Move Me

The Problem with Engagement, Return to Sender 6/10

My Sweet MG-Washington,

So my partner just started reading Fourth Wing, isn’t that hilarious? When he made that announcement (after months of me telling him, “I think you’d like it…”) it reminded me of something you said. “Why is everyone in romance books trying to cup a girl’s face? Like Jesus, stop. That’s my face! Get your gross hands away from my fricken face!”

I passed on this take, and we laughed, and then we obviously had to do a test, and you know what, you were right. Mainly, it’s hard to kiss someone while they're cupping your face. The hands, largely, get in the way. It’s much more natural to touch a person’s neck or the back of their head, or just put your arms around their waist and shoulders. Like, I get it, if you’re writing about kissing, you want to focus the reader's eye on the face (the lips, the tongue, etc.), but in the real world, when you’re in the throes of a passionate embrace, at least half the good feelings are not face-related at all. It’s being chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh that makes it really juicy. Like what’s going on from the shoulders up is fine, but it’s just, you know, not the stuff that floods a gal’s basement in real life.

Source: Trey Ratcliff

We concluded from the test that the main reason you would grab someone by the face would be to prevent them from turning away. It’s a control move. And I’ve wondered if that’s also why you don’t like the idea of a guy grabbing you by the face. Like Jesus, if I want to kiss you, I’ll lean in. But I’ll be the one deciding, thank you very much.

I was thinking about how all this dovetails with the other part of our discussion, about the “protective tough guy” trope. The almighty Shadow Daddy. For our generation, I feel like it can all be traced back to Twilight, right? How many of it’s spiritual descendants have featured, essentially, a knock-off Edward Cullen– a dark, moody, super rich/powerful/hot dude who’s just head-to-toe red flags, paired with a pretty ordinary Bella Swan-type girl (cause even if she’s technically an adult, she’s still acting like a girl, right?). These two archetypes don’t, in themselves, make for a beguiling story. The interesting part is that somehow, for some truly unimaginable reason, everyone else in the story, and mainly the dude, is inexplicably obsessed with the ordinary girl. And somehow she’s always in danger(?), but it’s not really a problem, because the leading man is always super tough and super protective.

Ever since I smuggled my first Harlequin romance off my grandma’s bookshelf, I’ve been suspicious of the “protective tough guy” trope. Maybe it’s because growing up, I’ve been exposed to actual, real life “protective tough guys,” and they never struck me as the least bit romantic. Or maybe it’s because I’m related to someone who survived being married to a “protective tough guy,” and she told the bald fact– “Hitting one person is not so different from hitting another. If a man tends to hit people to solve his problems, it’s only a matter of time before he hits you.”

Still, at some level, I get the appeal. It would be thrilling to believe you have a partner who’d exert extraordinary amounts of power on your behalf, while at the same time believing he’d never use it against you. You are his exception because you are his whole world. I get it, it’s hot.

I guess… I just don’t buy it? I’ve never met a violent or angry person who had much control over their violence or anger. It just seems more likely that, if someone will do anything to protect you, then one day they’ll want to sacrifice your wants, hopes, and dreams because of the risk they pose. And if you stand in his way, you’ll become one of those threats he lives to destroy.

The protective tough guy is the bobcat my old classmate “rescued” when it was just a kitten, the one that started stalking his younger siblings around the house. The protective tough guy cannot turn it off, not for anyone. If violence and impulsiveness are part of a person’s nature, then I wouldn’t trust familiarity, gratitude, or even love to overcome it.

____

I don’t think I ever told you about this, but a few years ago, I did this broadcast at an ag conference, and I co-hosted with this youtube guy. He was pretty famous (and frankly, not bad looking), especially in the ag world. I was kind of starstruck to meet him. I watched some of his videos and I thought they were good.

What I remember most about him though is that he never put his phone down, not once, over the course of a three day conference. This is a middle-aged man, a father, a farmer. And I watched him be on his phone like he was a middle schooler who just discovered TikTok– he couldn’t take his eyes off his device.

By the third day, I worked up the courage to ask him about it. And he told me, flat out, “Yeah, I don’t like it, but this is what it takes.”

“What it takes?”

“To feed the beast. Get views, keep up with followers, sell the merch, fund the podcast,” he clarified. “Responding to every comment. Engaging with every fan. That’s what it takes.”

He told me that he made and posted videos for years before he got any traction. Back then (he waxed nostalgic) he just did it for fun, because he liked it. And at first, he really enjoyed responding to all the people who would reach out with questions or comments, because each one meant a lot to him. But by this point, it seemed, he was no longer in control. The engagement wasn’t feeding him anymore. It was sucking the life out of him.

