OKCupid Message Types


I’ve been using OKCupid since I was old enough to legally breed. OKC is awesome.

I keep reading complaints from men about how many messages they send with so little a response, so I decided to compile a couple numbers about my side of the pond.

I received 368 messages in the last 32 days, for an average of 11.5 messages per day

Picking how to categorize the messages was very difficult, but I came to a few general

Short Compliment: Any messages that consisted of one sentence with a basic compliment (“your pretty” “ur funny“) 

Short Greeting: Any messages that consisted of solely a few-word greeting (“hey” “what’s up” “how you doin“)

Sexual Proposition: Any messages where the primary point was sexual (“hey baby wanna get fucked hard?” “ur tits are real nice”)

Generic Introduction: Messages approximately 150 words or less, which include two or more of the following: A joke, a compliment, an introduction, a self description, a proposition for activities tonight, a profile reference. (“Hey! I’m Jake, I’m from New York and I’m in town for my fish eating business! You have a great profile, I really like that book you like, do you wanna grab a drink tonight?)

Profile reference: Messages with a sole content of addressing my profile or photos. (“your pictures are hilarious, what are you running from?” “What do you think about Heinlein? He’s a really awesome writer. I was homeschooled too!”)

Other: Insults, nonsensical messages, or messages having to do with gnomes.

High Effort: Messages containing 2+ well written paragraphs, usually addressing both my profile and their own lives.


As you can see, over half of the messages – a full 188 of them, or 5.8 a day – were either a profile reference or a generic greeting. 

My reply rate was to 7 messages total – 1.9%, or one message every 4.7 days. 6 out of those 7 messages were to messages within the “High Effort” category. Of course this part is very subjective to the individual, but I typically reply only when there is a very real interest in meeting up. Out of those 7 messages, I actually ended up meeting with 1 person. Most of the others I replied to lived out of state, however.

The average length of the last 10 messages I responded to was 197 words.

I suspect that most men who send messages typically send something along the lines of a Generic Introduction or Profile Reference, and don’t realize exactly how generic their messages end up sounding. If I were to meet with one new person a week, that would be 1 out of every 92 messages. It’s difficult to be a man, competition is fierce. 

Of course many women have different reply rates than I do. Many respond more frequently than they intend to meet, or sometimes to assess the man further. Many receive different levels of messages than I do. I am a sample size of one, so by no means take this as any sort of absolute truth. It is meant, however, to hopefully make you more aware of the sort of messages women might be dealing with, and how to address that.

(Also 7.6% of messages admitted to seeing me naked.)

You Wake Up On A Table


You wake up on a table. The last thing you remember is struggling to breathe in your own bed at the age of 92. A man appears with a clipboard and tells you that this is the year 3042, that you died a thousand years ago and your memories, personality, brain structure, and subconscious were put on a file and saved until a day where they could be adequately hosted by a working vessel. You look down and find your body is hard and smooth. There are bolts in the back of your elbows. He tells you they’ve constructed an artificial machine that nearly perfectly resembles a human body. It will not age, it does not get ill. You can eat, dance, and enjoy sexual intercourse. You must recharge every night.

“Do you have the personalities of everyone?” you ask. Yes, the man says. The personalities of every person from 2042 onward have been directly downloaded from the brain, and thousands prior to 2042 have been downloaded as well.

“Wait,” you say. “How do you save the personalities of people before 2042?”

“We reconstruct them,” the man says. “We place bits together from memories of loved ones, of writings, of records. It is a long, painstaking process.”

“How do you know it is accurate?” You ask. “What if you make a mistake?”

“There is a .02 variance in every replica,” he answers. “Even in yourself. The variance in personalities recorded prior to 2042 is .09. It is a negligible difference. All the presidents of the United States are currently living, as well as many major historical figures. A version of Shakespeare is currently living in New Jersey.”

“A version?”

“Historical records were not comprehensive enough for high levels of accuracy.”

“So is it him?”

“Only a little less than you are you.”

You run your fingers over your skin. It feels smoother than you remember, but you were old the last time you closed your eyes. Not that you’re any younger, now.

“Will I ever die?”

