Tricia Romano, who apparently went to grad school at the University of Washington in the 90s, which would put her right around 40 give or take a couple years, has declared that techies are responsible for her lackluster sex life. Not to dump on Ms. Romano too much, but she doesn’t exactly stand out from the crowd by any stretch of the imagination (the tattoo isn’t helpful). She’s passable, but she isn’t a hot young thing anymore, and she should probably adjust her expectations accordingly.
However, instead of accepting the approach of the wall, she has chosen to blame guys who work at Amazon.com, much as other embittered feminists are blaming techies for San Francisco’s housing problems. I don’t care much for Amazon, but some of my friends have worked there, and there’s nothing wrong with them that I can see. For the most part they are overworked, chewed up and spit out by a ruthless corporation that shows absolutely no loyalty to employees (which is why I despise the monopolistic, megalomaniacal Jeff Bezos). Even if they are making $100k, it’s not all that much on an hourly basis, as many are expected to work up to 3,000 hours per year and be on call 24/7 (urban public school teachers with mid-level seniority can easily make more per hour than programmers). They are also ruthlessly exploited by real estate developers and speculators, who have jacked up rents and property values so high that a six figure income barely supports a family of three in West Coast tech centers. Again, how are these overworked, exploited guys to blame for predatory urban capitalists, much less Tricia Romano’s desultory sex life?
But somehow she finds a way. She claims they aren’t sexually appealing to her, because they don’t know how to talk about the most fascinating subject on earth: Tricia Romano.
I sat across from him and listened. He was trim, tall, bearded (as they all seem to be), a recent transplant, having only lived in Seattle for a year or so and worked at a start-up, after burning out at Amazon (as they all seem to have). He rode his bike around town; he had good taste in food and wine; and he lived across the street from where we were meeting. He was a software engineer or did something in tech (as they all did). And he was utterly unmemorable.
I don’t think he asked me a single question about myself. Our date—if you call these impromptu Internet meetings, dates—lasted an hour. It felt more like a job interview, but not the way a date is supposed to be a job interview. There was no grilling about where you were from and what your family was like and what you were looking for.
Romano dates herself when she nostalgically recalls the good old days of the 90s, back when Seattle was hip and alternative and interesting (and she was in her 20s):
This wasn’t what I’d signed up for. I’d moved back to Seattle, in particular to Capitol Hill, because when I’d lived here during the ’90s it was a beacon of diversity for weirdos. (I stress “weirdos”—there are few people of color in Seattle.) The weirdos were: young gay boys, old hippies of varying sexuality, straight artists and musicians, softball lesbians, punk-rock dykes who played house music, metal musicians, ravers, or people into the fetish scene. They were not straight, white guys from flyover country or California imported by a software company. They spent their time doing things other than making Jeff Bezos more money.
I can sympathize a bit here. I myself miss the “weirdos.” In fact, it isn’t just the weirdos who have disappeared, but the people she’d probably find “weirdly normal” (i.e. married, middle class families) as well. Seattle has become a left-fascist corporatocracy administered by a junta of rainbow warriors. Their primary goal, as far as I can tell, is waging war on the American working and middle class for the benefit of the parasitic classes at the top and bottom of society. This is accomplished by destroying the low and middle-income private sector jobs that support an independent lifestyle (for artists and bohemian types, too), overtaxing the working poor and middle class, cronyism and speculation — all in the name of “progress.” If this means shoving out the “weirdos” in order to make room for a corporate drone tax base to fill government coffers and please billionaire overlords like Jeff Bezos, then so be it.
But unfortunately for Ms. Romano, social ills are not the source of her amorous troubles. Instead, her problem is so obvious that it should hardly need to be pointed out, but for her benefit I’ll do so anyway: She’s 40 and she’s acting like an adolescent. Doesn’t she know dating is for kids? Normal, sexually active middle-aged adults are typically in longstanding monogamous relationships. Does she seriously think, at her age, that there are going to be a lot of “interesting” men at her beck and call? Or that they will be interested in her? I hear a lot about men’s supposed entitlement, but hers takes the cake. 40-year-old spinster can’t find a man! Stop the presses and listen to her complain! Something must be done!
No, it isn’t the techies, but the fact that the guys she was sleeping with back in the 90s have grown up and moved on, and she hasn’t.