I asked him if he’d ever consider hiring someone to manage this fan engagement for him.

“I don’t want to,” he told me, visibly distressed. “But I think eventually, I’ll have to.” And I felt like I sort of understood. He didn’t want to give up this thing, this work, that at some point have given him so much satisfaction, even joy. He wanted to keep doing it, because giving it up would mean admitting that he wasn’t going to get that back.

I think about that guy sometimes, when I think about what I want for my work. I think about how I might be messing up by failing to respond to every interaction people try to have with me online. I wonder if I should be more disciplined in how much time I dedicate everyday to reading and responding to every fan comment, every email, every like and review. But then I wonder how many minutes a day I should justify doing that instead of working, hanging out with my family, being present with my friends, and enjoying the places I love? How much of my peace of mind would be appropriate to sacrifice to the threats, the vitriol, and the very specific and personal attacks on my work and my person? What’s a good exchange rate when you’re trading your self for success?

It makes me wonder, too, at a deeper level– is engagement from me even what people want? When a person leaves a comment on a story I write, are they waiting for me to write back? I’m sure it’s validating to know that I’ve read it, but like, to what end? Are you interested in starting a whole dialogue with me? Do you want to be my friend? Do you want to debate me? Do you just want to say “hi?” Are you just here to ruin my day?

I can’t help but want to know why people want to engage directly online, and whether there might actually be a better alternative to satisfy the underlying desire. Do those who send me personal stories want me to share my own thoughts and feelings, or do they just want my gratitude for their “feedback?” Do people who send me threats want me to apologize, to recant? Do they want to fight me? Or is one-sided trollhood simply in their nature, or a worse, a hobby?

But then again, these questions are wrong. Bad. Because engagement is an end in itself.

“Engagement is always good,” says the algorithm. “Do not question engagement. Do not discourage engagement. Engagement is eyes on screens, cursors on buttons, items in carts, dollars coming in. This is the goal. Look at me,” says the algorithm, cupping my face. “Do whatever it takes to protect the engagement.”

____

I’ve been thinking about you, and all of this, and I’ve been thinking about the cost of online engagement. And I’m not trying to dismiss the benefits of engaging people on the internet. I owe the internet a lot. It’s helped me reach an audience about an incredibly niche subject that would have been a tough sell to the average publisher. I’ve found a group of people online who appreciates my work and has, in general, shown me a lot of love.

Yet I chafe against the way that engagement has become the currency of the internet. It’s not enough to get views and listens. You have to “activate your audience,” and the more active the better. It’s better if people comment than if they just give you a like. Better if people write a review than give you five stars. Better yet, you want people to buy the things you sell. Best of all though, you want everything. Millions of views, listens, comments, likes, five star reviews, and purchases.

Engagement, to a content creator, is the evidence that your fans don’t just consume your work, they listen when you tell them what to do. Engagement means when you say “jump,” your fans say, “how high?” When you say “spend,” they reply, “how much?”

No one who puts their content on the internet is immune to this. This is the online ecosystem. My work, just like every other writer, filmmaker, artist, and craftsperson, is launched into a steady stream that feeds people infinite content all the time. You can fight to stand out or you can succumb. You can try to snare the reader's attention for a moment, and then try to convert that attention to engagement, or you can hang up your headphones and leave the building. Engagement is the game, but the only way to win is to serve yourself up.

____

The tricky thing about engagement (the idea, not the activity) is that I really do believe in it. I like engaging with people, especially about the things I’m interested in. I love telling stories and answering questions. I’ve never let a good opportunity to debate pass me by. I’ve even enjoyed shooting the shit with the occasional real life quack.

Once, on a flight from San Francisco to Davenport, Iowa, I found myself seated next to an old farmer named Larry. We got to talking, and he learned that I work in ag, and he invited me to his farm near Sioux City. I knew that was clear across the state, but we exchanged phone numbers, and I said if I was ever in his neck of the woods, I’d give him a call.

A week later, when I was leaving Sioux Falls, South Dakota, I did just that. I was two hours from his farm with an afternoon to kill, and I thought hell, you only live once. So I drove out to his farm, and he showed me around. He was a stranger, and an incredibly kind person. He toured me around his place, then drove me past his friend’s dairy farm and the local oddity, an elk farm. Then he drove me into town to the local bar, where he bought me a drink and introduced me to his buddies. Late that afternoon I went on my way, leaving nothing behind but my address– he wanted to send me a Christmas card.

