Finding romance has never been easy, but anyone looking for love in our technology-saturated culture will agree that anonymous and fleeting interactions on apps like Tinder have made the people we’re trying to deeply connect with seem…well, shallow. To prove it, I changed my Tinder profile pictures from pictures of me to pictures of Hollywood meat-man Bradley Cooper.
I’m an average looking guy but within minutes of changing my pictures to those featuring the Hangover hunk Bradley Cooper, I had received over 100 new matches (50 times more matches than with my own pictures). The women of the digital age had spoken and it seemed they were only interested in the strong jaw line and robust aviator collection of Bradley Cooper and not pictures of me reading the bible. And worst of all, now I had to message, date, and eventually sleep with these beautiful women!
Disgusting, I agree. Our society is so morally bankrupt that in pursuit of even one emotionally mature peer, I took over 70 of different women to Outback Steakhouse. Very rudely (and before any light small talk), these superficial women were quick to point out that I did not look like Mr. Hangover. I was appalled. But to find out exactly how depraved is the modern woman is, I had to go deeper. I told them that the reason I didn’t look “hot” or “ like I was wearing aviators” was because I was preparing for a new roll where I would play an average looking guy, who, actually, if people like me, steam-factory Bradley Cooper, weren’t granted fame disproportionate to our ability to positively effect the world to the sickening point where our images are equated with success and goodness, this character I’m playing would actually be considered, like, pretty hot and I bet more people would want to date them even if they just met on the internet.
Finally face-to-face with their obsession with good hairlines and teeth even straighter and whiter that Bradley Cooper himself, most of the women left and hopefully turned their lives around with books (ever heard of a bible?). Shockingly, the nine who stayed through and paid for the meal (carnal hunger knows no budget, I guess) each led me to their cars.
I could taste the vomit in the back of my throat (or was that just the way the this disgusting world always tasted and I had never realized?). This experiment had gone far enough. I knew when I changed my Tinder pictures to Bradley Cooper that I would see the darkest humanity had to offer in the one-dimensional, chin-obsessed women I would meet but to make me flirt with them under false pretenses over the internet? To make me pretend I’m wealthy by eating at Outback Steakhouse? To make me lie about not look EXACTLY like the Brad-man? I’m getting goose pimples just typing it. It got worse.
In their cars, we did the kind of things to each other that the movie The Hangover implies Bradley Cooper would do with his solid body. I know what you’re thinking. That’s truly horrible and worthy of at least a life sentence in prison.
No kidding, but you try telling that to today’s modern media that seems to exist solely to publish images of the male nipple. For shame.