I'm Only Here for the WiFi (10 page)

Even the clubs that are rendered slightly more justifiable by their themed parties, sponsored events, and open bar for ladies are eventually revealed for their inherent skeeziness sometime around the midnight mark. At a certain point, the floor becomes a glorified safari, the women on display like a particularly well-coiffed pack of gazelle, the men in their canvas jackets, pointing and staring before considering whether or not they could poach one before tonight. It is a question of being constantly watched, observed, and judged. Whether coyly glanced at over the rim of a drink, or downright glared at by a jealous dancer on the floor whose shoes are far from being that cute, it's one giant competition.

So we bring our friends, of course, to at least briefly escape the cloying atmosphere of posturing and move-making, but that usually ends in incoherent screaming at each other as you dance in a rough circle in some dark corner. Though it certainly provides a buffer from the rivers and waterfalls of skeezers coming from every conceivable direction, it's certainly not the place to have a coherent conversation or really enjoy each other's company.

Let's be honest: There are only so many times you can scream about how much you love a particular song before the dance floor loses its charm. Not to mention, after a certain point, the entire building takes on the humidity and general odor of a well-used
gym sock. It's just not the best place to be if you're looking for a reasonable night out.

So where do we go? What are the options that leave us all happy, wealthy, and relatively dry at the end of the evening? Well, we could all take up hobbies that don't involve drinking but allow us to learn something new while enjoying each other's company for what it is in its natural state—having real conversations unmarred by inebriation or societal pressure to go home with a sex partner. We could all sign up for activities together, take dance lessons or join a bowling league, or even do some volunteering and then maybe cook for each other afterward. If you think about it, it could probably be pretty fun and easy on the pockets.

Just kidding. We'll probably just drink on a rooftop when the weather clears up.

D
o you want to get married? What about one of those
wacky fondant-covered cakes with intricate designs on them—do you want one at your wedding? Are you interested in having kids? Would you like a house in an up-and-coming suburban neighborhood with easy access to the city center, but enough space to have a yard for everyone to photogenically play around with your Golden Retriever? Do you dream of a life of blissful monogamy, complete with the professional and social success that always seems to be an unspoken background of all the couples we tend to emulate?

If your answer to any (or, God forbid, all) these things is an enthusiastic “yes,” I feel compelled to inform you that navigating the dating scene is going to be a bit of a challenge. I'm not saying that there isn't a Prince (or Princess) Charming out there with good credit and a nearly identical five-year plan to yours. I'm just saying that you're in for kissing a lot of frogs in the meantime.

What's worse, many of these frogs are—aside from not interested in constructing anything resembling a future with their long-term partners—praised and rewarded by society for stringing others along. Things that were once considered requirements in one's mid- to late twenties (a good career, some property, a nice relationship with a view of the future, interests that are only marginally dependent on drinking) are now the stuff of anachronistic losers. You meet a twenty-five-year-old today who has a fiancée, a three-bedroom apartment, a fulfilling job, and a good deal on a
new car, the first question is “What is wrong with him?” There has to be some trapdoor, underneath which there lies a dizzying history of mental illness or chopped-up torsos. None of us just “work everything out” in our twenties now, and the expectations that used to keep all of us in a single-file toward the local chapel to tie things up neatly have evaporated into thin air.

It's only fair, considering that so many bright-eyed/bushy-tailed young adults who spend their entire childhood being convinced that a college degree is the infallible key to a life of financial security and social prestige now find themselves holding diplomas that are worth less than the fancy-ass paper on which they're printed. To continue to expect that everyone would want (or be able to logistically support) the 2.5 kids and a dog playing in the well-mortgaged garden would be ridiculous, and leave everyone feeling like even more of a disappointment to their parents than they already do.

Speaking as a woman, I can certainly say that being able to explore my young adult life without the constant, grating questions of “When are you going to fulfill your purpose and start popping out kids to pay for?” is pleasant (though I am under no illusions that my reprieve from baby-making pressure will last forever). And yes, having to grow up with the expectation that I would be fending for myself and not relying on a man to subsidize my life, while initially difficult, undoubtedly results in a life that is far more fulfilling and full of choice.

There are definitely upsides to no longer having to fit into a razor-thin spectrum of what is considered “appropriate social development” in our twenties, but the willy-nilly “No one can get a job, so everyone just do whatever the fuck you want” has its pitfalls. The premium that was once put on a certain amount of maturity and responsibility as we eased into adulthood has been replaced, in many circles, by a strange idolization of whoever appears to give the least amount of fucks.

If you're dating a man and he, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, has yet to secure gainful employment, an apartment not furnished by things he found next to a dumpster, or the ability to return a call within a twenty-four-hour window—that's okay! In fact, if he is hot in that mysterious, greasy-haired way, you've got the pick of the litter! The key, it seems, is to remain as emotionally detached and disengaged from the future as humanly possible, existing in some kind of limbo in which you are old enough to rent a car, yet still eat dry Lucky Charms from the box because you cannot be bothered to buy milk. These traits, once regarded as the stunted adolescence that we were heavily discouraged from falling into ourselves, have now become the markers of someone cool enough to chase after fruitlessly for the bulk of our twenties.

