Lunar Love (27)

“Exactly,” I say. I can’t tell if I feel good that he knows more than I thought about the zodiac, or worse.

“Uh, yeah. Right,” Elmer says, his face matching the color of his glasses.

Delight sparkles in Bennett’s eyes. “You’re learning! Looks like the zodiac bug is contagious! The point is, we want users to trust us. We’re trying to make connections, after all,” he says, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, man. You’ve gotta see this,” Elmer says, his tone more serious than before. He starts reading off his screen. “ZodiaCupid is a gimmicky take on a centuries-old horoscope system…”

Bennett and I take a few steps back over to Elmer’s desk and crouch to read along with him. I feel my face burning as I scan down the list. It’s my WhizDash article. But it’s the version I deleted. How is that possible? That draft was never meant to be seen by other human eyes. When Alisha sent the email, it was obviously my Vent Draft—not the Lunar Love article—attached.

Alisha’s contact at WhizDash didn’t waste any time getting this article up. Riding the wave of ZodiaCupid press, probably. Tunnel vision takes over as I read my words written in a moment of passion.





Ten Ways ZodiaCupid Will Destroy Your Love Life



ZodiaCupid is a gimmicky take on a centuries-old horoscope system that is believed to be the oldest in the world. The only thing the app gets right about the Chinese zodiac are the twelve animal signs. Other than that, it’s a generic brushstroke analysis of its users.

What stops users from manipulating the system and pretending to be different signs? Careful users. That Rabbit you’re flirting with might actually be a Rat.

If you think winking is bad, try being hissed at. Are you a Snake or a human? People don’t like to be catcalled at, so why would they want to be barked at?

Don’t count on users to know too much about the Chinese zodiac. If you’re a true believer, this is not the right platform for you.

Users are matched based on the words in their profile more than the actual traits of their animal signs. What’s new?

Get ready to ask, “Excuse me? Are you so-and-so?” because users have to uncomfortably guess who their dates are. Give or take a few profile prompts that are supposed to capture people’s personalities, the awkwardness of meeting in person is heightened by the fact that due to the no-photos-allowed policy, we have no idea who we’re actually looking for.

Personalities aren’t one-size-fits-all. They’re a combination of the temperament we have from the beginning and the character that we build for ourselves through our choices and behaviors. ZodiaCupid doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

Full Moons, New Moons…this is just a replacement for the anxiety-and judgment-inducing swiping. Won’t people just be biased toward their preferred animals?

To Bennett O’Brien, real people become users, line items in an Excel spreadsheet, and money in his pocket.

ZodiaCupid is a digital identity crisis. It doesn’t know who it is or what it wants to be.





“A digital identity crisis,” Bennett says, the brightness in his face dulled. “Ouch.”

“Brutal,” Elmer says. The rest of the team shake their heads. “This person didn’t even have the nerve to use her first name. CakeGirl. What are we, in fifth grade?”

Long gone are the days of AIM screen names, yet here we are.

“You know you’re doing it right when people have strong reactions,” Bennett says in a forced upbeat tone. There’s a smile on his face but it’s obvious he’s not happy. “Eighty-two percent of our surveyed users have been happy with the service overall, and that’s what matters. Not this personal attack on us.”

“This CakeGirl is just trying to get attention,” Elmer says with a genuine look of empathy. “This is just the first of many who will try to tear us down. Don’t take it personally, man.”

“It’s personal to me,” Bennett says quietly, his mood deflated.

The article worked. It worked better than I thought it would. I was successful.

Shit.

I shouldn’t feel upset. I should be thrilled that my little plan is working. But the look on Bennett’s face makes me feel otherwise. He has his hands stuffed into his pockets and is slouching gloomily, and I wish I could take it back. Control+Z. Unsend. Delete. Something I did hurt this man, and for some baffling reason, that hurts me. I suppress a sick feeling in my stomach working its way up my chest and look away.

“That’s just one person,” I finally say, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject. “You said people are happy with the service. That’s good.”

“Bad press comes with the good. I should be used to this. It was only a matter of time,” Bennett says, pulling his attention from Elmer’s screen. “And yes. Happy users are always a good thing. Are you happy with the service? When you use ZodiaCupid, or apps in general, what do you like to see?”

Right. Back to business.

I think for a moment. “I want to see lots of pop-up ads. Ask me for reviews as often as you can. The more cookies the better. Give me lots of push notifications. Multistep login? Yes, please!” I say, listing the worst things I can think of off the top of my head.

A genuine smile appears on Bennett’s face, accompanied by a small laugh. I’m relieved by the sound. I feel too powerful being able to make him both sad and happy. He raises one of his eyebrows. “Cookies, got it. I’ll make sure we add all that in,” he says in the warm tone he had before reading my soul-crushing listicle.