I then selected the one (only one!) photo of myself to include (a picture of me at one of the last parties I went to in the Before Times, wearing a sheer gold top that mysteriously disappeared after that night, may she rest in peace) and looking, in my objective, humble opinion, hot.
The next question asks flat out what earlier ones were attempting to get at: “Please provide a brief career history and future ambitions.” It is problematic for the aforementioned reasons of using a persons career as a determination of their value, but also, who gives the creators of this app the power to decide what career paths are deemed as desirable for people with “high standards”?
It asked about my hometown, where Im living now, my college, profession, and employer
Lo and behold, a little over a week later, I received the notification weve all been waiting for: “Your Lox Club decision has arrived.” As skeptical as I was, I must admit that my heart did start beating a little faster than usual as I opened it (I cant help that rejections still rejection, Fitness dating review even if the criteria are bogus!). Upon tapping the app, it greeted me with a reiteration of its slogan and the fact that “only 20% of applicants are accepted.” I quickly swiped past that and was met with a navy blue screen bearing the coveted words: “Welcome to the Lox Club.”
I made a vow to never again sign up for a dating app that makes you write a cover letter, no matter how desperate my future self might become, jotted down some things about past jobs, and moved on, feeling gross
I didnt feel the rush of validation that I expected I might after being accepted into something meant for people with “ridiculously high standards.” Maybe its because the application didnt ask anything about the things I actually care about and truly does not reflect who I am aside from the jobs Ive had and the various amounts of privilege that I hold.
While at this point, I was pretty sure that the Lox Club would not be for me, I was offered a free three-month trial and, like any good Jew, couldnt pass it up.
I went on to create my profile, but a red flag immediately jumped out: Theres no room to write a bio about yourself, just a section to list your “career and ambitions.” Maybe reading an AEPi members embellished story about being the CEO of his own start-up (I had to switch to seeing men on the app because at first it said that there were no women! Another red flag!) is sexy to someone, but that person is not me. This feature pushes people who joined the Lox Club just looking for other Jews (a frequent answer when I asked my matches why they joined) to judge others based on classist criteria.
Im sure that lots of people who joined the Lox Club didnt do so because they are classist. Ultimately, the onus is on the creators of the app, rather than the people on it, to create an environment that is welcoming. For me, Lox Club didnt achieve that.
And so, I am sorry to report that the Lox Club, which had the potential to be a lot of fun, felt just as icky as its slogan made it sound. I dont need an app to tell me that people with “high standards” want to fuck me, and you shouldnt either!
The next few questions were where the app hinted at taking a turn. There is no world in which these questions having an impact on whether you meet “ridiculously high standards” isnt classist (which is inherently tied up with all other forms of systemic inequality). The ability to go to a “good college” and find a fancy job is often based mostly on a persons familys monetary and cultural capital. But I also wasnt sure what exactly they were doing with this information, or how it would affect my chances of being selected.