In the rollercoaster that is modern dating, it seems we’ve stumbled upon a curious term impatiently waiting to be dissected: “hoflation.” No, it’s not what happens when you inflate your party balloons too much. It’s the apparently soaring cost of male effort to charm a woman in today’s society. Let’s imagine it for a second—a fanciful economy where you measure love in the currency of awkward texts and coffee dates, inflated beyond recognition.

Our adventurous heroes of hope, the truth-telling TikTokers, come forth with wide-eyed wonder, declaring the golden era of wooing long past. They muse nostalgically about the pre-smartphone days when obtaining a girlfriend was simpler, never mind that awkward knowledge of where the party was located without GPS was part of the challenge. A fascinating idea indeed, when communication was reliant on landline calls and deciphering mysterious hieroglyphs, also known as flyers. Who knew party invitations would be the stuff of archaeological study?

Enter the beleaguered modern man, besieged by Insta-models and OnlyFans megastars, baffled at the sight of what they perceive as femmes who’ve upgraded their self-worth like a software update. They sit amongst their comrades, lamenting how beauty plus pixel-perfected self-esteem precipitated hoflation. Yet, perhaps they could consider putting the keyboard down, stepping outside, and rewriting their game plan. An idea—pick up a book on charm from the library instead of a poorly rendered meme?

With a dash of satire, we venture into the deeper (or shall we say shallower?) end of the hoflation pool. A scholarly gentleman, complete with backdrop law books, attempts to enlighten the masses. His lofty thesis: women’s overinflated egos are a product of too much male validation. Our brains tingle with the novelty! Surely, historically, men of great wit and charm only showered attention on the homeliest faced ladies. But in this good sir’s theory, it’s as if women woke up one day, clinked their mimosas, and declared their value on a scale previously unseen.

Now, let’s roll the credits—what if hoflation was born not from feminism or Instagram but from a collective bout of existential confusion? Perhaps it’s time these lads look inward—maybe it’s their own self-valuation that needs a bit of an upgrade, sans digital likes. After all, when GameStop was compared to an exotic wildlife sanctuary where real-life women were mythical creatures, perhaps then we’ve found our problem: men speaking gibberish about hoflation need new prescriptions for their rose-colored glasses.

So we solve it here with a bow: the perplexing paradox of hoflation dissolves when common sense prevails over the monologues of modern Casanovas. It’s time for a cultural revolution, one where hoflation evaporates, replaced by respect and real human connection. Maybe they just need to revisit where the real class and humor is found: in the delightful simplicity of a genuine conversation, sans smartphone.