It began, as these things often do in messaging (which as room admin I can’t turn off), with what seemed like a perfectly ordinary message: “Where you from?”
I answered, “UK.” Short, polite, factual. Then came the inevitable follow-up: “Where?”
And that, dear reader, is when my internal radar went off; why is it that so many men online feel an irresistible urge to pinpoint a woman’s exact coordinates before they have even earned a sentence of genuine conversation? I decided to conduct an impromptu social experiment, one part psychology, one part sociology, and one part “absolutely not giving you my county let alone my postcode, stranger.”
So I typed, “Why?”
He replied, “I like to know where people are from that’s all.”
Now, to the untrained eye, this seems harmless. But if we examine it through the lens of evolutionary psychology, what we see is the ancient human need for control disguised as casual curiosity. It is the conversational equivalent of a chimp stretching to see who’s higher in the tree. Some primates use chest-beating; modern ones use phrases such as “Where ?”
So I served him a truth sandwich: “That sounds like your curiosity, not my obligation.”
I hoped he would take the hint; it acknowledges his feelings without feeding them, and it sets a clear boundary without a single raised voice.
He replied, “Ok no probs will leave it at that.”
Now, that should have been the end. In a rational world, that is the end. But the male ego has a curious reaction to boundaries. Somewhere between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex, a small alarm sounds. It whispers, “She got the last word. Danger. Must reclaim verbal territory.”
So, naturally, I typed, “Good call.”
Smooth, neutral, mature. I thought it was a dignified full stop.
He came back with, “Always is lol.”
The “lol,” in this context, didn’t come across as laughter. It is the digital equivalent of puffing out one’s chest feathers. In psychology, this is known as a “status repair mechanism.” It’s what people use when they feel slightly outplayed but cannot bear to admit it. It says, “I’m fine, totally fine, see how fine I am.”
So I responded with precision: “Glad that concludes the messaging.”
And for a brief, shining moment, I thought the case study was complete. But then, like a moth to a flame or a man to an open chat box, he returned. “Yep sure does.”
At this stage, we move from psychology to pathology. The inability to accept a conversational ending is a recognised behaviour in social dynamics. It’s the “last word syndrome.” It usually stems from mild insecurity mixed with chronic Wi-Fi access.
So, I gave him what his nervous system didn’t know it needed: finality wrapped in velvet steel. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Blocked.” Science calls that “negative reinforcement.” I call it peace.
The interesting part of this exchange lies in how the brain processes power in communication. When you withhold what someone expects such as oversharing, reassurance, or compliance, their reward circuits falter. It’s like promising a treat to a Labrador and then handing it a canine training manual instead. The creature doesn’t know what to do with itself.
In truth, this wasn’t just a chat with a random stranger. It was a living demonstration of boundaries in action. Each reply from him was an unconscious attempt to pull focus back to his comfort zone. Each reply from me was a gentle refusal to play along; and yes I could have let it go, but his reply of liking to know where people are from up front struck me as creepy,
When women say no, or even something as mild as “Why?”, it can short-circuit the conversational habits of men who are used to default compliance. The trick is not to argue, explain, or soothe. The trick is to stay calm, precise, and faintly amused.
Blocking him was the closure I needed. In the end, the data shows one thing clearly: if evolution had a progress bar, for the majority of online chat, emotional intelligence would still be buffering.
