This is a relatively small problem, but it’s really bothering me. The last time I was in a relationship I got into a bad pattern of criticizing every little thing my boyfriend did, saying everything that bothered me (and so did he, for that matter) and this time I’m trying really hard not to nag so much. But the other day when I couldn’t stand to watch him text at the table yet again, I finally said something about it, and he was upset that I hadn’t said anything about it before since it’s “obviously been bothering me for a long time and it would of been easy to fix.” This is a small example but it obvious applies to bigger stuff too — sometimes I purposefully don’t make an issue out of something because I don’t want to fight, but when it comes up later, during a fight, he accuses me of “hoarding” complaints and then “blindsighting him” with all these criticisms he didn’t anticipate. But I’m just trying not to be a pain in the ass!! Is it better to be totally open and honest, even when you have something not-especially-nice to say, or is it better just not to bring this stuff up at all, even when we’re fighting? I don’t even know if I can do that realistically. I guess my problem is that I really REALLY don’t want to be naggy or passive-aggressive, but I also don’t want to become a doormat. Are those my options? Do you have any advice?

Fulfilling a Bad Stereotype Over Here

Dear Stereotype,

Unfortunately, I think you’re somewhat stuck with your problem. Even though in theory you should be able to just not-care about his texting or chewing or whatever, the truth is that everyone gets crabby and oversensitive, especially after spending so much time with the same person. And it’s not doormat behavior to quell your complaints if you recognize that they’re not actually very legitimate. On the other hand, if all the texting is related to, say, a feeling that he doesn’t enjoy your company, that’s something you should probably mention.

What you need to learn to do is distinguish between complaints that are really products of moodiness, issues that will disappear once you’ve gotten some sleep or eaten a hearty meal, and ones that are recurring or touch on deeper themes. Unfortunately, this is the kind of thing you probably need to learn through experience. But it might help to make the criticism in your head first — figure out how you’d phrase it and everything — and see if it sounds reasonable to you before saying it out loud. Maybe wait five minutes and then see if you still think it’s worth mentioning. In general I think it’s worth the effort to err on the side of not-nagging, but it’s really a matter of preference.

Another quick-fix might be to work on your delivery. Small criticisms are hurtful because of the connotations they carry more than anything else; “Please don’t text right now” can sound like “I don’t like your friends,” “You have a zit” reads as “I find you repulsive,” etc. So saying something to mitigate the immediate fear and keep the criticism in perspective may be effective, e.g. “I don’t mean to make you self-conscious, but your beard smells a bit like lunch,” or “You always look sexy, babycheeks, but that patchouli shirt might not be the best thing with that blazer.”

Lastly, if you find you have more critical things to say about this guy than positive ones, you may simply not be right for each other. I don’t know you, so I can’t help you much with that, but I’ve noticed that advice columnists generally tend to give advice geared towards working things out, and I wanted to remind you that not working things out is always an option.

Good luck, and let us know how it goes!

- Watson

Dear Watson is The Faster Times’ weekly advice column. To reach Watson anonymously, write to watson@thefastertimes.com.

The post Dear Watson: How to Stop Nagging appeared first on The Faster Times.

I just graduated from college a few months ago and have had no luck so far in the job search. I had good grades and worked hard and did internships, but I just can’t find anything related to my interests or the stuff I studied. I’m also facing student debt (much less than most people, to be fair, but with an income of $0 the amount is basically irrelevant) and my parents are starting to pressure me to look at jobs that have nothing to do with my interests and even some which run against my personal beliefs (a job at a tobacco company recently for instance). Those jobs are hard to get too of course, but since there are a lot more of them it’d still probably increase my odds if I cast my nets wider like they’re suggesting. I’ve always been idealistic but it just feels like there’s no room for my beliefs or my sense of “dignity” in this job market.

I guess my question is, what exactly does it mean to “compromise yourself” and why shouldn’t I do it? I always thought that the reason was that going after money instead of following your interests wouldn’t make you happy in the end. I guess by that I mean that I thought that “compromising” WAS putting other stuff ahead of your happiness. But now that I’m in the position where the alternative to abandoning my beliefs is just being even MORE miserable (and possibly homeless), I realized that that can’t be it. I’m not sure what Im asking for, actually. I mean I understand if you don’t have an answer, maybe there isn’t one. I’d appreciate your thoughts though.

Just A Stat

Dear Stat,

Firstly, fuck you very much for sending me the hardest question of the year — but thanks for articulating it so well. I think part of the reason your question is so hard to answer is that what compromises you is something that very much varies from person to person. Some people describe being seen in places they find lame, or with people they don’t respect, as compromising, for example. And I guess if you feel that way, then it really is compromising to you. I, on the other hand, was once caught by my boss in the ladies’ room with my arm stuck half-way up the tampon machine, and didn’t find that even remotely compromising, although I suspect that she thought I should have. Thinking about it later, I realized that the reason I didn’t care was that I didn’t honestly respect my boss, and didn’t really mind if she thought I was a klutz or a klepto. If, say, rumors that I’d slept with Rick Santorum reached the ears of someone I respected — well, that would be compromising, I guess.

So one way to resist feeling compromised when your professional life puts you in places you don’t want to be is just to minimize the extent to which you care what other people think of you. As Maya Angelou put it, “No one can embarrass you without your consent.” The more independent you are, and the stronger your sense of your own beliefs and values, the harder it will be for other people to make you feel embarrassed or ashamed.

Other people aside, however, the ethical question remains. Is it compromising to you to work for a tobacco company, for instance? Taking it a step further, is it compromising if you don’t actively dedicate yourself to protesting the actions of these companies? My sense is that it is, actually. More than anything else,our ideals are what give us our sense of identity. But ideals don’t actually exist outside of our minds unless we live by them — that’s the only way to give them substance. So when you cave on stuff like that, you allow these people to take something away from you that was part of how you defined yourself.

