David McElroy

When I first heard the words, I thought it had to be a joke.

“I’m such a good slut for my daddy,” the woman purred in a sensual tone.

I looked over and saw the woman lean in toward a man at the table in a seductive way. Surely this is some kind of strange joke. But I quickly realized it was no joke.

I was in a fast food place near my office Monday night, somewhere I almost never go. The place is large, but it was quiet because there were only two tables in use. I was alone with my MacBook. Another nearby table was taken by three men and a woman.

The men were dressed in what I’d call business casual. The woman looked as though she was trying to be as sexually provocative as possible while still wearing expensive clothes. I’d say they were all in their early to mid 30s.

They talked a lot about sex, but what made it noteworthy was something more than that. They seemed to casually talk about sex as dirty — and they all seemed to agree that the more nasty and filthy and “slutty” a woman could be, the more attractive she was.

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The email from Twitter this afternoon shocked me. The subject line said, “Your Twitter account has been locked.”

Why?

The email said I had violated Twitter’s “rules against glorifying violence.” What? Me? That’s not possible. But the email helpfully included the tweet in which I had allegedly glorified violence. What terrible thing had I said? It was a reply to a friend’s tweet about the Kyle Rittenhouse trial.

“Agreed on both counts,” I replied to this friend. “Rittenhouse was no hero, but what he did wasn’t murder and he’s not the monster some want to make him. I would’ve been happier if all the people involved that night had had the good sense to stay home and out of harm’s way.”

And that — in the eyes of Twitter’s platform monitors — is enough to conclude that I’m “glorifying violence.”

I angrily shot an appeal back to Twitter, hopeful that someone will be smart enough to reverse the suspension. But the incident is another reminder that we are slowly handing over control of public discourse to social media platforms — and we’re left to pray that these reckless people will stop being so reckless.

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All my life, I’ve been in search of the ideal. Perfect people. Flawless performances. And a perfect romantic partner.

I wouldn’t have admitted this for a long time, mostly because I didn’t realize it. I told myself I had high standards — for myself and others — but I didn’t understand for years how much I was communicating my disapproval to others. I didn’t realize that I was silently telling others, “You’re not good enough for me.”

I had a long conversation late Saturday night with a woman who I used to spend a lot of time with. We were friends, but we never had a romantic relationship. When something came up about the fact we had never dated, she told me something surprising.

“I didn’t think I would ever be what you wanted in a woman,” she said. “You told me all the things you were looking for — and I didn’t think I’d ever be good enough for your standards.”

Was she right? Have I been focused on an unattainable ideal? Someone who doesn’t exist? Am I alone because I wouldn’t accept “almost perfect” when I had the chance?

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