The Cogitating Ceviche Presents
Jane Austen: Swiping Right on SocietyPast Forward: Historical Icons in the Digital Frontier #55
By Conrad Hannon
Narration by Amazon Polly
Preface Welcome to the fifty-fifth entry in our series, Past Forward: Historical Icons in the Digital Frontier. In this installment, we reintroduce Jane Austen—the quietly revolutionary novelist whose sharp insights into class, gender, and human behavior have echoed across centuries. With just six major novels, she reshaped literature and challenged the rigid social structures of Georgian England. But what would happen if she stepped into our world—a society brimming with dating apps, algorithm-driven content, and viral discourse on love and identity? How would Austen’s understanding of character, irony, and propriety translate to modern times? Could she thrive in a world that celebrates self-branding while mourning authenticity?
Join us as Jane Austen navigates Tinder, TikTok, contemporary fiction, and the often absurd rituals of 21st-century social interaction—with a quill-sharp eye and an enduring sense of irony.
IntroductionA quiet hum fills the café—laptop taps, espresso machines hissing, a playlist of lo-fi beats. Jane Austen, dressed smartly in a modern-cut blazer over her Regency gown, sips a flat white and studies the world around her. Her eyes flick to a group of college students debating Austen vs. Brontë, unaware that their subject is within earshot. Her gaze sharpens at a couple silently scrolling through their phones—on what seems to be a date.
Her phone buzzes. “Your match wants to chat.” The phrase puzzles her still, but she taps it open anyway. She’s decided to try dating apps as “research,” though the first time someone said “Netflix and chill,” she had to Google it. Upon learning its meaning, her expression froze, then softened into an incredulous smirk. "Is this what passes for subtlety now?"
Everywhere she looks, she sees rituals she once chronicled—now filtered through screens and scattered across platforms. Social life hasn’t disappeared; it’s been digitized, accelerated, and fragmented. But the human impulses behind it remain: connection, curiosity, performance.
Her world has changed: handwritten letters are now tweets; reputations are built with likes and shares; and the art of observation lives in comment sections and BookTok videos. Yet some things remain the same—courtship, social judgment, economic pressures, and the quiet power of a well-timed irony.
From Drawing Rooms to DMs: Historical Observations and Their Echoes TodayIn Austen’s time, social mobility, marriage prospects, and family standing were intertwined with complex codes of decorum and indirect expression. A subtle change in posture or a slight variation in tone could carry volumes. Courtship was a structured negotiation, performed in parlors, gardens, and dances. Every gesture was deliberate, every encounter a calculation in reputation.
Austen’s novels—Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility—revealed how women maneuvered within this system, using intelligence, observation, and social skill to assert agency in a rigid world. Her heroines were neither damsels nor revolutionaries; they were perceptive, self-aware, and complex. In this way, Austen’s work was deeply modern before modernity arrived. She did not merely reflect the constraints of her era—she questioned them, often with wit so precise it could pass for politeness.
Fast forward two centuries, and she sees similar dances playing out on Bumble, Hinge, and Twitter threads. Today’s rituals are faster, louder, and more visual, but the subtext remains. People still seek partners who balance attraction and status, charm and stability. Austen recognizes the coded language of emojis and the posturing of Instagram captions as a new version of courtly behavior—though she raises an eyebrow at the overuse of filters and the term “situationship.”
She is intrigued by the shift in how desire is communicated. Where once a touch of the hand spoke volumes, now a double tap might do the same. The choreography has changed, but the emotional stakes have not.
She rereads her own novels and marvels that they now live on in memes and merchandise, often distilled into a single quote—sometimes misattributed. She is both flattered and amused. "It appears," she muses, "that irony travels well."
Modern Literature and the Rise of the "Relatable Heroine"Drawn to bookstores and libraries, Austen explores contemporary literature. She finds allies in authors like Sally Rooney and Elif Batuman—writers unafraid to expose the raw awkwardness of intelligent, self-conscious women navigating modern life. She enjoys Curtis Sittenfeld’s Eligible, a modern Pride and Prejudice retelling, and chuckles at how easily Darcy can become a neurosurgeon with a Manhattan penthouse.
But she also notes a shift. Where her heroines had to navigate society’s demands through tact and restraint, many modern characters unravel in public, often online. The confessional voice has become the dominant literary mode—intimacy traded for exposure, restraint for rawness. It unsettles her, not morally, but structurally. “When every thought is shared,” she writes in her notebook, “where does tension reside?”
She notices how modern protagonists are often framed around their pain, their worth seemingly tied to how visibly they suffer. Austen, who believed in revealing character through action and dialogue, wonders whether quiet endurance has become passé. Has stoicism lost its narrative power? Is ambiguity now a liability in fiction?
Austen debates these ideas with a graduate class at NYU. They ask whether her reserved characters would resonate in an age obsessed with trauma narratives and identity politics. She replies with a knowing smile, “Irony is a form of intimacy too, my dears. Not all truths must be shouted to be felt.”