That said, the tobacco companies will continue to exist, and to employ people, regardless of whether you work for them. And in theory, it’s possible to work for one of these semi-evil corporations and still retain a clear sense of right and wrong, still protest for what you believe in, and still remain intellectually independent — right? So maybe that’s not quite the line either.

A few years back I found myself asking a professor of mine a similar question. “You’re always telling us to travel and explore the world and work in bookshops or whatever if we have to,” I said, Manhattan in hand (a bit brusquely, if I remember right), “but what’s the difference, then, between working in a bookstore and hating your job and working in finance, or some other lucrative field, and hating your job? I mean, if it’s going to be short-term and you’re going to hate it either way, doesn’t the choice seem clear? Isn’t it a bit pretentious to choose poverty all the time?”

“The difference,” he said, “is that if you’re a broker or a paralegal or whatever — if you work in one of these socially-accepted, respectable fields — you’re much less likely to actually make it short-term. I’ve never known anyone who went into finance, for instance, for more than a year, and still managed to quit. You go in thinking that you don’t need other people’s respect, you don’t need thousand-dollar handbags and a fancy apartment, you’re going to pull one over ‘em and take the money and run — but then you start to get hooked, you start to justify what you’re doing, you start to look forward to being asked what you do and watching people go ‘wow,’ and suddenly, you can’t quit. I’ve seen it a million times. Whereas nobody ever got hooked on waiting tables. Yes, the money is shit, but you’re not compromising yourself, because you’re not risking your freedom.”

So now when I think about compromise I tend to think about that conversation. In other words, yes, I think it’s possible to take a job that in every respect appears compromising, but retain your sense of identity and your sense of independence and your sense of your own values. But I think it makes all of that a lot harder. In fact, this whole job market makes integrity a lot more difficult. It’s worth fighting for, though. You just have to dedicate all of your energy to remembering what matters to you and what you care about, regardless of what they make you wear to work and who you end up sharing a desk with. Stay free, stay yourself, keep your mind sharp and keep reassessing things. You’ll make it through.

-Watson

Dear Watson is The Faster Times’ weekly advice column. You can reach Watson anonymously by writing to watson@thefastertimes.com.

The post Dear Watson: When to Sell Out appeared first on The Faster Times.

So I’m 27 and I haven’t been in a relationship in ages (4 years) and recently a really good-looking friend of mine started hitting on me during my year abroad in grad school. Like a lot. Like I think he’s a little obsessed with me. On my side I like him okay as a person but I don’t have real romantic feelings for him. I think he’s bit immature to tell the truth. But I also find him really attractive and I do like hanging out with him. I’ve been rejecting his advances because I instinctively felt that it was a bad idea to try to do something casual with someone who was so serious about me. But he says he’s open to a more casual relationship too and that he’s okay with my feelings being more platonic/friendly as long as the attraction is there. (Don’t worry, I told him nicely.)

On the one hand, I think there’s kind of a double standard going on; if a guy friend of mine told me he was thinking of dating / sleeping with someone whom he wasn’t that into just because she was physically attractive, I’d probably call him an asshole. On the other, though, I’m leaving at the end of the semester anyway, and I’ve been up front with him about why I’m conflicted, and I feel like it’s a little patronizing or disrespectful not to believe him when he says he’s okay with me being less into it than him. Would it be wrong to have a fling??

Could Stand to Get Laid

Dear Could,

I don’t know the guy, so I can’t say for certain, but I think the answer depends on a few factors: how strong this guy’s feelings for you really are; how “immature” he really is; and how sure you are about how you feel about him. If you know anything about big decisions he’s made in the past that might help too.

The key thing is to figure out whether he’s still acting in his own best interests. Whether he’s just saying that he’s “okay with [your] feelings being more platonic/friendly” or whether he’s secretly hoping that your feelings will change if you give him a shot. You mention that he seems “a little obsessed” and that your instincts tell you that he’s “serious,” but you don’t give details. You’re right that it’s a bit patronizing not to take him at his word, but in this case, your instincts may be right, and his well-being needs to take priority over social protocol.

My belief is that when you get involved with someone you implicitly agree to act as a sort of mental health proxy within the relationship. If the other person somehow becomes incapacitated you agree to step up to the plate and look out for them. In this case, if you’re sure you’re not going to fall for him, and you don’t believe that he really understands that, you have to be firm and give him the “no” that he ought to be giving himself, no matter how good he looks in a swimsuit. But if he seems clear-headed and genuinely chill, or if you’re not so sure yourself about how you feel about him — well, you’re leaving soon anyway; live a little!

-Watson

Dear Watson is The Faster Times’ weekly advice column. To reach Watson anonymously, write to watson@thefastertimes.com.

The post Dear Watson: One-Sided Love Affair appeared first on The Faster Times.

I went on a great date recently, a coffee date that turned into a bar date that turned into a fullblown makeout session. Things were going good. I really liked the guy’s personality and thought he was really cute and smart. But then when he kissed me, it was as if he was trying to eat my tongue, like actually eat it. I tried to show him that I didn’t like it but he really didn’t get the hint — I guess he thought it was passionate or something. As you can imagine I made a pretty bad fake excuse and left and later I sent him a message saying it wasn’t going to work out. Luckily he was really nice about it and in theory we’re friends now, even though I never see him.

