The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,9
is some kind of. . . how did she put it? Oh yeah, a self-proclaimed “male influencer”, whatever the hell that means. Tori tries to explain it to me.
“Wait, like, he’s an influencer that’s male? Duh.”
“No, not an influencer who’s male,” she explains. “I mean, he is, but that’s not what I meant. He’s a male influencer—meaning he makes videos to try and improve the lives of other men. Why do you keep bringing him up? And why do you sound like you’re having a panic attack?”
Thank God she’s my best friend or I’d cut a bitch for asking me such a dumb question right now. “Really, Tor? Did you see what he posted about me?”
“You think I subscribe to his channel?”
I guess I am being unfair. I haven’t really explained anything to her. “Right. Well I’m going to send it to you right now. Fast forward to one minute and twelve seconds in and prepare to be shocked.”
“But I’m really. . .”
“Busy.” I interrupt. “Yeah yeah, big famous author, I get it. I need you to do this for me anyway, okay?”
After two seconds of silence she gives in. “Alright,” she concedes. “Send me the link.”
“It’s not long, I promise. His crime against humanity is maybe two minutes long. Watch it and then call me back.”
“Okay.”
I hang up and send her the link to his video. Nothing to do now but wait and stew.
She face-times me back. “Oh my God, what a pig!”
“Tori, we’ve known each other for a long time, and I need you to answer something for me. Don’t pull any punches, I need total honesty. Pretend you’re me and just be blunt, okay?”
“Okay.”
“My fuckability score can’t be that low, can it?”
“Excuse me? Your what?”
“My fuckability score. You know, the degree to which guys would want to. . .”
“No, I get it. I don’t think that’s a thing, though.”
“It’s for sure a thing. Didn’t you see the video?”
“I did. But there was no score. It wasn’t a multiple-choice test—it was a pass or fail kind of thing—or I guess it’s a pass or smash kind of thing.”
“Failure meaning. . .”
“No dick for you, sorry,” she laughs. She laughs! I’m fuming and she’s giggling. “Sorry. I know it’s not funny. But it’s kind of funny at the same time.”
“It is not!”
I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. I mean, why should I care what some random YouTube guy with a dumb channel thinks about how fuckable I am? It’s not like I want to have sex with him.
It’s not like he’s really good looking, with a perfectly chiseled face and high cheekbones. He’s not in obviously great shape with pecs that are screaming to be freed from the prison of his oppressive shirt.
“Who even cares what some guy thinks of you?”
“Who cares?” I repeat.
“Look, there are a million of these videos from YouTubers, male and female by the way. Conor didn’t invent Smash or Pass—it’s a popular video troupe. People will forget about it as quickly as it took them to watch, trust me.”
Maybe. But I won’t forget. I’m like a petty female elephant—my angry memory runs long.
“I appreciate you trying to downplay this for my benefit, but the guy has a shit ton of followers, a lot of people saw this. And what some of those pigs wrote in the comments was just plain rude.”
I regret what I just admitted to before all of the words even pass over my lips.
“You don’t read comments, do you?” I don’t answer. My hesitation answers for me. “Oh no. Shosh! What did I tell you about reading the comments? Especially. . .”
“The ones with the eggs for profile pics. I know, I know. I can’t help myself sometimes.”
Tori gave me my YouTube tutorial when I first started my channel. It was like a TED Talk filled with all the rules and regulations of the online influencer world. And guess what rule #1 was—that’s right. . .
“Never, ever, under any circumstances read the comments!”
“Then why have comments on?”
“Because the activity helps drive views on YouTube’s algorithm. But you should never actually read them. They’re like a bottomless pit of the dregs of humanity.”
“Yeah, and kind of sexist and racist also.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. It’s where people go to say things they’d never say to your face in real life. Hateful things. And if you read enough of them, it’ll mess with your head.”
Not as much as a hot famous guy calling me unfuckable, but whatevs. I guess