“Your body will eventually fail,” he says. “Macrocell bodies last for approximately 300 years before they must be replaced.”

“And I’ll be put into another one?”

“Yes, unless you specifically request a non-continuation of your memory.”

You stand from the table and test your walk. Your legs take a moment to respond to your will, but soon they move smoother, and quicker, and you spin around on one leg with incredible power. Everything is made of a material you don’t quite recognize, and it’s a strange shade of pink.

“So if you can reconstruct memories, can you change them? If I ask, can you erase shame, or the memory of death of loved ones? What if I were a murderer? Can you erase sadistic tendencies in people?”

“Yes,” he says. “There are extensive modification forms you can submit for change upon your next awakening if you wish to improve yourself. We refuse to reawaken criminals unless they agree to positive modification.”

“Do people choose to forget who they were, entirely? Are there people who wish to be someone else upon their next… wake-up?”

“We call them births. This is your second birth. And yes. There are many people who choose an identity and remove memory of their prior lives. Most are not aware that they are on their second birth; they believe they have simply been born.”

“Then how are they even the same person?” You have a difficult time understanding this. “How is this any different than booting up any arbitrary consciousness with arbitrary specifications?”

“It isn’t,” he says, simply.

You realize you are naked. He doesn’t seem to care. You can feel the ligaments within you moving… differently. More precisely. Cleanly. It is hard to focus on your body with your mind whirling. Your mind is moving very quickly. It’s as though the cobwebs have been cleaned from your brain.

“Are my children alive?”

“You have four children alive.”

“I only had three children.”

“One elected to be birthed twice.”


The man talks calmly, as though he’s said the words a thousand times before. “Your child Miranda lives in Texas. She also lives in Canada.”

“What are you saying?”

“There are two bodies that carry her consciousness.”

“But – which one is her?”

“Both are her.”

“Both? How do you have two of the same person? Could you boot me up again?”


You stand there dumbfounded, and stare at the table. “Would it be a clone?”

“No, it would be you just as much as you are you.”

“And this other me – over time it would be subjected to different experiences. It would be me for a little while, but then it would change. How could it really be me, then?”

“You think because it has gone through different things, that it is not you?”

“Then how do you draw the boundary between what is and is not me? Could anyone be me?”

“Some say everyone already is you.”

You grab your head – full of thick hair – and run your hands down your face. It feels like your own face, except without wrinkles.

“What are we?”

“That is a very good question.”

“Is this me? You’ve taken something that remembers some life of mine, some collection of ideas – hell, they might not even be real – and now I’m something that can be replicated? What is this? I died! I was gone, and now I’m awake again and I remember being me.”

“We don’t use the term death anymore,” he says, gently. “We call it sleeping.”

“Don’t try to soften the truth. People do die. I died.”

“And when you’ve gone to bed to sleep at night? You closed your eyes, fell unconscious, and then hours later you opened your eyes again and remembered being you. And just now – you’ve closed your eyes and opened them a thousand years later. Sleeping is no different from death, except with sleeping, you remember who you were last time. With death, the memory leaves.”

You can’t manage words to respond. The man continues. “You will meet many people who are on their tenth births who will not remember their past births.”

“What about me? Have I lived in the span before this time and chosen not to remember?”

“If you had, I would not be at liberty to tell you.”

“Why do people choose not to remember?”

“Most will say they got bored. You cannot be a child again if you do not die.”

“I thought you said you didn’t use the word death.”

“We do in cases of non-remembrance.”

“How many times have you been born?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Does anyone know, for sure?”

“No,” he says. He reaches into a drawer built into the wall and hands you a simple robe. “Are you ready for the world?”

“No,” you say.

He smiles, his first expression. “You can come back whenever you wish. There is food waiting for you. You will also find a full manual explaining the changes in this world and how to function in it. Two of your children will meet you outside.”

You thank him, your head still spinning, and with your new legs you step through the door.

How to love yourself



TRANSCRIPT (roughly)

People say ‘be yourself.’ This is a sentiment you hear in movies growing up, in those cheesy inspirational speeches your teachers or whatever authority figures kids these days have.