I know I can’t date him, that’s not my question. I tried to guide him towards a more gentle style but I just couldn’t get my point across. I think we’re just incompatible. And more to the point I’m most turned on when guys seem to know what I like and what to do with me without being told. My question is this: my roommate suggested later on that at his age (early 30s) his odd kissing habits might be hurting his chances with other women too, and that the best thing to do would be to just tell him straight-up that that was the problem. Her logic is that although it might hurt at first, in the long run it’s nicer to tell him the truth. (She is into something called Radical Honesty, which means always telling the truth about everything, which is actually a pretty good quality in a roommate.) Since I probably won’t see him again anyway it’s the perfect opportunity in a way.

Part of me agrees with her but part of me really feels like that’s rude and even just wrong and cruel. I mean he was nice enough to take the initiative to ask me out, I don’t want to kill his confidence or anything. But if it helps, would that really be for the best? Is it possible it would help? What do you think?

- Tongue-tied

Dear Tongue,

Although you’re looking for a yes-or-no answer, I couldn’t help but notice how many non-binary questions are backed into your letter. Unpacking a little: the first and most obvious question is whether it’s ever okay to make negative comments about someone’s sexual instincts; another is what you owe to someone who’s made himself vulnerable by showing an interest in you — what, if anything, you implicitly agree to when you accept a date. And the wider question is whether you agree with your roommate that honesty is really always the best policy, or whether there are times when lying is kinder or wiser.

And then there’s the subjectivity of sexuality, which complicates things even more. How can you be sure, for instance, that the kind of kissing you like is really what most women want? And even if there are objective standards for kiss-quality, how much can he really improve? Is kissing — and sexual intuition in general — something that can be learned?

Let’s start from the top. The honesty question. I don’t advocate saying whatever comes into your head at all times, for reasons I don’t think I need to defend, but I did used to believe that honesty was always the best policy, with no exceptions — with boyfriends, toddlers, parents, randos, etc. But what I’ve seen and read about the Radical Honesty movement has led me to doubt even that.

A recent example really made things clear for me. An especially ballsy friend of mine hit it off with a guy at a party, who later got her number from a mutual friend and texted to ask her out. She rejected his advances succinctly with a text saying “Yes, I’m single, but I’m not interested in seeing you. Thanks.” (He never responded.) When I asked her about it later, she admitted that the guy hadn’t done anything to offend her and had been polite and respectful in person and in his texts. Nevertheless, her view was that she owed him the truth, no matter how painful. In that case, I had to disagree. I don’t think the unflinching truth was kind or necessary there. A white-lie-text like “it was really nice to meet you, but I’m just not looking to date right now” would have been just as easy and would have accomplished the same thing without hurting his feelings so much. In his position, I’d have preferred that lie, too.

I also think you’re right that the fact that you actually agreed to the date and encouraged this guy by flirting with him further complicates things. If you’ll forgive another anecdote, a while ago I heard a “true story” about a straight guy (a friend of a friend, of course) who picked up a girl at a bar and was taking her back to his place in a taxi when he realized that he really couldn’t stand the sound of her voice, and that he just couldn’t go through with the one-night stand he’d proposed. He asked the cabbie to stop, opened the door for her, and said, “I think you should go home.” She did, presumably, but the cabbie, who was a woman, chewed him out over his behavior the whole way back.

In spite of the obvious patina of urban myth about the story, hearing it made me realize that there is a kind of pact we make when we agree to get sexual or romantic with someone, whether it’s a one-night stand or a meaningful relationship: in exchange for making one’s self vulnerable to the other person, each implicitly agrees to do their best not to make the other feel like shit, at least for the duration of the encounter. It’s a stab in the back to be nasty like that once the whole I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours trust has been established.

On the other hand, I think you’re right that the long-term benefits in this case make all the difference. If given a choice, I think most people would prefer to be embarrassed just once if the payoff were that a number of future sexual encounters went a lot better. So by the do-unto-others logic, you should probably tell him the truth — if you really think it’ll be better for him in the long run.

Sexuality is a notoriously hard thing to be objective about. But in this case, after conducting an informal survey, I think biting/sucking-kissing is sort of like S&M and many other kinks: some people are into it, but most aren’t. And that means that if you like that that’s cool, whatevs — it’s a free country (for now) — but you probably shouldn’t surprise someone with it.

This is pure speculation, of course, from your description, it sounds like this guy chose that style in an effort to impress you, not because he himself finds it hot. So under the circs I do think that he might be better off knowing that his behavior isn’t what women expect on a first date — nor what most women want — and that it made you uncomfortable for that reason.

And then there’s the final question: whether sexual intuition can be learned. The friends I’ve conferred with recently have all had wildly different opinions. Some argue that sexual instinct is like a sense of humor or a good singing voice: you have to be born with it. Some say it can be learned from A to Z, like learning another language (although one friend hypothesized that the curve is probably equally steep). Some say it can (and is) be learned, but only unconsciously.

My personal view is that all of these things — language, humor, melody, and sexual prowess — can be learned, but in a roundabout way. They’re all types of intuition, and as such, they all have to come from a natural and uncalculating place. So you can’t start from zero. But you can also form and inform your intuition — for instance, if you notice that you’re funnier when you’re in a good mood, you can avoid attempting jokes when you’re feeling insecure. With all couples, but especially with heterosexual ones, there’s an element of learning the equipment; since we all have different bodies, there’s no way to know for sure how someone else’s works until you’ve explored their reactions a bit.

And I don’t think this guy is unredeemable. It seems like he cares about the impression he makes on his partners. And it seems like he’s got a lot of other stuff going for him. But then I didn’t meet the guy; you did. IF you think that 1) you can say something to him in a tactful and respectful way; 2) you think he really doesn’t know what those kisses felt like; 3) you think he could realistically improve significantly; 4) you think he deserves that chance

— then yes, I think you should hike up your balls (erm, metaphorically) and send him that email.