But where everything becomes really complex is not so much in identifying the Forever Teenagers™ as it is in separating them from the people who are working hard but simply have not yet carved an adult path for themselves in this society. While some
people are looking to float around aimlessly, break hearts, and linger on someone else's joint every now and again, other people are achieving the same lackluster results in the face of actual effort.

You could end up dating guys who fall all along a continuum in terms of personality and work ethic. I would say they generally fit into one of four categories: Hard-Working Harry; Indie Asshole Irving; Successful Stud Sammy; and Perpetual Student Pete. They may appear the same (though it's doubtful that they dress the same), but they couldn't be more different from one another. Identifying them and separating them is as essential to the Carnival of Horrors that is dating in your twenties as finding the perfect little black dress. But what defines each of these types? What makes them who they are? You'll find minor variations, of course, but it's safe to say that they generally fall within the following descriptions.

HWH is a good guy. And not in the creepy, misogynistic, neck-bearded Redditor way that believes you owe him exactly 20.5 minutes of sex after he exhibits that he's a decent human being—he's actually a good person. He is, as his name suggests, a hard worker. Even though the economy has somewhat limited his options in terms of gainful employment and put a damper on his five-year plan, he is going to put 100 percent into whatever path he is able to take with his career or his studies.

While on the outside, at least financially, he might appear similar to Indie Asshole Irving (there is a decent chance that both of them could be working in a coffee shop, for example), they are fundamentally different in terms of their outlook on life. Hard-Working Harry would never think he was “above” a hard day's work, no matter what ridiculous uniform he is forced to wear by his shift manager. While he may not be able to shower you with the lifestyle you would like at this very moment, you get the distinct impression that as he phases out of his twenties, his commitment will definitely pay off in life. (Also, he would be a totally amazing dad—you can just tell.)

Perhaps the opposite of Harry, Indie Asshole Irving has taken our generation's overall difficulties with finding gainful employment or maintaining a responsible living environment and gone unkempt-balls-to-the-wall. You can often find IAI working in some basic yet chill job, such as barista for an independent coffee shop or cashier in a secondhand bookstore.

Irving understands that, because he is good-looking and has Adam Levine scruff and several high-quality torso tattoos, he doesn't need to be a decent person. He is perfectly content to flounder throughout his twenties, doing hallucinogens and leaving mysteriously for two weeks to go to a music festival and flood Facebook with the photographic evidence. Nothing about
his life is to be taken seriously, except perhaps his occasional White Man Dreads. Concepts like “building a career,” “treating your significant other with love and respect,” or “bathing frequently” tend to be mere pipe dreams for Irving, and certainly not something you're going to teach him to understand through your patient, giving love. Best to avoid IAI, if possible.

Sammy is lucky. He managed to find a lucrative job in this economy, and he is pretty aware of the high premium that puts on him socially and romantically. He can usually be found wearing a Paul Smith suit and looking chic at fairly expensive lunches in the business district of his city. He enjoys happy hours with work friends at the more bro-y bars in the neighborhood, and has a very clear-cut plan when it comes to making his professional life all he dreams it could be.

Now, it's hard to say whether Sammy is closer to a Harry or an Irving in terms of his outlook toward other human beings. He could have the soul of an Indie Asshole Irving who, aside from his high marks in engineering or business school that enabled him to land a fancy job as a financial analyst, would be spreading HPV to every cute girl at the coffee shop. However, he could be a genuinely good person whose tireless hard work and natural talents in the STEM fields made him highly employable, even in this economic climate. Unfortunately, that is not always something you can tell from afar. You may have to get to know him to find out for yourself.

While there is nothing wrong with wanting to expand your horizons academically and learn a few new things about yourself in the process, Perpetual Student Pete has taken the concept of being a “student” to astronomical new heights. Nearing thirty, he is still very much entrenched in academia and the lifestyle that goes with it. Usually he's not involved in anything incredibly time-consuming, such as medical school, as that would prevent him from reaping the full benefits of the lax schedule and relatively low societal pressure. Chances are, you're probably not even going to meet people in med school or their residency, as they only leave their decrepit laboratories and hospitals once every few weeks to sit in the sun so they don't die of vitamin D deficiency (at least, to my understanding).

Pete, however, is generally a student of the liberal arts, perhaps pursuing a doctorate in philosophy or something equally “thoughtful.” Despite his potentially thinning hair, he is still very much in the throes of getting the undergrads' panties and drinking heavily while still feeling that everything he says is extremely significant. Also, the inevitable question, “Where the fuck is all this tuition money coming from?” is one best ignored, because the answer is usually more horrifying than you could ever have anticipated.

As you can see, the qualities that separate the different types you may encounter are pretty pronounced, even if they're not always visible at a glance. But if you're looking for a romantic partner, it's essential to value the respect for your fellow human and interest in personal improvement above almost everything else. Even if you're shacking up with a Harry who is putting in doubles at a Starbucks and a Target, if he is working to better himself, create financial independence, and have the dignity of supporting himself—he is worth a thousand of the more preening Sammies. No five-figure Christmas bonus is ever worth being made to feel as if someone is doing you a favor by dating you.