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3.28 AVERAGE
3.28 AVERAGE
There's a certain type of person who will love, and maybe even resonate with, How to Date Men When You Hate Men by the comedian Blythe Roberson, but I am not that person. How to Date Men When You Hate Men, billed by Roberson as a "comedy philosophy book", oddly toes various lines between being a self-help manifesto, a memoir, and a piece of comedic commentary. I have a hard time categorizing this as a "philosophy" book, mainly because a lot of the theories and points brought up in it feel ripped and repurposed straight from the internet.
On the first page of the book, Roberson proclaims that she, "thinks about men all the time." She continues to say that she thinks about "how they, individually (Donald Trump) and as a group, are oppressing me." She also thinks about "how they, individually (Timothee Chalamet) and as a group, are very hot." This is the first paragraph of the book, and I knew from the start that I was in for a grueling journey. To be fair, I would think that. It's increasingly difficult for me to read books that insist on dating being some torturous thing that everyone has to do, peppering those musings with an over-the-top amount of self deprecation that often mixes in bathroom humor. I, famously, didn't like Cazzie David's memoir, I can't get into Sam Irby's books, and I believe that the television adaptation of Lindy West's Shrill is much, much better than the book. I know that I'm probably not the target audience for a lot of these stories, but it's frustrating when I know so deeply where these people are coming from and what they're trying to do. This was one of the most frustrating parts of reading How To Date Men When You Hate Men.
It's universally known that casual dating can be tedious at best, emotionally scarring at worst. It can often end in hurt, and whatever pleasant feelings it does cause are often fleeting. Some of my favorite writers have written books about casual dating and how unsustainable it is (Future Sex by Emily Witt, The Answers by Catherine Lacey). What I take issue with, however, is reading a book that insists on dating being some torturous thing that we somehow have to do in order to live. To obnoxiously build a point off of an expression by Marie Kondo, a person that many authors like Roberson like to incorporate into their oeurve to make their work more relatable: if dating doesn't spark joy, why do we insist on making it part of our everyday life? Why do we yearn for something that just makes us feel empty and alone? Why do we tolerate rude behavior from someone we went on a date with, behavior we wouldn't tolerate from a friend? A lot of it has to do with coming from a generation that has been Lanapilled, the millennial/gen-Z cusps finding a certain spice in the drama that comes with being hurt or longing for a man who treats us poorly. I've fallen into this, I've written essays like this for my creative writing classes. It does not make me feel any better, and honestly it makes me think about relationships in a much more cynical way than I want to.
This book's particular approach to dating, which I'm sure was meant to be funny and/or relatable, had such an air of hopelessness that it made the book take on a strange air of melancholy. To be frank, the book felt like one big "nvm he responded". It genuinely felt like this was written during the day that her crush wasn't texting her back. The book is filled with typos, way too many exclamation points, ridiculous instances of text-speak, and poor attempts at trying to describe an outdated meme. Roberson does, as these authors often do, alternate between extreme braggadocio as well as immense self deprecation (in one strange metaphor, Roberson describes herself as "a porous blob who is very affected by and takes on qualities of her environment, like a tofu marinating in a sauce of hot guys with cool aesthetics", she also calls herself a "goblin" numerous times throughout the book). She also falls into the obnoxious don't-talk-to-me-until-I've-had-my-oat-milk-latte millennial tone that many personal essayists feel that it is imperative to speak in these days. References to crystals and cacti throw pillows adorn the book, as well as Roberson's position as a staunch Democrat (she has Hillary Clinton sweatpants, and makes herself feel better by looking at the 1994 Rodham-Clinton Christmas Card). In that same vein, she makes obligatory references to her privilege, stating that as a "white, straight, cis, able-bodied woman," she has a lot of, "privilege!" She's also sure to remind us that this doesn't mean she's "immune to....hot boys manipulating me over text with an almost psychology-experiment level of efficacy."
For a book that was supposed to be funny and lighthearted (one can assume?), it ended up just making me sad. I thought about the people who will probably like this book, people like gay men who lust after straight men and think that they alone possess the power to "turn them gay", something that I've always found deeply depressing. When it inevitably doesn't work out, those people turn to the same philosophy that Roberson pushes in this book, the philosophy that love is dead and relationships are a scam. I genuinely refuse to believe that. Relationships are difficult, and often take work and lots of patience, but for the right person it's worth it. As someone who romantically loves men, I can't continue to subscribe to the points that people like Roberson make, even if I, at times, resonate or agree with them. It's sad to be so cynical about dating at such a young age, and it's unfortunate that people think they deserve nothing more than scraps on a table when it comes to a relationship. Relationships are a genuine commitment, a two way street, with an equal amount of work having to be put in on both ends. If one person isn't willing to put in the work, the entire operation falls apart.