Let us know how it goes!

Best of luck,

Watson

The post How Do You Tell Someone They’re a Bad Kisser? appeared first on The Faster Times.

Dear Watson,

I was hesitant to mention this, even anonymously, because it’s such a “first world problem,” but anyway: an aunt of mine just died and left me a modest sum of money which allowed me to pay off my remaining college debt. I’m now living self-sufficiently — I have a stable job that I actually like, I have a good living situation that I can afford, and I’m even saving money. Basically I’ve never been better off. I like my friends, I like my city, I like my life.

The thing is, for the last 10 years I’ve been interested in getting a nose job, and I’m finally at the point where I can afford one. I also know a really great surgeon who did a lot of work on a friend of mine who had gender reassignment surgeries, with amazing results. My problem is that EVERYONE in my life seems to think it’s a terrible idea. Some people tell me they think it’s an extravagant way to spend the money, some people think it’s vain and un-liberated of me as a woman, and most people point out that my nose is “fine the way it is.”

They’re not wrong; I don’t have a monstrosity of a schnoz or anything. I just have kind of small eyes and a narrow mouth and I know a more delicate nose would make me look more balanced and attractive. In every other way I’m quite happy with my weight and with my body in general. Everyone seems to assume that this has to do with the fact that I’m single. But it really doesn’t. I don’t particularly want to be “irresistible to men” or “turn my life around” or anything. I want this for me, the same way I sometimes want a manicure. I want to look in the mirror and see myself the way I want to look. And I’d rather get the surgery than take an expensive vacation, for instance, which is what my friends and parents have been suggesting I do “instead.”

But everyone’s so hung up about it that I’m starting to think it might not be worth it just because of how often I’d have to explain and defend my decision. Ironically, even my friend who had gender reassignment (and our mutual friends who supported her the whole way) seems to think it’s a bad idea. Could they be right somehow? Is there something I’m missing here? Or is this just some weird new kind of conservatism? And if I decide to go ahead with it, what do I tell these busybodies?

Nosiness Issues

Dear Nosy,

Thanks for a fascinating letter. The most striking thing about it might just be the fact that so many people in your life felt justified in telling you what to do with your body. And I don’t think that’s an atypical reaction; your friends sound like a pretty chill bunch; I think those responses are well within the normal range. Plastic surgery seems to touch a nerve for even the most open-minded people. It may be worth our time to try unpacking why.

I’d be willing to bet, for instance, that the same people that have argued against your nose job idea would be totally supportive if, for example, you were planning on getting a Godzilla tattoo or having Lasik. But because it’s a nose job, it falls under the category of “beauty,” which is always a complicated and uncomfortable issue. The internet is rife with debate about the nature-and-nurture of obesity, for instance. And a recent study showed that 95% of American women “would change something about their bodies” if it were free and easy*, and 97% say something negative about their own bodies any given DAY**. Although women seem to bear the lion’s share of body-consciousness, on the male side, every guy friend I’ve bothered to ask has admitted to googling height and dick size statistics anxiously hoping to learn how they measure up.

Regardless of the nature-nurture aspect of bodily appearance, the general consensus seems to be that it sucks to have so little control over how our bodies look. And I would venture to assert that the reason people find that so painful is that physical beauty, or lack thereof, is so damn influential.

We all know it shouldn’t be this way, but it’s well documented that perceived beauty correlates to a number of material benefits that in theory have nothing to do with physical appearance. It’s a fairly awful prejudice to hold. But it’s also a very hard one to break free of, because it operates at a subconscious level. The sex appeal thing, for example, is more obvious; but who hasn’t been influenced by a “friendly” face, “a nice smile,” or “trustworthy eyes”?

In a certain way, your friends and family are forming their judgments on the basis of an instinct towards what they perceive as justice. Having a cleft palate, for instance, or bad vision, or being born deaf, seem like “defects” unfairly imposed on innocent children. Not many people object to surgeries that correct what they see as cosmic “injustices.” Even your friend’s sex reassignment surgery can be read as normalizing or corrective — a way of compensating for the unfortunate accident of having been born in the wrong type of body. An open-minded person might think, “That could’ve been me; it’s only luck that I was born with the right junk.” But because the beauty-system seems unjust in itself, having purely cosmetic surgery may strike your acquaintances as a way of breaking a social contract — the unspoken agreement to try to fight our aesthetic prejudices — and taking advantage of a system that’s inherently unfair.

To put it another way: the sad truth is that correcting perceived “defects” often allows others to feel more comfortable around the person in question, because it allows them to bury and ignore their less admirable reflexes, to pretend that appearance never mattered much to them anyway. Having non-corrective cosmetic surgery, on the other hand, calls attention to those ignoble instincts, and may even be seen as an attempt to profit from them.

You confessed in your letter that you don’t have a “monster schnoz” — implying, I think, an understanding that people would probably judge you less for getting a nose job if they thought you had an “unfortunate” nose to begin with. You also point out that you’re not doing this to change the way other people see you. That seems like a pretty good place to start. If I were you, I’d think as clearly as possible about how you feel about the “beauty system” and about your reasons for wanting to change your nose. The clearer your thoughts are, the easier it’ll be to deal with critics if you decide to go through with the surgery.

Or you could just, you know, tell them where to stick their own proboscises.

Best of luck,

Watson

* http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/health-news/19-out-of-20-young-women-would-change-bodies-1813551.html

**http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/02/18/glamour-body-image-poll_n_825291.html

The post What’s the Deal With Nose Jobs? appeared first on The Faster Times.

