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Sorry, my crushes: as is true of everything, this is all about Blythe Roberson!

” Though a performative hatred of men may lead to a performative decision to abstain from them altogether, Roberson admits she wants to find love—“when I meet a guy so hot that I feel the burning need to go see movies with him for the next forty years,” she writes, “you better believe I feel a ton of emotions about it.” Even so, she senses a tension between coupling with a man and her desire to write about everything that happens to her, which is also her career and her “art.” She suspects men may be threatened, classically, by her ambition, and by her “‘prose before bros’ philosophy,” which includes the fact that she will write about them as ruthlessly as she wants.

Both are necessary to communicate and deal with other people, not only because no one will ever care as much about what you want as you do, but also because without them the world would be a screaming crowd of unmet needs.When she considers how she would feel if a man wrote about her, she muses that being a muse would be pretty cool, and it doesn’t seem to occur to her that there should be a trade-off here.Intimacy is not built on going to the movies with a hot guy or satisfying those burning needs, but rather on trust and, to a certain extent, privacy.Why can’t she transition her “crushes” to official boyfriend status?The tone careens from internet-era hackwork to earnest recitations of basic activist concepts that are simultaneously taken as givens and summarized for her readers, many of whom, Roberson imagines, might be men who can use the book “as a template for how to love women and how to flirt and be sexual in a way that won’t ruin women’s lives, or—and this is such a recent possibility—your life!

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