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I was born in Canada and can speak French.” Call me an intellectual snob, but in an app where most guys couldn’t be bothered to type full words, a profile that contained a complete sentence was a refreshing “How are you? ” Over the next few hours, in between my two loads of laundry and meal prepping, we messaged about the weekend, our careers and future plans.He told me he had a Masters of Economics from a university in Canada.The stereotype of a publicly docile woman who is a vixen in the bedroom enhances the idea that all Asian women are there for white male consumption.I remember being 12 and shopping on Oxford Street with my mum.I smelt the sickly-sweet smell of beer and looked up. They both had crew cuts and sleeve tattoos that stretched up over their arms. “You would look pretty in a bikini,” added the short one.Then they casually made their way out of the store. ” asked my mum in Vietnamese, her voice snappier than usual. “They were just being gross.” Once again he made me feel sick.
A guy got a “yes” swipe from me if he wasn’t butt-ugly and overtly obnoxious on his profile.
He was white with curly black hair and grey eyes behind wire-framed glasses.
If he walked down the street, I probably wouldn’t have looked back at him but his profile read, “I travel between Asia and Australia for work.
“Small” and “slim” for Asian fetishists have pornographic connotations: the fantasy of a small Asian vagina, which is a slight improvement on the “sideways vagina” myth of the nineteenth century.
Perhaps it was because Justin was well-educated and seemed eloquent, qualities I erroneously linked with being fair-minded – that is to say, not racist or sexist, that I kept trying to argue my case, even though it was past midnight.