Welcome to part three of our discussion of dating filters! It's been a hard week of talking, no? A little rapid growth in dating perspective never hurt anyone, though. Tonight's installment: change isn't always a good thing.
Dating Scenario One: Two people are, say, taking a walk through a local arboretum, talking, laughing, smiling, maybe even having some Dostoevskian eye-talk. Things are going swimmingly quite generally. And then, Dater #1 goes into his schtick on polyamorous people - how he was once approached by a poly person for a date and how funny he thought it was that this poly person would dare approach him: as if!
Dater #2 is poly. Perhaps not being in a relationship at the time, it hasn't even occurred to Dater #2 to disclose this fact - it simply hadn't seemed like a pressing detail. Dater #2 laughs, but not in the gee, that's funny way, and they go about their date, with Dater #2 slightly embarrassed and ashamed, perhaps mostly because she hadn't said anything in her own defense.
It's not okay to have your identity mocked, but what are you to do in a situation when the other person wasn't maliciously maligning you - it's just that it turns out you're definitely not your date's type?
Perhaps the poly person even thinks: "Well, maybe if this works out I could give monogamy a shot. I mean, you never know, right?"
Be very wary of any criticism you get on a date. Some people seem to think they're dating a list of attributes and not a human being, and that, if these attributes could just be reshuffled a little, they might end up with the perfect mate.
The truth is, the criticism doesn't have to be very deep to be out of bounds. The way you laugh, the way you hold your fork, liking Bachman Turner Overdrive, crying at "Pretty Woman" - making fun of these things are all foul shots on a date, specifically a first date. Gentle, playful mockery quite often veils the darker tendency to see dates as projects. You shouldn't allow yourself to be seen as a schematic for the other person's designs - and you shouldn't think of your date that way, either.
The simplest way to avoid this is to avoid mocking behavior on a date. Focus on positive communication: instead of, "Good God, you chew like you had four stomachs!" try, "That tie really sets off your eyes." Mocking anyone, including the server or an old girlfriend can make you seem like a negative person, and remember: date you should be the best you.
There's only so much power you should give a date, and only so much power you should expect to have over a date. "You've got a little schmutz on your chin, there"? Perfectly acceptable. "All dog owners are freaks who should be sent to a desert island in the Pacific"? Foul ball! You shouldn't be expected to change yourself during a date to suit your date's exacting tastes, and you shouldn't think of your date as a Mr. Potato Head, either.
Remember: you're on a date with a person, a mortal human being, and you should experience him or her as a complete individual before you swoop in with any demands. Some things aren't going to change and you shouldn't expect them to; nagging is for unhappy couples - caring, egalitarian communication is for everyone else.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Wars require exit strategies - dates don't
All right, there's still a wee bit of time left to vote in the poll, but this boy's got places to go and people to see, so I'm calling the results: when asked, "On a first date I..." 14% each responded "always head to my favorite restaurant" and "never do the same thing twice," while 21% of you said create an exit strategy with a friend." Actually, by far most respondents (50%) said, "Date? Ha!" and, while I'm not sure anyone will follow this logic other than me, I thought of that as a throwaway answer, and SO you've inspired me, per our one-sided written contract, to write about one of the biggest sins in dating: creating an exit strategy.
I was actually not entirely sure people did this: I had my suspicions, but a big part of me wanted to believe that this was just something dateless people who wrote sitcoms did.
Rarely do I come down so hard on one side of an issue; I like, generally, to put my faith in a great big gray area, but, to put it mildly, creating an exit strategy with a friend is inexcusable.
Let's get the obvious out in the open. Planning a way to get out of a date means you have absolutely no regard for the other person, which raises the question: if you can't in good conscience commit to have one measly date with this person, why in everloving Hell did you say yes?
