A decade from now, couples will sit and reminisce about about how they met seeking the affections of other desperados. Their offspring will no doubt swoon at the wonderful serendipity of an algorithm, of how two young lovers stared out at each other through the glass.
Sex has become commodified, and not in the time honoured fashion.
The beautiful ones build a shrine to their own aggressive sexuality. They display well-angled photographs in hope of enticing a suitably attractive mate who’ll leave before being driven away by their repugnant personality.
In many ways, modern relationships have been optimised for convenience. Finding a partner no longer requires a connection, but click or a swipe in the right direction, until you eventually stop noticing. Choosing a partner based solely on looks gives people greater choice, and allows them to filter out any undesirables in the process without directly hurting their feelings. It is love with free-market principles.
Even the terminally unflattering can take part, but they are relegated to a subsection of the internet. The sexual plankton stays at the bottom, but can take their pick of the deformed or monstrously overweight. I don’t know what the rest of us do, but I imagine we meet people who are distinctly average.
As neither a beautiful, nor purely repulsive creature, and with a charm and witty repartee few possess, I find myself in a strange predicament. This arrangement suits me just fine, but is seldom conducive to finding love. I could take my chances on the top deck, or I could lower my standards and scour the bowels, but neither would really be suitable.
Loneliness requires much less effort than rejection. Rejection is a painful and unnecessary burden, and I have no interest in attacking my self-esteem in this way.