In private, she reflects on the idea that literature has always been about revealing the self—but how it does so changes. The modern heroine bleeds on the page, literally and metaphorically. Yet Austen suspects there is still room for silence, for subtext, for characters who think deeply and speak carefully. "There is a kind of courage," she writes, "in leaving things unsaid."
Swiping Through Ethics: Dating, Self-Image, and PerformanceAusten enters the world of modern dating cautiously. Apps like Tinder and Hinge confuse her at first—profiles curated like pamphlets, courtship condensed to bios and tags. She is fascinated by how people advertise themselves: “Sapiosexual,” “ENFP,” “No drama unless it’s HBO.” The curated self has replaced the social self, and everyone seems to be playing a role they designed for themselves.
She’s quick to notice how women are still navigating the tightrope of desirability and independence. The methods have changed—no chaperones or dowries—but the expectations linger. “Must be chill, but ambitious. Pretty, but not trying too hard. Independent, but available.” It’s Elizabeth Bennet with a LinkedIn profile.
The illusion of choice overwhelms her. With an infinite scroll of potential suitors, commitment appears to be less about connection and more about optimization. Everyone is benchmarking partners like products. “Romance,” she scribbles, “has become a UX problem.”
She notes that vulnerability is now often outsourced to apps and emojis—digital gestures standing in for real effort. Courtship, once filled with subtext and slow revelation, now favors speed and spectacle. A witty message is worth more than a meaningful silence.
Jane attends a panel titled “The Ethics of Ghosting.” She listens as speakers debate the moral weight of sudden silence in relationships. She is bemused. In her time, a man who vanished without formal explanation would be shamed. Today, it’s considered almost normal. She wonders aloud whether the problem lies not in new tools, but in the eroded sense of responsibility between people.
Her commentary on dating trends—posted via a popular anonymous Twitter account—gains a cult following. Tweets like “If Mr. Collins had a dating profile, it would list ‘devoted to family’ and 'Looking for someone who’s not too picky'” go viral. She never reveals her identity, enjoying the anonymity, the reversal of celebrity.
Some followers speculate that the mysterious poster is a literature professor, others believe it’s a satire collective. Austen just smiles, delighted by the gossip. She once told truths through fiction—why not now through parody?
Tea with Influencers: Social Media and the Performance of IdentityInvited to a podcast titled Minding the Algorithm, Jane meets influencers who dissect how the internet rewards visibility and outrage. She finds herself both impressed and alarmed. “In my day,” she notes, “we were expected to know our place. Now, you must brand it.”
She studies social media not just as communication but as theater. TikTok trends, BookTok tears, the daily churn of hot takes and viral drama—these are performances, no less choreographed than a country dance. Everyone is playing a part. She sees it as a stage with poor lighting and no exit cues.
She is struck by the speed at which identity can be redefined and reputations built—or destroyed. One viral moment can elevate a creator or end a career. “The stakes,” she muses, “are oddly like a marriage proposal—sudden, public, and irreversible.”
Her critiques are often gentle, always precise. She doesn’t condemn the internet but questions its pressures. Why must everything be shared? Why is nuance so easily lost? She wonders if society’s current obsession with visibility risks making sincerity unfashionable.
She’s fascinated by parasocial relationships—where fans feel close to influencers they’ve never met. It reminds her of letter-writing culture, but with fewer boundaries and more merch.
Yet, she also finds hope. Young women quoting her in defense of boundaries. Readers reclaiming her as an early feminist. Creators reenacting Emma scenes with gender-swapped roles or drag performances. Artists will always art, she decides—and Austen recognizes the creativity in remix culture, the wit in fanfiction, and the joy in being rediscovered.
Austen in the Writers’ Room: Collaborating with Contemporary CreatorsJane begins collaborating with screenwriters adapting her work. She contributes story structure suggestions and insists that Lydia Bennet not be turned into comic relief—“Girls who err are still human,” she reminds them.
She hosts salons—Zoom-based, naturally—where she meets authors, journalists, and dating coaches. Together, they discuss emotional labor, ghosting, class in modern romance, and whether The Bachelor is modern-day Pemberley propaganda. Jane proposes a scripted series where modern romantic failings are judged by 19th-century rules. It gets greenlit.
In a partnership with a women’s rights nonprofit, she co-authors an op-ed titled “Courtship, Consent, and Character.” It draws connections between her world’s constraints and ours, arguing that true freedom in romance lies in mutual respect and intention—not algorithms or aesthetics.
Conclusion: A Legacy Still in ConversationJane Austen ends her modern journey not with disdain, but curiosity. She sees that the human heart has not changed, only the arenas in which it performs. Love, self-deception, vanity, longing—these remain. What has shifted is speed, language, and the constant temptation to simplify.
Her novels continue to sell, her characters still quoted, adapted, meme’d. She finds this odd but gratifying. She was never writing about “the past,” after all. She was writing about people. And people, for all their platforms and apps, remain as fascinating as ever.
She returns to her quiet writing—this time on a refurbished MacBook Air, in a cottage equipped with Wi-Fi and a standing desk. She’s sketching a new novel. The working title? Swipe and Sensibility.
Thank you for your time today. Until next time, stay gruntled.