I remember seeing the inside of Larry’s house and I don’t think he had a computer. I doubt I even mentioned to him that I’m a writer– and I don’t think he would have cared much either way. But he sure as hell engaged with me about agriculture. He asked questions and he shared opinions. He offered up as many stories as he asked for. He shared as much of himself, his farm, and his town as he expected from me.

That, to me, is engagement. It’s making meaning together– the bond over shared interest expanded into mutual growth. It’s collaboration and companionship. It’s overhearing someone in a crowded place speaking a language you understand, and getting an unexpected chance to exchange news from the homeland.

Maybe it’s too much to want to engage with the people who read my work on this level, rather than on the level of likes and shares. Maybe it’s just a fantasy.

But the thing is, I don’t know that for sure. I don’t know because I’ve never really tried. Like everyone else, I’ve fallen for the trope. I’ve assumed that there’s only one way to build a career as a writer– write, post online, share, engage, rinse, repeat until famous. My readers have largely only had digital avenues to engage with me, and what’s more, I’ve never asked them to reach me any other way.

I’ve never tried to take control of engagement for myself, and before I write off the possibility of a deeper, more meaningful relationship with the people who want to truly be part of my community, maybe I should try.

____

You know, thinking back over the whole of our friendship, I can only really think of one fight we’ve ever had.

I remember where we were, walking in Columbia Heights, behind the Target. We were talking about economics (go figure). I remember I was going off about growth. I’d just finished reading Cradle to Cradle, and I was deep in the idea that technological advancements in material science, combined with thoughtful policy, would one day get us to a world without waste.

My favorite example from the book was actually of a book– a book with advanced paper and ink such that, when a person is done with it, you would send it away for washing, and all the ink would come out of the paper, and then the same ink could be reused to print new words on it. And on and on forever, and no one would ever throw another book away again. THE END.

I thought this was the coolest thing ever— the solution to all the problems. You did not quite agree. I can’t remember exactly what you pushed back on, but it was something along the lines of that this “waste-less” solution would be terrible for economic growth. Flippant me, queen mother know-it-all, just said, “Yeah, but we don’t need growth. Growth is bad.” And man, I thought you were going to hit me in the face.

You did not hit me in the face, obviously, but you did verbally clap back pretty good, and I was surprised, because I’d just assumed you would agree with me. But you, as an actual economics professional in the world, do not actually think that growth is bad. From your perspective, growth is what keeps our economy alive and stops people from rioting in the streets. So you called me out, and you got visibly frustrated, and I think for like 2-4 minutes after, we just walked in silence. And that was our worst fight.

I’d guess that was maybe five or six years ago now? I still think about it sometimes. I think about how I might have engaged you differently, if it would have been possible to bring you over to my way of seeing things. But I also wonder if there was something you might have been able to say, in that moment, to move me.

I like to think I’m a person who’s capable of changing their mind. I’ve done it before. I remember the exact conversation where I changed my mind about the Iraq War. I debated the guy for like 40 minutes too, and the funny thing was, when I realized I was bested, my first thought was, why did I even have a position on this in the first place? I’d never consciously formed an opinion one way or another, I’d just kind of adopted one by accident, picked it up from cable news, my veteran family, and one too many patriotic country songs. I’d just spent most of an hour arguing with a friend over an opinion that didn’t even really mean anything to me. And so despite the hit to my ego, I was proud (in retrospect, at least) to have changed my mind. It was proof I’m still evolving and growing. There’s still hope for me.

You’ve changed my mind, too, and not just on facial touching in the romance genre. You’ve known me a long time, and that means you’ve heard me start too many sentences with, “I have to…” I fall too often into the trap of being a stubborn ass, anxious to just power through any given situation. For better or worse, I tend to be an acceptor. Tell me the parameters, and I’ll work within them. Present me the givens, I’ll build you a scenario.

So many times I’ve told you some sad story about what I “have to do,” and then you very sternly and lovingly remind me– “No, you don’t have to do it. Not if you don’t want to.” I can’t tell you how many times you’ve said those words and it brings me to a full stop. You’ve never failed to change my perspective by reminding me that the parameters aren’t real. There are no givens. I am free to turn away from the things that seem to bind me. I don’t have to do anything.

I just wanted to say thank you for that. Thank you for giving me the sword of questioning the status quo, and clothing me in the armor of resisting force. You’re my real life protector– and you are way tougher than any man I’ve ever met.

And thanks for never trying to touch my face.

Yours,

EQ-Albuquerque

(Assistant: Sarah K Mock)