#dickonomics

[downtofook]

“Dick is abundant and low value.”

[babypinkserfbort]

The creepy, overly sexual advance. Dick pics, the "I want to stick ___ in your ___" as an opening line, asking for nude photos, being explicitly sexual at all in the first, 20+ messages, or 1-2 interactions in person. As a girl, most guys are basically trying to sell you some dick. What they don't understand is that the market is obscenely flooded with dick, making dick a negative-value commodity. You can't even give it away, so trying to sell it to someone makes you a negative-value deal. You have to sell something other than dick, something that is so good that it compensates for the negative value of the dick you're trying to add on to the deal. Are you a hilarious person? A great conversationalist? Intelligent? What are you going to sell me, other than dick?

flotiste on Reddit

[laughtercrystal]

Meanwhile, a substantial number of other men guessed that women using Tinder might enjoy wild romantic gestures like using punctuation in sentences instead of winky faces, or asking which trains we lived off of to pick mutually convenient meeting places, or bringing their own condoms because safety is everyone’s responsibility. These men who care more about women’s realities than their own fantasies are the ones who still actually get laid on Tinder.

https://medium.com/matter/the-dickonomics-of-tinder-b14956c0c2c7

[dickonomics-blog]

“Do you like Mexican food? Because I’ll wrap my arms around you and make you my bae-rito”

[dickonomics-blog]

Move on, you thirsty fuck

By Hillary Rodham Clit-on and Ruth Bader Sinsberg

Having someone to text all day is the ideal situation for a girl majoring in Dickonomics. You know you’re constantly on someone’s mind, and you’re consistently being showered with attention. However, this can quickly turn into a less ideal scenario should you discover you’re in a nightmare scenario: you’re dealing with a stage-five clinger.

Identifying a stage-five clinger in the wild is less obvious than you might think. You may initially think you’re dealing with a very chill guy who just texts a lot. However, enough quadruple texts can indicate the man you’re talking to isn’t just interested in you — he’s just a little too eager and too interested. The texts they send aren’t friendly anymore, they’re urgent. You stop responding for thirty minutes and they go into a Rob Kardashian-sized panic spiral.

Here at Dickonomics, we love men who find you interesting; in fact, these are the men we’re seeking out. But there’s a fine line between expressing interest and infringing on stalker territory. If you feel like you’re dealing with a SFC, the absolute best thing you can do — and we hate to say this, because it will crush his ego and make him sad, especially if he truly is a nice guy — is to execute the fadeaway.

The fadeaway, as its name suggests, is when you simply ghost yourself out of a situation with a dude. You can do the fadeaway with a guy you’re chatting up on Tinder or with a guy you banged a couple times. They text you, don’t respond. They call, don’t answer. They snap, open it and “forget” you did. Gradually eliminate yourself from their lives and their constant streams of communication. When you think you’ve successfully faded away, delete their number (if you had it saved). Move onto greener pastures. And if you ever get a followup, late-night, drunken text from them, don’t be afraid to respond to their “hey baby i miss you” with a “who dis?”

Casual sex is casual for a reason: there’s no commitment, and someone can always pull a fadeaway. Don’t make yourself vulnerable! By realizing that you can move on to bigger and better dicks, you eliminate the possibility of being dragged down by a hopelessly average anchor.

Remembering this simple fact will remind you how much control you have over any situation with a guy, clinger or otherwise.

[dickonomics-blog]

Dick in Review: FiDi Boy

by Hillary Rodham Clit-on

Being thrust into the dating world after breaking up with your boyfriend of four years is a weird thing. Especially because four years ago Tinder was just a glimmer in the eye of Sean Rad and Justin Mateen, and you actually had to meet people IRL or on OkCupid. Fast forward four years, and post-breakup me is ready to meet the single and eligible men in one of the biggest cities of the world. What better — and frankly, lazier — way to do that than to upload the best pictures of myself to Tinder and start swiping?

Not going to lie, I was obsessed with Tinder initially. Within a few days I had figured out exactly why it was so addicting. I loved the attention and I loved being able to pass judgment on dudes in the most literal, disposable way possible. In particular, one boy caught my eye. For the sake of this story, we’ll call him FiDi Boy (for you non-NYers, FiDi is one of those dumb New York abbreviations, referring to lower Manhattan’s Financial District). He was cute, smart, successful, a few years older than me (a must), and most vitally, he was very into the idea of helping me get laid.

We spent about a week and a half texting daily and sexting back and forth. If a week and a half seems like a long time to be doing this with someone who lives a stone’s throw from your office, that’s because it is. In the Tinder era, this time is equivalent to a month in real time. We rescheduled hanging out several times. This is what happens when you want to fuck a FiDi boy: you become complicit with their 17-hour-day schedules. Consider this a warning, or if you’re opposed to this kind of Wolf of Wall Street behavior, a huge fucking red flag.