Dear Watson,

I was hoping you could weigh in on a question I’ve been afraid to put to my friends. I’ve been dating this guy for four months now and everything’s going amazingly well — no “but”; everything’s going amazingly well! — and he suggested that we make a sex tape. I’ve never made one before and I had to think about it, but it only took me like ten seconds to realize I’m totally into it. My only concern was that I’d be self-conscious in front of a camera. But I think I can get around that (I suggested that he make it without telling me and then show me immediately after) and I’m really itching to give him the go-ahead.

I mentioned all this to my best friend while we were having drinks the other night, just because I was so excited, and she had a huge averse reaction that I completely didn’t expect. It turns out she made a sex tape herself in college once and has spent the last five years trying to get it off the internet, because her ex turned out to be a huge dick. (No idea why this never came up before btw. I guess she didn’t want me to google it.) I told her that my bf was nothing like her ex, but she got this look on her face and told me that they all seem like nice guys until they aren’t, and that sex tapes are never a good idea no matter how much you trust someone.

It’s true that I’ve only been with this guy for a few months. But I also know her ex from college, and I wouldn’t have trusted him as far as I could throw him anyway, no matter what he said, and I do trust my new bf. Plus I think there’s something sick about how women are so phobic of these things, but men never seem to worry about them, and I just can’t see myself caring about the opinion of anyone who holds the fact that I’ve had (amazing) sex in the past against me. Then again, I wouldn’t want any old rando/coworker to be able to google my orgasm sounds, and my own dating experience does confirm her point that basically anyone can turn out to be nuts, especially if you dump them. But the trust thing is part of what makes it so ***king hot!! So should I take the leap?

- Video killed the radio star

Dear Video,

Here we go again. As an advice columnist I’m basically ethically obligated to say that sex tapes are always a bad idea. (I may even be legally obligated; I’d have to check). And it’s true, objectively. It’s universally acknowledged that the risks of taping are high, and the benefits are low. Getting your rocks off for a few minutes isn’t worth taking the chance that you could end up with a possibly-permanent problem like your friend’s. The logic is the same as that of using a condom. Safe sex = undocumented sex.

The problem is, I don’t really believe that. I think there are benefits that that logic doesn’t account for. Or to put it another way, I think there are risks to not making a sex tape that aren’t immediately obvious.

You yourself said that your best friend’s logic is “basically anyone can turn out to be nuts,” so you shouldn’t ever really trust anyone. (The fact that she never shared her sex tape experience with you speaks to that too.) And that makes sense. But can you imagine really living that way? Can you imagine starting a relationship with that worldview? Or with someone else who felt that way?

To put it another way, even if your friend gets her sex tape off the internet, if her ex manages to make her feel that she can’t trust anyone else with her body and her confidences, the dickheads have still won. In fact, I would venture to assert that even if the worst happens, the shittiness of the situation won’t suck as much as it would suck to spending your whole life never trusting people. Because that would mean never having real friends. It would mean giving up on ever feeling loved.

I’m not saying that you have to love the guy in order to justify making a sex tape, and I’m certainly not saying that you shouldn’t be savvy and careful,. (E.g., you might want to consider keeping a copy.) But your ability to trust people, to make yourself vulnerable, might be the most valuable thing you have. Don’t give it up if you can help it.

-Watson

The post Should I Make a Sex Tape? How to Weigh the Pros & Cons appeared first on The Faster Times.

Dear Watson,

I’m an aspiring writer in Chicago and I just graduated from college. To make a long story short: while I was in school I had teachers, deadlines, and other students as sources of motivation and inspiration. And even now I can usually force myself to be productive; work ethic isn’t an issue for me. But lately I’ve been trying to replace the social community that I lost when I graduated from college with readings, open mic nights, book parties, etc…. and I just can’t believe how much bullshit I’ve run into! At first the small talk and networking was the worst of it, but now I’ve come to feel that the pretentious, precious, all-around-unbearable writing is even worse. I’m starting to question whether I even want to be a writer, if this “scene” is what awaits me in the best-case scenario. I’ve thought about moving to some remote place and working on my stuff in isolation, but 1) I can’t afford to and 2) I’m pretty social and I think I might shoot myself before I got significant work done. I still love books. And I still love writing. But how am I supposed to deal withs the depressing reality of “the literary world?”

Unemployed and Drowning in BS

Dear Drowning,

Boy can I ever relate. There’s nothing worse than seeing the one thing you care most about sullied by bullshit. It’s somehow much worse when it’s someone or something you care about — seeing your favorite writer posturing at a reading, seeing a love-interest schmooze, hearing your favorite authors name-dropped at a party. It just makes you want to run, to die, to give up on other people forever.

But you can’t give up on people, because there are people out there that you’ll relate to, people that make it worthwhile to wade through everyone else to find them. And you can’t give up on literature, either, because you love it too much, it’s too important to you. So what do you do about the bullshit?

There isn’t a single answer, but a few months ago I had an experience that gave me some insight. I was at a low point in my own relationship with the “literary scene” myself when a friend of mine called me up and invited me to a poetry slam. My BS-radar twitched the moment she made the proposition: it was an open mic, and she wasn’t sure who’d be reading; it was at a tropical-themed bar that had never hosted a poetry event before; it was late on a Wednesday night. To top it off, I had to work the next day. But something about her voice persuaded me. She’s the kind of giddy, magnetic person who makes things exciting wherever she goes, and she was in a particularly good mood that night, tossing out pipe-dream plans, goading me out of my lethargic state like a kid with a stick. I figured that there was still a chance that the slam might be good, but that even if it wasn’t, we’d probably have fun anyway.

As it turned out, it was a good thing that I hadn’t expected much — the slam wasn’t just bad; it was horrible. It was the worst one I’d ever been to by a long shot. There was one guy in particular who kept hogging the mic and “improvising” free-form, non-rhyming lyrics literally describing the people in the room, describing himself not knowing what to describe, even describing my friend and I trying to suppress our laughter in the corner. And it lasted forever.

