Just as it is with film, so it is with books that “men” of an often pretentious nature have a very specific arsenal of go-to recommendations tailored toward impressing women that they think are intellectually inferior anyway. From Raymond Chandler to Gunter Grass, the “man” with the book recommendations is calculated in his choices, wanting to be just esoteric enough, but not so obscure that the girl he’s trying to impress is made to feel totally stupid. Because heaven forbid she could actually know anything beyond what was suggested to her based on titles she’s viewed or purchased on Amazon. Or even be cognizant of what “true literature” (code for: written by a blowhard) really is.

And while the novice sort of female, the kind who is usually too young and not well-read enough to know better (this is, in point of fact, just one of two reasons why “men” have a predilection for zygotes), might be impressed by the “sweet nothings” not so much whispered as touted in the form of his literary knowledge, those who have been through it all before at this point will know that the best approach to “listening” is simply nodding along as best as you can without eye-rolling. Letting him have the orgasmic satisfaction of believing that you believe that he hasn’t recommended these same exact novels to every other pussy that has had the misfortune of entering his con artist life. That this is “custom content,” if you will–reading advice given purely from a place of wanting to suggest something tailored to your personality and interests, when, in reality, it’s about his own self-validation. You’re so smart, [insert white guy name here]. You’re so worldly, [insert white guy name here]. And before you know it, he’s cum all over the books he’s peddling toward you.