It seemed too good to be true. And I was right. After two dates, the guy from that meet-cute dream encounter gave me his Instagram handle to reveal one singular photo from 2018 and “: connorsoccerstar69” in his bio. How can I tell my friends that he only has a “Saturday night with the boys” post after gushing about him for hours? How can love persist when even I am having second thoughts looking at his 2018 bowl cut?
Now, when I look into his eyes, all I can see is the horrifying tagged post of a high-schooler T-posing with his friends. I reconsider our entire relationship as I stare at the highlights of shitty sunset pictures with the ‘Rio de Janeiro’ filter on his profile. Meanwhile, he has a catalog of photos from my account to choose from ranging from cute and candid to supermodel (or even slut) when mentioning me to his friends. My friends will mock me forever. Men — do better.