In , Nancy Jo Sales wrote a viral story about dating apps for Vanity Fair that made Tinder so mad, the company account directed a tweet rampage at her. I got my first dick pic from a Houston tech millionaire. There were Lamborghinis and Ferraris parked out frontβnot really my scene, but if I was going to get a movie made, I was going to need some money, and I had heard that schmoozing rich guys was one way you could get it.
The tech dude was spread out on a piece of lawn furniture, drinking a cocktail and scratching his ballsβforeshadowing, in a way, for the dick pic. Everybody was treating him like he was a king, although he was clearly high and quite greasy-looking. Somebody introduced me to him, and, after some pleasantries, I launched into a pitch for my film then envisioned as a companion piece to my book American Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers.
I told him how complicated it all was and how it made me feel sad. The tech dude sat back, listening with a slit-eyed expression, and said it all sounded very interesting, and how much did I think I would need to make this film?
I let about a week pass, which I thought was a good amount of time to wait to contact the tech dude again. And he sent me a dick pic. I was so confused, I just froze for a moment. What is this? I wondered. It was one of the strangest dicks I had ever seenβsort of two-toned, darker on the bottom than the top.
It looked like some weird chess piece, like a slightly flaccid bishop. For a second I actually thought the tech dude was asking me for medical advice. Had his dick been injured? And what a strange thing that was to do. It made me feel disoriented. Kind of disgusted. Order Nothing Personal on Amazon or Bookshop. But what was he really saying with this?