On the first page of the book, Roberson proclaims that she, "thinks about men all the time." She continues to say that she thinks about "how they, individually (Donald Trump) and as a group, are oppressing me." She also thinks about "how they, individually (Timothee Chalamet) and as a group, are very hot." This is the first paragraph of the book, and I knew from the start that I was in for a grueling journey. To be fair, I would think that. It's increasingly difficult for me to read books that insist on dating being some torturous thing that everyone has to do, peppering those musings with an over-the-top amount of self deprecation that often mixes in bathroom humor. I, famously, didn't like Cazzie David's memoir, I can't get into Sam Irby's books, and I believe that the television adaptation of Lindy West's Shrill is much, much better than the book. I know that I'm probably not the target audience for a lot of these stories, but it's frustrating when I know so deeply where these people are coming from and what they're trying to do. This was one of the most frustrating parts of reading How To Date Men When You Hate Men.
It's universally known that casual dating can be tedious at best, emotionally scarring at worst. It can often end in hurt, and whatever pleasant feelings it does cause are often fleeting. Some of my favorite writers have written books about casual dating and how unsustainable it is (Future Sex by Emily Witt, The Answers by Catherine Lacey). What I take issue with, however, is reading a book that insists on dating being some torturous thing that we somehow have to do in order to live. To obnoxiously build a point off of an expression by Marie Kondo, a person that many authors like Roberson like to incorporate into their oeurve to make their work more relatable: if dating doesn't spark joy, why do we insist on making it part of our everyday life? Why do we yearn for something that just makes us feel empty and alone? Why do we tolerate rude behavior from someone we went on a date with, behavior we wouldn't tolerate from a friend? A lot of it has to do with coming from a generation that has been Lanapilled, the millennial/gen-Z cusps finding a certain spice in the drama that comes with being hurt or longing for a man who treats us poorly. I've fallen into this, I've written essays like this for my creative writing classes. It does not make me feel any better, and honestly it makes me think about relationships in a much more cynical way than I want to.
This book's particular approach to dating, which I'm sure was meant to be funny and/or relatable, had such an air of hopelessness that it made the book take on a strange air of melancholy. To be frank, the book felt like one big "nvm he responded". It genuinely felt like this was written during the day that her crush wasn't texting her back. The book is filled with typos, way too many exclamation points, ridiculous instances of text-speak, and poor attempts at trying to describe an outdated meme. Roberson does, as these authors often do, alternate between extreme braggadocio as well as immense self deprecation (in one strange metaphor, Roberson describes herself as "a porous blob who is very affected by and takes on qualities of her environment, like a tofu marinating in a sauce of hot guys with cool aesthetics", she also calls herself a "goblin" numerous times throughout the book). She also falls into the obnoxious don't-talk-to-me-until-I've-had-my-oat-milk-latte millennial tone that many personal essayists feel that it is imperative to speak in these days. References to crystals and cacti throw pillows adorn the book, as well as Roberson's position as a staunch Democrat (she has Hillary Clinton sweatpants, and makes herself feel better by looking at the 1994 Rodham-Clinton Christmas Card). In that same vein, she makes obligatory references to her privilege, stating that as a "white, straight, cis, able-bodied woman," she has a lot of, "privilege!" She's also sure to remind us that this doesn't mean she's "immune to....hot boys manipulating me over text with an almost psychology-experiment level of efficacy."
For a book that was supposed to be funny and lighthearted (one can assume?), it ended up just making me sad. I thought about the people who will probably like this book, people like gay men who lust after straight men and think that they alone possess the power to "turn them gay", something that I've always found deeply depressing. When it inevitably doesn't work out, those people turn to the same philosophy that Roberson pushes in this book, the philosophy that love is dead and relationships are a scam. I genuinely refuse to believe that. Relationships are difficult, and often take work and lots of patience, but for the right person it's worth it. As someone who romantically loves men, I can't continue to subscribe to the points that people like Roberson make, even if I, at times, resonate or agree with them. It's sad to be so cynical about dating at such a young age, and it's unfortunate that people think they deserve nothing more than scraps on a table when it comes to a relationship. Relationships are a genuine commitment, a two way street, with an equal amount of work having to be put in on both ends. If one person isn't willing to put in the work, the entire operation falls apart.
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
funny
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
lighthearted
fast-paced
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
I thought this book was so funny and there were a lot of points that the author made that I could relate to. If you're looking for a book that does a deep dive on feminism and intersectionality, this isn't the book you're looking for. This book really just touched on surface level feminism, if that, and keep in mind that the author is a white straight cisgender woman, so her writing often reflects that. I don't think that the author intended this to be some sort of informational or educational piece on feminism - the author is a comedian and since I listened to the audiobook, it was clear to me from the start based on her tone that this is satirical and comedic. For people that were disappointed in this approach, that's just a case of judging a book by its cover and assuming what it's going to be. If you aren't enjoying reading the book, I recommend giving it a second chance by listening to the audiobook. Overall this was a fun book to listen to!
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced
funny
lighthearted
medium-paced
I expected this book to be more of a satire on modern dating, but it is more like having a conversation with a girl you’ve met at a bar that won’t stop talking about herself and is only mildly funny.
funny
lighthearted
medium-paced
funny
reflective
medium-paced
funny
lighthearted
fast-paced