But do you really know who you are? Can you be yourself if you’re still figuring out what exactly the self is? Most of us are in stillettos, stumbling down the cobblestone path of life, and time is a burly man shoving us from behind and we’re like ‘what the fuck time could you slow it down’ but then you twist your ankle and scrape your knee and time just keeps kicking you until you get up and keep going and there is no such thing as the leisure to curl up and cry. Not many of us ever get to the point where we figure out how to run well enough to avoid time slapping our bitch asses, but that’s another topic.

Instead of knowing yourself, a much better sentiment is to love yourself. You might not know who the fuck you are, but whatever you are, whenever you are, at least you can love it.

Because life, while it’s crazy beautiful and filled with the most magnificent wonders anything conscious could ever experience, is also a piece of shit. Everyone you love will die, you might go bankrupt one day or your wife might cheat on you or your son might overdose on heroin and it is inevitable that you will feel a pain you never knew a mortal could ever bear. Be it in a crowd or on an island – you will likely be more alone than you’ve ever found yourself before.

Then you will see exactly what life is worth when all the rest has gone

In the end, the only thing that ever truly exists is yourself. Your life orbits around you like a mass of asteroids clashing into each other, and there are shooting stars and pits of fog, but at the core of it there is only your gravity field stringing it all together, your singular point of light, pulling and being pulled.

You don’t need to know who you are. You need to love who you are – or at least the search of who you are. You are all you ever have, truly. You cannot love anyone else more than you love yourself, and any excess is just emotional dependency. Everything that surrounds you is only as illuminated as the brightness of your own star, and brightness only comes from self-love.

Self-love, like most things, is a process, not a singularity. If you do not love yourself it is not simply enough to sit there and think ‘I am awesome. I am great. I love me.’ Forcing a feeling is not the same thing as feeling the feeling.

You must treat yourself like you would a lover. Court yourself. Impress yourself. Remember what it’s like to fall in love. Learn a fantastic skill and perform it for yourself and then stand up and clap for yourself. Make yourself beautiful or strong so when you see yourself you are thoroughly impressed. Woo yourself until one day you wake up in the morning and realize that you truly are beautiful and strong and talented, and from that courtship comes self-love.

Whatever the self may be, everything that ever matters comes down to the love of it.

Why I Am Not A Feminist


It is no secret that I dislike feminism, and I’ve had the beginning of a few twitter discussions that have ended with ‘well I’ll just write a blog post about it’.


I want to emphasize that I am absolutely for equality. I think people should treat each other equally, both on legal and social levels. I do not think that feminism is truly about equality.

Wikipedia defines Feminism as “a collection of movements and ideologies aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, and social rights for women.”

The problem with feminism within this definition is that it specifies the fight for rights for a certain subset of people. I personally believe in a fight for rights for all people, regardless of how many rights they might have started out in history with.

Of course there will be feminists who disagree with this definition, and ones who agree – feminism encompasses all sorts, from mild to extreme. I have found, through my encounter with feminists of many types throughout the internet, that I do not agree with their thought patterns or views. I have not found that feminists fight for the rights of men equally as much as they do for women (even though some claim this). I dislike that they claim the word ‘feminism’ means ‘equality for all’ despite using a term that is specific to only half the population.

If feminism is truly about equality, one could call themselves both a ‘feminist’ and a ‘mens rights activists’ without raising any ire, but this concept seems ridiculous to most feminists (and, unfortunately, most mens rights activists as well).

When I read feminist theory, or even the general culture of feminist forums on the internet (which I do read consistantly), the argument for use of the term ‘feminist,’ and a struggle for equality ‘for a certain gender,’ is that women have been systematically and historically oppressed throughout history. That in itself is a further discussion, as I’m not sure they actually have, but for the purposes of this post I will assume it is true.

The idea of the past shaping the present is odd, and frequently damaging. If we believe we are nothing more than products of our past, then the past becomes simply a justification for anything in the future. The past creates us like the wake in the water creates a ship, and we must see ourselves as in complete control of what we are and what we will be. To blame the past is helplessness. We must move forward, always forward, and take complete responsibility for our actions. We should not abuse our children because we were abused as children, and we should not use that as an excuse.