We were in stitches by the end. “That was the worst poetry I’ve ever heard,” I gasped, when we finally spilled out into the street with the rest of the crowd. “It wasn’t even like a bad horror movie that’s sort of awesome. It was totally unredeemable.”

“What are you talking about, dude?” My friend asked, punching me genially as she killed her last plastic glassful of wine. “That wasn’t poetry.”

And suddenly, everything was clear. I saw what its as that she had that made me feel invulnerable to boredom and bullshit when I was with her; I saw what she knew that I’d lost track of.

In classical formal logic, there’s a paradox called “No True Scotsman” that’s based on an old (if slightly offensive) joke. It goes like this: A Scotsman walks into a hotel bar in the U.S. and the bartender asks him what he wants. “What do you have?” he asks. The bartender responds, “Do you like whiskey?” “Do I like whiskey!” the Scotsman retorts. “No Scotsman doesn’t like whiskey!” The man sitting next to him gives him the stink-eye and says, “I’m a Scotsman and I don’t like whiskey.” “Well,” the first Scotsman says proudly, “No true Scotsman doesn’t like whiskey.”

No True Scotsman is considered to be a logical fallacy, a way of begging the question; it allows the man to retain his notion of Scottish identity in the face of contradictory evidence by altering the premises instead of the conclusion. But in the real world, where we make false assumptions all the time, I think that logic is more valid — in fact, I think it’s critically important to the question of inspiration.

What my friend recognized was that the word “poetry” is just a proxy, just a way of identifying something that poetry lovers all recognize instinctively but whose parameters are impossible to define. And although the freestyle non-rhyming-rap guy might have felt that he was producing poetry, it wasn’t real poetry to my friend because poetry was something, for her, that she identified by the way it made her feel. Poetry was something she recognized with her gut, not by the form it took. And that made her absolutely immune to bad poetry. Because for her, “bad poetry” wasn’t only uncommon; it was an oxymoron. Bad poetry held no threat to good poetry because it had nothing to do with good poetry.

You’re just out of college, Drowning; you’re a little young to give up. Instead, see if you can divorce what you love about literature from the sell-out scene you seem to have found yourself in. Follow the scent of good writing when you catch a whiff, and toss the rubbish without thinking twice. Even if you hear your favorite writers spouting bullshit, try to distinguish between the work you love and the imperfect people who may have made it. Draw and redraw those borders in order to keep the things you love safe. But hold on to what you know — hold on to what you love, what you recognize with your heart rather than your head, what made you want to be a writer in the first place. You can’t sell out as long as you still have that.

- Watson

The post How to Become Immune to Bullshit appeared first on The Faster Times.

How do you know when you cross the line between being conscientious and just being bitter? I’m an educated and analytical person, and I’ve considered myself a feminist since I was sixteen, and I don’t want to stop being one. But honestly, it’s just getting so damn hard. I can’t open a newspaper, watch a movie, or even walk down the street without running into examples of subtle or not-so-subtle sexism. And I live in California! I’m not a man-hater, and I don’t usually follow these observations to the level of confrontation, but I come home at the end of each day feeling more and more resentful of the world we’re living in. I see men at my office making more money and being treated with more respect than women who are far more capable; I see brilliant women completely losing their self-confidence just because they’re aging in a healthy and natural way; I see movie franchises built around actresses with little to commend them other than their physical assets, while truly iconic women are forced fade from the spotlight far too soon; and I see even my most liberal colleagues occasionally buying into all of this bullshit.

I talk about it, I write about it, I try my hardest to apply my full intelligence to these issues, but I also stew and fume and get angry. And I don’t think I’m wrong to do so. Or at least, I don’t think my anger is misdirected. I do my best not to blame individuals; I recognize that we’re all human, and this thing is just bigger than all of us. But regardless of how well or poorly I handle it, I do find myself in a nasty mood a good amount of the time.

What I want to know is, how can I be myself, be a feminist, and also be happy? Is there a point at which devotion to any cause, no matter how just, is unhealthy? Sometimes I think the most feminist thing I could do would be ignore it all and try to live outside of that oppressive system in some kind of closed self-made paradise; but it’s too late for me even if that were what I wanted — it’s just not in my nature to turn the other cheek. Yet even my closest friends and my totally feminist boyfriend of 10 years sometimes hint that I should just unwind and enjoy Mad Men with the rest of the world. Are they right, Watson? When do you hang up your hat?

- Woman Wondering

Dear WW,

The first thing I noticed while reading your letter is that although you say you’ve been a feminist since you were sixteen, you describe this “bitterness” as a recent phenomenon. My question for you, then, is: what changed since then? Sexism isn’t a new phenomenon — why was it bearable to you in the past when it isn’t now?

I don’t know you, so I can’t be sure, but I suspect that the answer lies in your observation that your once-feminist friends are “completely losing their self-confidence,” “hint[ing] that [you] should just unwind and enjoy Mad Men with the rest of the world.” In other words, the problem might not be your commitment to feminism itself, but your growing sense that your feminist efforts are ineffective. The tone of your letter suggests that a feeling of frustration and helplessness has come over you lately, despite your ostensible success at work, your close-knit group of friends, and your loving partner.

Feminism is partly about identifying and exposing sexist behavior, but it’s also about having faith that intelligent individuals can overcome their own biases and teach others to do it too. And while your critical capacity is intact, your faith seems to be faltering.

