The Digital Naked Man

The Era of the Digital Naked Man
The advent of the cell phone markedly and drastically changed the dating world that we live in. Some of us remember when boyfriends had to call the house landline and invariably come into contact with your parents. However symbolic it may have been, there was always a gatekeeper at the threshold of possible romance, whether it be your parents, older brother, or roommate. Then once you were on the phone, conversations had to be moderately censored in anticipation of someone either accidentally or purposefully intercepting your call.
Enter the cell phone.
Suddenly text messages replaced phone calls. You could be asked out, complimented, degraded or dumped by a faceless, glowing, 1” x 1” screen. You could terminate a relationship with a couple of thumb clicks and a “sry” regardless of its longevity. In this way, I propose that the cell phone bred an infectious cowardice that henceforth plagued the dating world.
Some would disagree with me, I know, since the argument has been made that text messages are the 21st century’s equivalent of the love letter. I vehemently disagree with such a theory. The character constraints of text messages force a crudity of language so that “You are so beautiful” quickly morphs into “U R Hot” and their instantaneous delivery allows for fleeting and unstable feelings. In the years preceding the text message, love letters were a very serious business. One had to organize the letter’s transport, and wait patiently. Sometimes it took weeks of waiting before a reply was received. So, I certainly condemn those who claim that text messaging is the newest form of love letters. A drunken “Hey SXC, sup?” should never be compared to Lord Nelson’s correspondence with Emma Hamilton in the 1800’s, nor could it hold a candle to the letter writing of my parents in the 1970’s.
In spite of this blaring cowardice and transience of sentiment, there seems to be an exception to the rule—Cell phones have created a frankness of sexuality that has hitherto been relatively suppressed. Booty calls are commonplace. Making and receiving them is pretty standard. Sexting is considered a viable and encouraged form of foreplay. But perhaps the bravest side effect of mobile technology is the newest craze (or epidemic): The Digital Naked Man.
I bring this up because I have recently been bombarded with stories from my girlfriends regarding their experiences of the Digital Naked Man, and have come face to….well, sure, let’s say face—with him myself.
Situation 1: A friend of mine recently told me that as she was waitressing, the Riverside baseball team came in for the All-You-Can-Eat Pizza Night. As she served them pizzas, one player in particular seemed to take interest in her. She gave him her number, under the impression that the team just wanted an in on the party scene in IV. She invited them to a party at her house and wound up kissing the bold 1st baseman. After he left though, he sent her a text that makes the word “bold” wildly understated. After the typical “U R Hot”, came a full frontal picture that he took of himself in a mirror, fully erect at the thought of her.
Situation 2: I have another girlfriend who had maintained a mentor-like, but faceless relationship with a friend of a friend on facebook. Both of them were photographers and became acquainted via FB due to a mutual friend and admiration of each other’s work. One thing led to another and they decided to meet in Monterey (the central point between their two locations). A night of passion followed, and she left feeling satisfied with the meeting. After two weeks of silence on his end, however, she was stunned to receive a text request for sexual photos of her.
Situation 3: I recently received a photo of a male friend of mine that he took of himself. While it wasn’t necessarily explicit in content (it ranged from the neck down to the hips) it certainly was suggestive. I have definitely flirted with him in the past, but this was the first sext-photo that I ever received.

These women (and others that I have talked to) have all agreed that receiving such pictures puts them in an awkward social position. The brazen and unbridled sexuality demands a response. But what response could they give?

The Digital Naked Man is a clever ploy, really. To some, it demonstrates an open discourse of sexuality. To others, it resembles the time-old “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” clause, except there is no question preceding the showing of “mine”. It’s an assumed reciprocal situation! More often than not, the hesitant recipient of the Digital Naked Man manages to evade the desired response, and replies instead with a “wow, have you been working out?” clearly ignoring the hard-on that is staring them right in the face. You see, the common difference that I have noticed is this—Female recipients of the Digital Naked Man remain pretty aloof to his photographic advances. Speaking strictly for myself, a picture of him wanking it in front of a spotty bathroom mirror just doesn’t get me hot. And I don’t feel flattered that it is me that he’s allegedly thinking about in the process.

But in the end, the Digital Naked Man always adds a little intrigue to my day, so I guess if I’m not getting an elegantly constructed love letter, I don’t mind getting a little jolt of red-cheeked surprise from a sext-picture.