So a guy walks into a bar…wait no, even better…you walk into Salty Dog. Your phone chimes with a notification that you are, in fact, the 37th most attractive person at the bar…out of 45.
Ouch.
Good joke, right?
Wrong.
That scene is dangerously close to turning from a punch line into reality.
We all had a good laugh (or cringe) about Lulu, the iPhone app for girls centered around reading and writing reviews and rating local guys. But did anyone stop to think about what’s next?
In almost every app you use, you’re prompted to use your location. Where did you take those pictures? How about you “check-in” on Facebook? What city did you tweet that from?
Hypothetically, if you’re walking around with a meager 3.6 attached to your name in the bizarre rating system, once your location is accessed, your rating is compared to everyone else where you are.
I recently read a book (yeah I know, who reads books anymore?) that detailed a future pretty similar to this.
Lulu app
You walk into a social scene and everyone is streamed your ratings on everything from sex appeal to your financial stability. You might be the ugliest dude in the bar, but hey! You’re the 5th richest. Now that will draw some attention from the ladies.
Potentially, we could all hit up midtown and never talk to a soul because “Like omg, he’s, like, ranked one of the least funny guys here.”
or
“Nah bro, she’s got a 8.9 in clinginess. Not about it.”
Why bother getting to know someone if you’ve already got a very detailed inside scoop? Would you buy a new T.V. if it received poor reviews?
As a girl, I encourage other females to take it easy on the Lulu usage. I encourage them not to rate guys at all. Apply the “one woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure” philosophy in this department.
We can’t stop technology from bounding ahead and we definitely can’t stop the flow of creepy apps being created, but we can put on the breaks. We can decide that the fate of human interaction won’t be deduced to numbers on a scale or streams of reviews.
A guy walks into a bar, buys a chick a drink, and boom, who knows what happens?
(Photo: PSFK)
