This is What Happens When You Ask Out ten Fellows on Tinder. In One Night
Last week, I determined to do what many dudes do on Tinder: get straight to the point. Now—not every fellow I’m matched with goes in straight for the date, some like to be chatty. But most exchange a few niceties before asking for my number and watching when they can buy me a glass of Pinot Noir. (Saturday, at eight p.m., in the East Village, if any tall, successful, kind-hearted man is available out there. Somewhere. Anywhere. Anyone. Bueller?)
My friends and I are sort of the opposite: We ask about where he’s from, where he lives in the city, what he does for a living, how long he’s lived here, what his social security number is… (Joking.) But truly, even as a certain, outgoing gal, I almost always wait for a boy to make the very first budge.
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Yes, even on Tinder.
It seems a little foolish now that I type it out, but there’s something about that pursue (even if it’s only in the form of blue pop-up bubbles) that makes me hold back, and wait to be pursued.
Well, until Thursday night, that is. After a day in the office, a workout class, a quick walk with my pup, and a shower, I put on mascara, crimson lips and my bathrobe, and I sat down and messaged this to the ten guys I was matched with on Tinder that same day:
“Hi NAME! Want to get drinks in the East Village in an hour?”
Yep, that’s it. No pleasant greetings, no asking anything about them, no checking to make sure they indeed were as tall as they said they were. No anything—just a time-sensitive invitation. My roomie sat on the futon with me, passed me a glass of crimson wine and we waited.
It was odd sitting there, essentially holding out for a man, but it was indeed interesting too, and it left my head spinning with questions: What type of boy would react to that? What message I was I inadvertently sending by being so, um, casual? (Was I being casual?! Or was I just getting to the point? Was it a sexy budge? A crazy one?) Would they think I just wished to meet up? Would they expect me to go home with them that night? Was this a indeed, truly dumb idea? Gulp. Would anyone even react?
And then, five minutes later, the messages embarked to roll in. Ben was busy but asked for a raincheck. Nathaniel liked my forward treatment but had a client dinner. Adam told me I had pretty eyes and asked if I was free on Tuesday. Brad asked about Wednesday.
And then Matt said. yes! (. )
Matt was from London originally and he was looking at apartments in my neighborhood (score!). He could meet me at a cocktail bar in thirty minutes. Three blocks from my apartment.
Just as I finished picking out my clothing and was about to leave, he texted that he needed to cancel, that he was just too tired and was afraid he wouldn’t be good company. And ya know what? Instead of getting disappointed (like I would have if I talked to him for an entire week via Tinder and then via texting before actually meeting him in person), I didn’t truly care at all.
Then Paul was available. It was almost ten p.m. by this time and I was (admittedly) getting tired from a long day, but my roomie shoved me to go for it. I was already dressed, I did look hot, she reassured. So I confirmed with him…
. and then he backed out too. Evidently he ended up drinking too much with his softball team and was strike. Again, it wasn’t an enormous letdown. I continued messaging the other eight dudes and strung up out with my roomie as we sang along to "Mmm Bop" and finished that bottle of wine. Thursday night perfection in it’s single 20-something finest.
Here are the final stats from my Tinder experiment:
. Two confirmed (and then cancelled).
. Eight asked for a raincheck.
. Two scheduled dates for next for next week.
As for the two guys I’m observing next week, we haven’t moved past the ‘When are we meeting?’ question. We have the dates reserved and I hope they’ll keep them, but if they get cold feet (or get busy, like we all get), it won’t be a total disaster. Because now I get why guys cut to the chase—and why sometimes it’s better if we do, too—there’s indeed no reason to get your hopes up about someone before you even meet them. Anyone can look flawless on paper (or by swiping right) and anyone can be clever with their cryptic, sexy Tinder (or Hinge or whatever) messaging, but all of it means diddly squat until you’re sitting next to them in a crowded bar at blessed hour.
The thing is, regardless of whether you “talk” for one minute or one week, you never know where it might lead. Case-in-point: That same Thursday, my roomie was only home with the said bottle of vino because a fellow she had been talking with for more than a week on OkCupid bailed at the last minute. By then, they knew a good amount about each other and she was pretty excited by the thought of it turning into something good. (Spoiler: The lame dude still hasn’t rescheduled! She’s observing a different one next week.)
Even tho’ it hasn’t been that long since my experiment, I’ve noticed a difference in how I message guys now. Mainly, that I don’t anymore. If I’m attracted to them and I think I’d be able to manage at least a half-hour in their company without eyeing the nearest exit, I just go for it.
The worst that could happen is that they don’t react or they don’t showcase up. The best that could happen… well… I’ll let you know… when it does. After all, I do have two dates next week.