Love

So­cial me­dia rules for my boyfriend

Glamour (South Africa) - - Contents -

awhile back, I started see­ing a new guy. We were in that fun in­fat­u­a­tion stage, and then I looked at his Twit­ter and found it con­sisted pri­mar­ily of juice bar check-ins. It be­came a joke with my friends: “I’m glad Brent is get­ting his vi­ta­min C!” “Can Brent pick me up a smoothie next time he hits the juice bar?” and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Other prob­lems were be­com­ing clear, too, but was I re­ally go­ing to get se­ri­ous with the mayor of the juice bar?

I moved on, next dat­ing a man whose posts in­cluded mor­ti­fy­ingly ba­sic hash­tags like #blue #sky #skies #blueskies #pic­tures. I could only imag­ine how he might hash­tag a photo of us with #cute #cou­ple. Then there was the guy whose tweets were so badly bro-tas­tic (think, “This pres­i­den­tial de­bate is hella dank, yo.”) that a male friend in­ter­vened. We didn’t last four months.

I know I’m not the only one whose crush has been killed by a prospect’s In­sta­gram pres­ence. So­cial me­dia is one of the key ways we show who we are – our faces (or avatars), what we care about, who we’re friends with. In dat­ing, it’s a way to fill in the gaps as we get to know a per­son. And I be­lieve that on­line, just as in real life, there are civil, mu­tu­ally-ben­e­fi­cial ways to be­have and get a date – and then there’s check­ing in at a smoothie place daily.

Too much info Lest you think you’re petty for un­match­ing some­one on a dat­ing app due to their TMI Face­book posts, know this: in the world of dat­ing, you’re sup­posed to be choosy! So I’ve come up with a few rules for any guy look­ing to mes­sage me. First: be who you are, but don’t be ter­ri­fy­ing. Also, sliding into my DMS is fine; just please don’t be a creep about it.

Google I know you googled me just like I googled you be­fore we met, but let’s never ac­knowl­edge that. Not even when it comes out that I some­how know you’re from Graaff-reinet, have a record for break­ing and en­ter­ing, and have provin­cial colours for swim­ming from high school (con­grats!).

Linkedin Don’t ask me for a Linkedin tes­ti­mo­nial. I know noth­ing about your Pho­to­shop skills, so no, I will not en­dorse them. Also, why are you on my Linkedin?

Get­ting po­lit­i­cal Ev­ery time you en­gage in a po­lit­i­cal bat­tle on Face­book, my heart dies a lit­tle. I’d rather see you post some protest pics of your­self than watch you bicker with strangers.

Selfies Please don’t ever: pose with a poached an­i­mal, sex­ily hold a gun, post a bath­room­mir­ror selfie with you pulling up your shirt. We get it – you have abs.

Ab­bre­vi­a­tions Ur at­tempt to tweet in the rly chill way youn­gins speak on the in­ter­netz rn is rly just em­bar­rass­ing af. Tweet like an adult hu­man.

Gram­mar If you don’t know the dif­fer­ence be­tween ‘your’ and ‘you’re’, I am not you’re [sic] lady.

Tag­ging Please ab­stain from tag­ging me in any pho­tos un­less you have my di­rect ver­bal con­sent, and I’ll do the same. At least un­til we have a DTTR (De­fine The Tag­ging Re­la­tion­ship) convo – and we’d be mar­ried at that point.

Break ups If you be­come an ex, please un­fol­low me on all ac­counts, but con­tinue to spo­rad­i­cally check my feed so you can see how great I’m do­ing with­out you, and think about how you lost me, you ut­ter fool.

Look, I get that some­thing on my list might be a swipe right for you and that plenty of dates prob­a­bly think I’m em­bar­rass­ing on so­cial me­dia – one per­son’s turnoff is an­other per­son’s trea­sure. And that’s OK. I still think I’m hi­lar­i­ous on Twit­ter.

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