So He Likes NPR: Why I’m Afraid of Dating A Liberal From Suburbia

I have an account on a dating site. But I never use it. Unless I want to depress myself. Then I use it.

By Jess

It’s easy to depress oneself on an online dating site – especially if A) you know for a fact you’ll never find the person you want online and B) all your “matches” are either really unattractive or cover their profile with flowery prose that’s so full of sh*t there’s no room for actual talent.

Aside from the shirtless mirror shot attached to a Faulker-esque description of New York City in the winter or a predisposition for “coding computers”, there’s nothing that turns me off faster than when one of my weird, douchebag-like “matches” has NPR listed as one of their loves. Which is strange. Because I love NPR.

I love being serenaded on long Sunday car rides by Ira Glass’s calming monotone during This American Life. I enjoy All Things Considered, BBC World Service updates, and the occasional funny op-ed by a slightly famous quirky writer. I feel comfortable with NPR’s obvious liberal bias – as I myself own such a bias – and there’s nothing better than sitting alone in my apartment with a glass of wine as deep-set, unhurried voices click their well versed tongues against my eardrums. NPR is like a womb. A liberal, literary, sophisticated womb where I take comfort at least twice a day (if not more).

So why the shuddering when I notice a potential mate might enjoy themselves some Fresh Air with Terry Gross?

I’m not sure, exactly. Maybe because most of the people I know who listen to public radio are bleeding heart liberals, and even though I consider myself one of those bleeders (with a shot of hippie thrown in), I get a little nervous when a guy describes himself that way. I just can’t deal with someone who believes that Obama is the second coming of a leftist Christ. I couldn’t bear to argue about the real (read: secretive and subversive) attitude of our government with someone who thinks that someday, everything will just work out, and Americans everywhere will have good healthcare and wealth will be distributed evenly and every family will have a unicorn…

Look. I want those things. But we need to work with what’s realistic in this world. Not in rainbow land. I’ve dated enough radical liberals. Been there, ate tofu to all that.

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s more than just a fear of loud, peace button naivety. Maybe I’m afraid of guys who listen to NPR because NPR also carries with it the distinct scent of upper class suburban politics. Volvos and vans with TV’s in the backseat blast NPR. Public radio is the soundtrack of jewelry parties and PTA meetings where the coat closet is full of Ann Taylor shoes and tasteful Kate Spade purses. It’s what everyone discusses over pate and little sandwiches without the crust. NPR is comfortable politics. It’s white upper class families discussing the terror in Africa over salmon and couscous and then turning on Lost instead of doing something about that terror.

Could it be that NPR signifies a guy with concern that doesn’t go beyond his Ivy League degree? Someone who knows exactly what’s going on around the world (the BBC updates every hour, after all), but is too comfortable to do anything about it?

…Wait.

A blind passion to help? Knowledge without direct drive? SUV’s and soccer moms? Couscous and 50 cent peace buttons?

Could I be afraid of a guy who listens to NPR because I’m scared he’ll look me in the eye and see a kindred spirit?

He’d see through my tortured artist soul and my hard, New York edge. He’d know these things are learned behaviors. He’d understand why my mom is on speed-dial and recognize me from his white, middle class yearbook. Mr. NPR would pick me out from the crowd, unknowingly unmasking me in front of everyone from my new life. Her? He’d say, laughing. Diversity was just a word to her until college. Her friends drove around in Subaru’s. She went to Walmart because it was cool, not because she had to.

This is not the piece I set out to write at all. But here we are.

And so maybe I should stop being so hard on those guys in linen shirts who profess a love for reruns of A Prairie Home Companion. Maybe they’re not idiots with silver spoons dragging behind their Birkenstocks. Maybe, like me, a comfortable life hasn’t always meant an easy life, and now that they’re living on their own, NPR is more than a reflection of their white picket childhood. Maybe public radio is their way of staying informed, their way of learning about a world they wish they knew more about.

So alright. So maybe I’ll stop hating on the followers of Neal Conan. Maybe I’ll look past my self-abnegation and admit that liberal suburbia runs in my blood, and it isn’t necessarily the worst thing a person could have in their past.

But half-naked profile pictures? Surrounded by Hipster haikus?

Those I’ll never excuse.