Finally, after a series of scheduling negotiations that would impress the most seasoned of Wall Street dealmakers, FiDi Boy and I met up on a humid Sunday afternoon at a divey, bro-ey bar in Murray Hill, conveniently not far from his apartment -- a typical FiDi Bro M.O., because time is money and efficiency is key. He was roughly as cute as he was in pictures, complete with dadbod. He was a consultant for a major financial firm. He could talk shop about business, tech, and finance, and seemed impressed that I knew more about what his company does than he did. Not a bad catch for a first post-breakup Tinder meetup, I guess. But enough about the date; let’s talk about what happened when we inevitably got back to his place.

THE DIGS: Typical two-bedroom in a doorman high-rise in Murray Hill. Obviously the home of two 20-something men who work in finance. His room was a shoebox. His roommate was home. We didn’t get to do half of the fun things I’d wanted to. Alas.

THE SEX: To set the scene, we’re sitting on his couch “watching” “a” “movie,” by which I mean we’re pretending to intently stare at Steve Carell’s hairy chest in The 40-Year-Old Virgin,ˆ bringing back memories of my high school basement days. After roughly 90 seconds of this, he grabs me and kisses me, and whisks me down the hall to his room. We get undressed pretty fast. Very little foreplay (automatic points against any guy who doesn’t offer to go down on you immediately, tbh). Because I am a nice, sweet, reciprocative partner, however, I go down on him. And then there’s the sex: no more than 6 minutes. It’s rough, it’s messy, it’s pretty fun, but it was over before it could even really get started -- because, really, what kind of guy doesn’t let his girl finish first?

THE AFTERMATH: As a new entrant to Tinder Hookups™, I was unsure of my next move. Get dressed and leave immediately? Ask for another beer? Turns out, he was more than happy to spend 2 more hours with me in his bed talking about economics and tech, which is great because those are two things I generally know a lot about. He then proceeded to look up my stories online and read through those. We cuddled. We kissed. He eventually had to leave to go watch Game of Thrones with friends, but he flagged down a cab on 2nd Ave and handed the driver a very generous $50 to take me home. We texted a bit afterwards, but we never saw each other again. I’m grateful for FiDi Boy, however, because he was the perfect segue back into slutty single life for me.

RATING: 2 of 5 erect penises.

[dickonomics-blog]

Manifesto

It all started with two things: first, a long-distance relationship gone awry at the end of spring semester. Then, a separate text-message breakup.

Serendipitously we both left years-long relationships around the same time. We found ourselves newly single young women in two big cities in the Tinder era. With no knowledge of the inner workings of dating apps (told you, we’d been in relationships for YEARS), we set off on a quest for one thing and one thing only: dick.

We realized that we were young, incredibly intelligent, and more-than-reasonably attractive women who had been undervalued by our exes. Statistics worked in our favor. 

When we found Dickonomics, we realized it was the guide we needed. We wanted to break down this hook-up culture by locating, dating, and banging the worst kind of yuppies. We vowed to go on as many Tinder dates as we could. If guys could go after casual sex, why couldn’t we?

We soon adopted the Dickonomics mantra — “Dick is abundant and low value” — and applied it to nearly every facet of our lives, sexual or otherwise. The rebound fuckbuddy (who just so happened to have the tiniest of just-below-average penises) wanted to call off our arrangement? Dick is abundant and low value. That less-than-average-performing investor who didn’t call back after the first date? Dick is abundant and low value. The chauvinist Harvard grad who didn’t believe women could be in tech? Dick is abundant and low value.

Dickonomics is a place for us to document, review, and meditate on our experiences as newly single women in pursuit of every hot-blooded young American’s dream: NSA casual sex with hot seemingly successful guys on Tinder.

The most crucial part of adopting the mantra is realizing that it’s incredibly easy to swipe left, and that we hold all the power when swiping right. A fuckboy comments on your tits right off the bat? Unmatch him. Dick is abundant and low value. A FiDi bro who you have plans to get drinks with keeps backing out and trying to reschedule? Delete his number. Dick is abundant and low value.

The mantra is also a useful reminder not to get too attached. Men are disposable. For every thirsty Tinder boy who promises to serenade you with his acoustic Taylor Swift covers, there are 5 more lined up to talk to you. We’re busy women and we don’t have time for fuckboys who are playing games. You live in Staten Island? Too far, sorry. Swipe left. You’re unemployed and spend all your time practicing your stand-up routine at UCB? Swipe left. You’re actually in a relationship but you’re just looking for something fun on the side? No way. Swipe left. Dick is abundant and low value. We hold all the power on Tinder.