You write that you “don’t want to stop being [a feminist]” and it sounds like that’s true. I don’t think you (or any other rational and introspective person, for that matter) can really “go back” after becoming aware of systematic injustices. And I don’t think you’d be happier “hang[ing] up your hat.” You can’t, at this point, really abandon feminism, tempting as it sounds. All you can do is try to recover your old faith in it.

So ignore your friends and focus on that. There’s a lot that sucks about the world, but it’s always been that way; focus on what used to allow you to live in it anyway, what you’ve lost sight of lately. Don’t think about how much remains to be accomplished, but how you’d feel if you couldn’t say, at the end of the day, that you’d done everything you could. Don’t think of it as an uphill struggle; see it as an exercise of your nature, an expression of your identity. Find your optimism again. I know it’s still there.

- Watson

Dear Watson is TFT’s new weekly advice column. You can write to Watson anonymously at watson@thefastertimes.com.

The post Am I a Feminist, or Just Bitter? appeared first on The Faster Times.

I’m not the advice-column type, but I need some help, and Dan Savage is apparently busy. My best friend is dating the most annoying girl in the world. I know that makes me sound superficial, but I’m really not. I’d be totally capable of overlooking a nasal voice or ditzy mannerisms if I thought she made him happy. But this chick is downright anti-intellectual, and my friend is a borderline genius, and EVERYONE knows he can do better. We’ve been best friends for nearly 15 years now (since college), live nearby, etc., and he’s dated a lot of women whom I really liked, and a few that I at least didn’t mind, but he’s had a long dry spell and his last breakup was pretty shitty and between the two, he seems to have lost heart. I’ve asked him — in an open-minded way — what he sees in her several times now, and he always gives me these incredibly depressing replies, like “she doesn’t complain when I’m too busy to see her,” “she’s the right age for me,” “we share kitchen space pretty well,” or (he actually said this) “well she’s usually willing to have sex at least.” She has no real passions that I can discern, takes no interest in his work (he’s a writer), and is barely polite to his friends, even though I’ve made every effort to include her in conversations, ask how she is, etc. She doesn’t even seem to like him all that much. She is pretty, I guess… but not enough to explain why he’s with her when he used to have really high standards. (He’s no CK model but he’s definitely attractive enough to find someone better, and I think he knows it, because he’s done it in the past.)

Unfortunately, this girl is also in an I-want-to-get-married-and-have-kids-like-NOW phase and seems pretty bent on getting him to commit to her. He doesn’t seem to particularly want to, but he also doesn’t seem to have enough spirit left to resist the pressure she’s putting on him.

Do I have to accept that I’m going to have to deal with this sourpuss for the rest of my natural, or should I take a stand somehow? Can you even do that? I’ve talked to him about this as much as I could without being disrespectful, respecting the straight-dude-code (even though we usually ignore it), but the last time we talked he was pretty open about not being in love with her. He says he’s just tired of looking for something that might not exist and wants to get on with his life.

This attitude is so radically different from the goony romantic bookworm that I used to discuss heartaches with that I don’t even know how to connect with him about it. I’m totally at a loss. I don’t want to stop spending time with my best friend but I don’t know if I can stand to see him like this for good. Is there anything I can do?? I’ve tried asking friends and family for advice but they just don’t get it. (My sister even said I’m just jealous because he’s “growing up” without me.)

Thanks in advance, XBFF

Dear X,

You know what I have to tell you, right? They say there’s no accounting for taste, and it seems to be true, if the upcoming elections are any indication. Moreover, your best friend is an adult capable of making his own decisions and you should probably respect that, even if you don’t understand his choices. Growing apart from friends is something we all have to come to terms with as we get older; the sooner you start, the better.

Unless you love him, of course. Unless you love each other. Unless you have the kind of friendship where you don’t have those boundaries, where you’ve crafted your philosophies together over the years, where you can’t “let it slide” if his views don’t make sense to you or when he’s making bad decisions, the kind where anything that’s his business is your business and vice-versa.

I’m going to assume that you love him, because I suspect that you wouldn’t be asking me this question if you didn’t. And if that’s the case, I think you need to fight for him, no holds barred.

I know that sounds like dating advice more than friend advice, but fuck that — there are chill-and-hang-out friendships, and then there are real ones, and the real ones always blur that line, no matter what what the orientations of the people involved are. I’m not saying that there’s not a difference between platonic and romantic relationships, but I think we often mis-draw that distinction and assume that friendship doesn’t involve true commitment just because it isn’t sexual or exclusive.

But real friendship does involve commitment, because it involves real and reciprocal love, and with time, that leads to deep interdependence. We rely on our friends to hold us to the highest standards, and to be more disappointed than anyone if we fail; but we also rely on them to believe us capable of meeting those standards, even when we ourselves question that. Our friends are the people whose respect we think is most worth having, whose views we find compelling and beautiful; our friends, as much as our lovers, are who we write for, on whose behalf we think and strive; and our friends’ respect helps us to remember to respect ourselves, even when we’re least disposed to.

The commitments we make to our friends may appear less substantial because they’re not articulated and formalized the same way monogamous relationships are, and because they’re featured less often in soap operas and aren’t celebrated on February 14th. But I would venture to assert that that only makes them all the more sincere when they do occur. If true friendships are built on understanding and sharing each other’s aspirations, then they’re also implicitly based on the unspoken commitment to be your best for someone and to expect (and appreciate) their best of them in return.

From your letter, it seems like part of what you’re struggling with is that your friend has let you down by “giving up” on your shared ideology — giving up on him self — with this girl. He probably thinks he’s being a realist, coming off of his cloud, growing up. But you know better. You know the old “goon” is still in there, and you still love him — and he needs you.

