Meet John Fitzgerald Page, the most hateable man in America.
Page's amazing story first surfaced online two weeks ago, and if you haven't heard of him yet, I pity you. Page is an actor/model/personal trainer/investment banker living in Atlanta who is also not above online dating. The world knows who John is because of a now-infamous e-mail exchange he had with a potential romantic partner.
Page's Match.com account, IvyLeagueAlum, was "winked"-think Facebook poked-by a woman online. Page answered the woman's gesture by immediately replying, "I went to an Ivy league school... where did you go to school? What activities do you currently participate in to stay in shape? I work out four times a week at LA Fitness."
But wait, there's more. Much more. Soon, Page received a polite "no thank you" from his Match.com partner. This apparently did not sit well with the Wharton alum, who angrily responded that "the next time you meet a guy of my caliber, instead of trying to turn it around, just get to the gym! I will even give you one free training session so you don't blow it with the next Mensa member, can bench/squat/leg press over 1200 lbs, has had lunch with the secretary of defense... drives a Beemer convertible. Oh that is right, there aren't any more of those!"
Here is where most readers decide that it's because of people like Page that God doesn't talk to us anymore. In the Mt. Rushmore of evil, John snuggles somewhere between Hitler and the guy who decided that Curriculum 2000 was a good idea.
There are plenty of reasons to hate Page. His idea of a conversation is reading you his resume. He treats dating like a Darwinistic survival of the fittest. Yet, the intensity of my hatred for John Fitzgerald Page goes much deeper than his revolting online dating tactics. The primary force behind my disgust is found in Page's own response to all this unwanted attention.
On his personal Web site, where adoring "fans" can examine pictures of a shirtless Page displaying his muscles or find out what celebrities look most like him, Page describes how he has dealt with his 15 minutes of fame. At times, Page seems endearing and genuinely apologetic. He recounts how becoming "an overnight Internet pariah" has turned his life into "a living hell." He hates the fact that "everything I have ever worked for in my life has been sullied in one day, by one person, whom I have never met." He apologizes for "sending a not very nice e-mail" but does not understand why he was so vilified for his actions. In all, Page's reaction to his newfound fame is refreshingly heartfelt and remorseful.
After reading Page's words, I actually started to feel something that I never expected-sympathy. Page is right. I don't know him. I was judging his entire personality from an impulsive, rash e-mail. Besides, looking over Page's Web site revealed how hard he had been working to fulfill his own goals in life-something he was doing much better than I am.
For a minute there, I not only felt bad for Page, I sorta liked him.
But then I clicked the link on his Web site called "Merchandise."
There I found that I could buy T-shirts plastered with phrases from Page's scathing e-mail. I could book Page as my personal trainer for a mere $100 an hour. I could pre-order his forthcoming book. And for a mere $20, I could get Page's own autograph!
And it was this that made me really, really hate John Fitzgerald Page. When the whole world vilifies him, turns his life upside down, says that everything he stands for is wrong, he sees a business opportunity. He is simultaneously telling us to not judge him as an arrogant jerk while also charging $20 for a signature. What's worse, I know that this is a brilliant idea. Page will undoubtedly make money off of people despising him.
While most people hate Page for what he says about himself, I hate him for what he tells me about myself. I am seriously considering purchasing his "I've had lunch with the Secretary of Defense" T-shirt. I would probably end up reading his book just to laugh at him, but spending money nonetheless. In the end, I know that I am just using Page to feel better about myself. Next week will only bring another idiot for us all to laugh at. Page knows this too. Which makes me hate him even more.
Jordan Axt is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Friday.
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