“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re beautiful. I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided awhile ago not to deny myself the simple pleasures of existence. I mean, particularly, given that, as you so deliciously pointed out, all of this will end in oblivion and everything.”
“You’re like a millennial Natalie Portman. Like ‘V for Vendetta’ Natalie Portman.”
“Never seen it.”
“Really? Pixie-haired gorgeous girl dislikes authority and can’t help but fall for a boy she knows is trouble. It’s your autobiography, so far as I can tell.”
This is dialogue taken from a scene in “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green. One of the things John has been criticized for in his writing is the dialogue. Detractors argue that teenagers don’t really talk like this. John responded in an interview with Rookie that his writing reflects the way teens “want to think they talk.”
This is so true. For me, I’ve found this very witty, literary way of talking most relevant in my texting. Particularly when I first start talking/flirting with someone I kind of, sort of, maybe like. Every text has to be solid comedic gold. It’s witty banter jacked up on gut-rotting gas station coffee. It’s a heightened and exaggerated version of the way I would normally talk, like our text conversation is spec script for “Gilmore Girls”.
My boyfriend and I were constant perpetrators of this before we started dating/early on in our relationship. I can’t speak for him, but I was so scared of not being cool enough that I just had no chill. So I put this hyper-witty, overly charming filter over everything I said. And since we were riffing off each other, it just created a positive feedback loop.
Every text had to match the level of the previous one. If I didn’t understand a reference he made, I’d look it up. And then I’d Google related things looking for a possible reference to make. I couldn’t respond unless I had something witty to say back. And if I couldn’t come up with anything, I’d change the subject if his last text didn’t require me to answer a question, or I simply wouldn’t respond at all. Why do we have to be so fucking cool?
It gave me great anxiety, but it was also a thrill to be able to flex that muscle. I find that it’s a certain group of people who do this. Almost like a mating ritual… and a way to weed out the people who don’t share this cultural knowledge or can’t keep up with the quippy manner.
But it’s a lie… sort of. No one talks like that all the time. Texting makes it possible to look like you’re always on — that you’re really this clever. But in reality, you’re constantly performing. And the funny thing is, we buy into it and play along. You believe that this other person is your soulmate, and that you two really are that smart and that funny. You artificially construct your own meet cute through texts. Like, even if a hang was awkward, you can go home and be witty once you’re hiding in bed alone with your thesaurus and Jessica Darling novels.
Photo 1: My negative STD test results
Photo 2: An e-valentine that says “you make me moist” with a photo of cake mix
For people like me, it’s an intellectual currency. A love language, almost. It may seem really superficial, but it’s also extremely intimate in a weird way. These esoteric exchanges require a lot of energy that isn’t put into their day-to-day conversations. You’re both saying, “Hey, this is how much I like you.” This is something only you two share.
There’s a scene from “Gilmore Girls” I love and always think about. This was soon after Rory gets her Sidekick and Logan is far, far away in London. After Paris suggests sexting as a way for Rory and Logan to feel connected, she goes to the bookstore with Lane to do some recon. After looking through a pile of books, including “Sexus” by Henry Miller, she texts him “our hand groped frantically for the burning flesh.” Later when Logan tells her to finish what she started, she goes, “But I don’t have my books with me.” And he says so perfectly, “You don’t need your books, Ace.”
And of course as the relationship progresses your exchanges ebb and flow. Texting moves from art to function. You get tired of trying to prove how clever you are all the time, and you grow comfortable enough to say what you actually mean, which makes making plans so much more efficient when it’s not hidden beneath layers of esoteric references. Once you reach that level of comfort where you can just be chill about it, texting becomes a lot more silly and fun. And that’s the dream: to find someone who understands your sense of weirdness.
