I think we’ve all been there before. You’ve finally managed
to bag a hot date. You approach the whole operation with scientific precision
and military discipline. You pick the best time for both of you, scour Yelp for
the cheapest restaurants with a minimum hygiene rating of 4/5 and proceed to send
your location to the group chat so your friends know where to find your
lifeless body in case your date turns out to be the millennial Ted Bundy/Aileen
Wuornos. Everything is ready, planned to the last detail. But then the big day
comes and, oh shit… you have nothing to wear.
You lean into your closet and ouch, all you can see is a
blurry cluster of old, faded, Salvation Army-ish items that all of your friends
will promptly veto and report to the authorities (wearing them in public would
indeed qualify as a lewd act) the moment they receive your panicked snaps. It’s
like Primark’s reduced section on steroids. A felt jacket? Too shabby. A funky
silk shirt with oriental patterns? too hipster. The latest pair of Nike Air Max?
Boy, I can guarantee with mathematical certainty that there is no way in the
world you’re getting that second date.
So what do you do? Check your bank account, grab your debit
card and head to the mall, unafraid to dip into your rent money to please the
aggressive shop assistants who would sell you their grandma if they could. On
that note: what’s their deal? Do they spike their water with coke? Where
do they find the energy and dedication required to bully every customer into
buying things that even Oxfam wouldn’t take? (I know this is just the
by-product of an aggressive capitalist culture that forces blameless individuals to
enforce its rules but I also do not want to upset them so I just buy everything
they tell me to.)
Anyway! You head to the shops, armed with determination and
limited funds. You just need a new shirt but end up buying five pairs of socks,
a Dia De Los Muertos-themed jacket on sale, a tube of incense sticks and a
watermelon face mask. You go home looking like Celia Cruz after a sold-out
concert in Mexico City. The truth is… my wardrobe is not that bad. I
definitely don’t need another flannel shirt I can’t afford but still, I end up
biting the bullet (forgive the pun) and buy it anyway. Sometimes I think I agree
to go on dates just so I have an excuse to purchase a new outfit. There, I said
it. As if going on dates wasn’t expensive enough as it is.
But the question is, how much time and money should we
invest in dating? And I’m not talking about the dates themselves but all the fuss that surrounds them. The money spent to buy the
fancy perfume to lure the person sitting in front of you into your honey trap.
And of course, the cash you need to buy antidepressants on the dark web when you
realise you’ve wasted another two hours of your life arguing with someone who
thinks that the Fast and Furious franchise is the best cinematic product of the
21st century.
But still, next time you’ll do it all over again. You will
agree to meet for drinks and you will spend five hours trying to find the right
shoes to go with that experimental vintage coat you bought in Broadway Market
while drunk on whiskey sours from the night before. You spend more time in
front of the mirror than getting to know the person sitting in front of you
sipping warm espresso martinis while showing excessive interest in the wall
clock.
I just can’t afford this lifestyle. And most importantly, I
don’t have the time for it. I live in London, for God’s sake: in this city,
time really is the main currency. You should spend most of it trying to figure
out creative (also code for illegal) ways to make more money and afford your
zone 2 flat with central heating and partial (very partial) view of the
financial district. Also, have you ever heard of council tax? It’s really bad
(and the most effective argument against adulthood I can think of).
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I do understand why
you would spend an appropriate amount of time and yes, dinero, trying to
portray yourself in the best possible light to the eyes of another Hinge rando.
And let’s face, it is so disrespectful to show up on a date to find out that
the other person has made zero effort (at least a shower? With soap? Is that too
much too ask? And no, a generous splash of Lynx Africa/Lynx Attract for Her won’t cut it)
I feel like that’s where I go wrong. It’s not my refusal to
acknowledge the red flags and my propensity to transfer too much meaning and
importance to disappointing people I’ve been seeing for a couple of weeks. The
problem is, I do that even before I meet them! It starts with the
clothes and the haircuts and the perfumes and then, before you know it, you sign up for a
cross-fit class and dye your hair blonde to impress someone who sniffs glue
before dates. If I didn’t know better I’d think I have some self-esteem issues
(no) and pre-emptive separation anxiety/fear of abandonment (yes).
So the bottom line is, the key is… moderation. Of course
under no circumstance would I ever pass as a credible advocate for any form of
restraint but just trust me on this one. I know the theory. Whether I follow my
own advice, well, that’s another story. One of the most enjoyable parts of
dating is that you get to dress up and feel pretty, but don’t overdo it. It’s
not an audition and you’re not auctioning yourself to the highest (or only)
bidder. If you’re good, it will show.
But if you’re a fraud (and at some point or another we all are) trust that,
most of the time, your date will see through the Zara jackets and the makeup
and the fresh haircuts and call your bullshit. I know I would!
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