So you need to take a stand. I don’t mean that you need to threaten him or walk away from him. If you’re right about his state of depression, that probably wouldn’t work, anyway. But you do need to find out if there’s something about their relationship that you’re missing (maybe they share a rare fetish?), or if what you’re seeing is really him giving up on love and happiness — and if it’s the latter, you need to remind him that the indefatigable intellect, the “borderline-genius” that you know him for is still his better side; that it’s better to spend your life looking for a love you may never find than to live with the knowledge that you gave up; that he deserves more, even if he doesn’t know it. Your friend is a little lost; it’s your job now to remind him what he believes, to remind him how much people can matter to you and how inspiring it is to live with higher hopes, however unrealistic.

If all else fails, yell. Brace yourself: for all your pains, you may discover that the friend you’ve cherished for so long really is irrecoverable. But don’t give up without a fight. People you can really love are too rare and precious to let them go just for the sake of tact.

- Watson

Dear Watson is a weekly advice column. You can write to Watson anonymously at watson@thefastertimes.com.

The post What To Do if Your Best Friend’s Dating a Brick appeared first on The Faster Times.

Dear Watson,

First, I should explain that I’m a woman in my 20s and I consider myself a feminist. Not just in theory, but in practice; I believe that it’s difficult not to be sexist in this society and although I’m not perfect either, I don’t date guys whom I don’t think at least make that effort and do a reasonable job at it.

Not surprisingly, this can limit my dating options. I grumble about that from time to time, but really I’m okay with it; it’s not like I could relax my “standards” anyway, even if I wanted to. And I’m okay with being on my own. But I just met a guy whom I really liked and all of the sudden I don’t know what I think, which isn’t something that happens to me often.

I still don’t know him very well, but he seemed pretty smart and he said he’s a feminist, so, score two, right? I also found him very attractive. We were really hitting it off, joking around, swapping reading lists. And we kissed, and it was a really good, really tender kiss. But when he asked me for my number, I told him the truth: I like you, and I find you really sexy, but I’m not sure I want to date right now because I had a rough breakup a year ago and am just getting on my feet. He replied that he understood but that I seemed to be on my feet already, and that he still thought I should give him a shot. I said something noncommittal, can’t remember what, and he said, “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I don’t meet people like you very often. Why don’t you give me your number anyway and I’ll just check in from time to time, to see if you’re ready, and if you’ve changed your mind about giving me a chance?”

I’ll admit I was flattered. I gave him my number. He’s sent me a few texts since then — considerate ones, the thought-of-you kind — and each time, I get a little turned on. But I’m confused because in the past, guys have tried this “persistence approach to seduction” shit on me before and I’ve always found it offensive and sexist, for obvious reasons. (I mean, have you ever heard of a woman doing that?? She’d just get called clingy.) The only thing that’s different this time is that I really do like the guy, and told him as much; it wasn’t a flat-out rejection. And he’s been more respectful about it than guys have been in the past. I’m still ashamed of myself, though, for finding this whole you-know-you-want-to thing so attractive. What’s the deal here? Should I ignore my attraction and blow him off? If I don’t, do I have to hang up my feminist hat? I mean what if he’s pushy about everything? Isn’t it dangerous to start down the “no-might-not-mean-no” path? And just as importantly: is this just a strategy? Am I being taken in here?

I’m clueless, give me whatever you got.

Female Fighting Intuition

Dear female,

What a loaded question. Persistence on the part of the male does seem to be one of the oldest romantic tropes, doesn’t it? And in the original Liz-and-Darcy context it made some sense. In the “old days,” when women were relatively powerless in society, they stood to lose a lot if they “gave in” to the wrong guy, so that persistence served the function of showing a girl that the guy deserved her trust, that his feelings were consistent and dependable. And although the rules of Victorian courtship changed and faded with time, women were still much more vulnerable than men, and still needed that assurance, for a long time afterwards, because the risk of pregnancy was always present.

So yes, in the modern context, the “persistence approach” can be insulting; it seems to imply that like the women of yesteryear, you’re too weak or feel too vulnerable to express your desires, or, worse, that you have no specific desires other than to be desired yourself. As someone who’s fought to her self-confidence, and to be treated no differently than men, it makes sense that you’d be turned off by the whole thing.

But when you give into a sense of “shame,” as a feminist, you’re also accepting strange bedfellows, if you know what I mean. In the context of a respectful relationship, for instance, would you call a woman a “bad feminist” for, say, asking a guy to call her a slut in bed? Or to indulge a rape fantasy? Or just to tell her she’s got great tits from time to time? Several fascinating new studies show that feeling desired is a critical component of arousal for many women. This guy’s persistence seems to be having that effect on you.

You say that when this has happened to you in the past, you’ve found it offputting, but that now, you’re sort of into it. That might be because there are subtle differences in this case. Firstly, the guy knows it’s not a total imposition, because you did give him your number, and you were honest about being attracted to him. That lands this flirtation more on the side of trying-to-make-you-feel-desired than disregarding your distaste for him. Secondly, he’s not making assumptions about your vulnerability; he’s reacting to vulnerability that you yourself made explicit when you told him that the issue wasn’t him, but your last breakup. That is to say, he might not be ignoring your feelings so much as addressing them — trying to show you that getting involved with him isn’t as risky as it might have seemed. I agree that “no-might-not-mean-no” is the kind of attitude that paves the road to perdition, but I don’t think his persistence in this particular case falls under that category — by giving him your number, you as much as admitted that you weren’t really saying “no” in this case.

As for your last question — “Am I being taken in here?” — I really couldn’t say. It’s possible that he’s just being Machiavellian in adopting the strategy most likely to win you over, given what he knows about your reasons for not dating. But then, being taken in is a risk you run with all new relationships, even the most promising. The real question is, are you ready to run that risk again?

-Watson

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