t read this sickening piece from Philadelphia Magazine, “The Sorry Lives and Confusing Times of Today’s Young Men,” I highly recommend you do:
THE WOMEN ARE IRATE. The women are talking about men, young men, the men they’d like to date and marry, and are they ever pissed. Here’s what they’re saying:
“All they want is sex. They don’t care about relationships.”
“They’re so lazy.”
“All they do is play video games.”
“They aren’t men. They’re boys.”
The women are a little bewildered. They’re good girls. They followed the script: did well in high school, got into college, worked hard there, got out, got jobs, started looking around for someone special to share life with, and …
“I met a guy the other night. Good-looking, smart. Twenty-eight years old. He still lives at home. With his mom.” Young men are now nearly twice as likely as young women to live with their parents; 59 percent of guys ages 18 to 24 and 19 percent of 25-to-34-year-olds live at home. Based on those Census Bureau stats, 64,000 young Philly men have returned to or never left the nest—and they all have mothers, ex-girlfriends, grandmothers, dads and other friends and relations worrying about their plight.
After collectively whacking young men in the shins with a shovel, women and society tell them to run a marathon, and insult them when they can’t stand up on two broken legs. When we succeed, we’re blamed for keeping the wimmenz down; when we fail, we’re blamed for not meeting their standards. We can’t win for losing. It’s so bad that a failed hack writer thinks she can build a business on getting us to grovel before her in exchange for a date. E. Jean Carroll’s casual misandry is just another symptom of our sick, anti-male society.
I say enough. It’s time to Fuck Their Shit Up. More specifically, it’s time for a Google bomb.
Here’s what you do — add a link to this post on your blog that looks like this:
Hell, you can just copy and paste that onto your blog. Even better, write your own post discombobulating Tawkify. The more articles explaining why Tawkify is a reeking sewer, the better. When your post is up, let me know and I’ll add a link to it here. It is time for the manosphere to unite for a good cause, the cause of making the comfortable uncomfortable. The cause of Fucking Their Shit Up. To victory!