So I think that’s why I have an issue with gender-specific equality. Just because women were oppressed throughout history gives them absolutely no right to do any sort of oppression now, no granted advantage over the male gender. Not even if it’s subtle, even if it’s affirmative hiring practices, or slightly shorter terms in jail, or not being required to pay child support, or not being required to register for the draft, or having their rape accusations unquestioned.

Feminists seem to assume that they are entitled to automatic power because their gender was previously stripped of power beneath the law, and I disagree with this massively. We should be absolutely equal beneath the eyes of the law, not inequal to ‘make up’ for past inequality. Two wrongs do not make a right.

Beyond the basics of the law, power must be earned. Men are born with an inherent expectation that they work for everything they get, while women are born with inherent power through their bodies. I find that feminists tend to be unused to a world where they must earn what they want. There are few female CEOs because women don’t work for it as hard as men do. Women have a lower average wage than men mostly because they don’t take on dangerous (and thus higher-paying) jobs. There is nothing wrong with making this choice, but there is something wrong with making it and then bitching about the results. Women are not owed by default benefits that men slave to earn.

So the vast majority of things I see feminists talk about fall within one of the above categories – entitlement, or helplessness from the past, or fighting consistently for rights only relevant to one gender.

And that is why I’m not a feminist!

On Pain, Peace, and Love


It seems that you can only experience a high if you’ve experienced an equal amount of low.

Pain polarizes people. If you go through a world of shit, you’re either gonna go off the deep end and do drugs and go a little bit crazy and maybe date someone abusive, or you’re gonna be the most chilled out person you know and your house might burn down and you’ll shrug at it and go buy cheerios.

Like, think about it. can you think of anybody who’s either super broken or super fucking amazing who hasn’t also gone through some really rough shit? and can you think of anybody who HAS been through some really rough shit remains in the middle of the bell curve?

All we feel is simply just a contrast to what we felt before. You feel happy because you remember what it was like to not be happy. You feel sad because you remember what it was like to not be sad. And that’s why we adjust to things when stuff happens to us. When we get disappointed, when our car crashes and now we have to take the bus, we’re more unhappy about taking the bus than other people who’ve been bussing their whole lives. But give it a year, and then the memory of what it was like to drive a car fades, and you’re not disappointed anymore because the contrast has faded.

It’s not good to need things. It’s good to want things. It’s good to want everything, but the moment a want turns into a need – when something you desire becomes something required for happiness, then that’s when it’s bad.

Think about what could ruin your life. What if you lost your house and were homeless? think that through. Living on the street, eating old sandwiches out of the trash and not showering. Could you be happy? Go through it and adjust your emotional state. realize that you could be happy, you really could, all you would need to do is decide. It’s simply a state of being, and the only reason you’re scared of being homeless is because everybody else isn’t homeless and you want to be everyone else. and that’s such a silly reason to be scared.

What about if someone you loved so very very dearly died? That would really suck, that would. I don’t know anybody who can handle that without being seriously bummed for a long time. Think about people you love dying, every day, and you will love them so much more. But it’s ok to die. You’re gonna do it too one day, everybody does it. It will be ok when someone you love dies. It will just take some time, but it will be ok. It will always be ok. And you can handle it because you are beautiful.

It’s a good exercise to do. Imagine being a prisoner. Imagine unimagineable pain. imagine going through the worst horror you can, and then realize that you can be ok with it, eventually, somehow, because you can. and once you find peace in those alternate realities, then you realize that nothing scares you anymore. nothing. and it’s really incredible, to go through life without being scared of anything. It’s like daring life to punch you in the face, and when it does you grin with a bloody lip and then you punch it right back.

Life is too short and lovely to be scared of it. Life is too short to need things in order to be happy. Your happiness shouldn’t be dependent on the things around you, it should be dependent on you, because you’re the one doing living, not all that bullshit around you.

Here is a smooth transition into the semi-related topic of loving yourself.

You can only love anybody else as much as you love yourself. It’s impossible to love another more than you love you. You might feel like it, but any love you have for others that exceeds love for yourself is no longer love, it’s emotional dependency, because you require them for the love.

You shouldn’t be scared of being proud. We have such a weird emphasis on this humility bullshit, this false sense of pretending that you’re modest and hiding the things you’re really good at, like that’s respectable or some shit. It makes us feel good in a perverse way, like we’re more moral and selfless.

And it’s not arrogance. The difference between pride and arrogance is that arrogance is when you love yourself at the expense of everyone else. Pride is when you love yourself and you think everybody else is equally as brilliant and super goddamn amazing as you are. I don’t even know if those are the actual definitions of the words but that’s what I’m using for this ramble.

We’re so afraid to think that we are awesome. Like other people will judge us for thinking we’re awesome, because we’d judge them for thinking they’re awesome, too much, because we think when they think they’re awesome, they think that we’re not awesome.

You should be the most brilliant person you know. You should love you. You should think everything you do is like if you mashed up a bunch of angels in a stew and then fed it to gordon ramsay and then he praised you on international television. And it’s ok to think that, because you should think that of everybody else too. You should think I poop nutella.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what love is, just thinking that everybody is really cool. I mean obviously sometimes people do stuff that isn’t cool, or is really annoying, but I mean deep underneath those layers you still think that they’re really awesome. And if they’re not realizing their full potential, all you want is for them to do awesome things because you can see how close it is, and that still counts as well.

And if you think you’re ugly, or fat, or whatever? You are this absolutely ridiculous biological creature designed for the purpose of letting you realize that you exist. Like holy fuck jesus, we’ve got that going on and we’re worried about cellulite? I mean like 80% of the time I look like a squirrel but that’s ok because I AM A SQUIRREL THAT CAN THINK ABOUT THINGS LIKE WHAT LOVE IS. and if you love a squirrel, they stop looking like a squirrel and they start looking like love.

Also it’s really hard to love someone without trusting them.

I’ve been focusing on this in camming lately. Camming is like the shittiest place to trust anybody, ever. You have men who want your boobs and would scam you at a moment’s notice and possibly come murder you maybe because hey this is the internet and that’s a perpetual fear. But like, as I was saying, living in fear is not how you’re supposed to live life. You shouldn’t be so fragile that you have to wrap yourself away.

So I’ve been trying to do uncomfortable things in camming, like reveal parts of me that you just don’t reveal to strangers cause it gets awkward. I don’t naturally ‘want’ to tell thousands of strangers about my home life growing up, or my deepest fears, or what motivates me or what makes me fall in love, or that I love them. But I really want to love all of them, I do, even every stupid guest that comes through my room for five minutes to jerk off. I mean what really is the whole point of life if we don’t make everyone else’s a bit brighter? How can I show love to anyone if I refuse to trust them?

And I ‘can’ be vulnerable because I can handle someone insulting me. I’m not actively damaging myself or anything – insults get to me like 0.2% of the time, and even then it’s super mild. If someone hates me, I just feel really sad for them, not angry or annoyed. They just are a broken person who likes the feeling of bitterness, and I think everybody understands what it’s like to be like that, even if it’s just a little bit. And words only hurt if you think that they might be true. And if you truly love yourself, you know what is true about yourself, and so you can open yourself up and let people know scary things about you and let them be vulnerable back or punch you in the heart, whichever.

When people hurt you it’s really easy to close up and build up walls. It feels really solemn, somehow, to be alone inside a castle. It feels good. and I think that has its own merits too, especially because everybody knows what it’s like to put up a wall. Everybody.
But I don’t wanna die alone in a castle. And I don’t think anybody who is content with the idea of dying alone in a castle really understands what it’s like to be journeying the hillsides, yknow? Everybody does exactly what they want, what they think will make them the happiest, but I don’t think everybody knows how to get to the happiest, or really thinks they deserve the happiest.

Anyway. I don’t recommend telling everybody their deep seated psychological issues on camsites, that’s obviously not for everybody. But it’s good to think about. And it’s something you can do with strangers. Show them the internal organs of your mind, because when they see that you expect them to treat you kindly, they will know that they can expect you to treat them kindly too, and they will also show you their organs and it will turn into an organ sharing party. It’s really beautiful to connect with everyone, even if you may never see them again.