We're dealing with bare-bones common human courtesy here: when you agree to do a date, you're really agreeing to a whole lot more than showing up at a location in space at a particular location in time to briefly encounter someone else in the same spacetime location. You are, in fact, agreeing to show up to that location in spacetime and be fully present. You are there to learn about a fellow member of the human race, to share a part of yourself as a member of the human race, to listen and be listened to, and to share in some amount of human bonding.
This isn't really as touchy-feely as it sounds: it means in practical terms that you agree to be present in more than body when you go on a date. When you know that you can bail at any minute, you're not going to be listening to a single word the other person says - or, worse, you're going to be scrutinizing every breath for a reason to excuse yourself for a moment. It's not Iraq - it's a date, and it's supposed to be one of the nicest things about being a single human being.
Does he talk too much about his car? Can she not stop fidgeting with her badly-died hair? Maybe he spritzed on too much cologne or seems to be completely uninterested in the bat he's got in the cave? So what. If you're not enjoying yourself, resolve not to see this person again: don't expect one of your friends to help you embarrass someone with cunning and lies. Jumping down the escape hatch might really say more about you than it says about the other person - if you've judged someone right out within an hour, how do you ever meet anyone who's up to your standards?
And let's return to the initial question: namely, why in everloving Hell did you say yes? It's not just your date you're disrespecting in this case: you're demonstrating a great disregard for yourself as a person if the escape plan is necessary. Your time is yours to do with as you choose, so why would you ever go on a date you're decently confident ahead of time that you won't even be around to see end? Your time's valuable - because you can't sit through dessert if you're not in love yet - but not valuable enough to just say "no"?
You're under no obligation ever - did you get that? ever - to say yes to a date. Part of becoming the best dater you can be is learning to say and respect the word "no." Use it: it's your right and, in this case, your responsibility if you can't do any better than kind-of sort-of half-committing to forty five minutes at the same table or until you just can't stand it anymore.
But, in case you're still tempted, I'm going to make this one really simple for you: cell phones off during dates so that you can't possibly worm your way out. Unless your date pulls out a hand-grenade, there's no call for early withdrawal of troops.
I was actually not entirely sure people did this: I had my suspicions, but a big part of me wanted to believe that this was just something dateless people who wrote sitcoms did.
Rarely do I come down so hard on one side of an issue; I like, generally, to put my faith in a great big gray area, but, to put it mildly, creating an exit strategy with a friend is inexcusable.
Let's get the obvious out in the open. Planning a way to get out of a date means you have absolutely no regard for the other person, which raises the question: if you can't in good conscience commit to have one measly date with this person, why in everloving Hell did you say yes?
We're dealing with bare-bones common human courtesy here: when you agree to do a date, you're really agreeing to a whole lot more than showing up at a location in space at a particular location in time to briefly encounter someone else in the same spacetime location. You are, in fact, agreeing to show up to that location in spacetime and be fully present. You are there to learn about a fellow member of the human race, to share a part of yourself as a member of the human race, to listen and be listened to, and to share in some amount of human bonding.
This isn't really as touchy-feely as it sounds: it means in practical terms that you agree to be present in more than body when you go on a date. When you know that you can bail at any minute, you're not going to be listening to a single word the other person says - or, worse, you're going to be scrutinizing every breath for a reason to excuse yourself for a moment. It's not Iraq - it's a date, and it's supposed to be one of the nicest things about being a single human being.
Does he talk too much about his car? Can she not stop fidgeting with her badly-died hair? Maybe he spritzed on too much cologne or seems to be completely uninterested in the bat he's got in the cave? So what. If you're not enjoying yourself, resolve not to see this person again: don't expect one of your friends to help you embarrass someone with cunning and lies. Jumping down the escape hatch might really say more about you than it says about the other person - if you've judged someone right out within an hour, how do you ever meet anyone who's up to your standards?
And let's return to the initial question: namely, why in everloving Hell did you say yes? It's not just your date you're disrespecting in this case: you're demonstrating a great disregard for yourself as a person if the escape plan is necessary. Your time is yours to do with as you choose, so why would you ever go on a date you're decently confident ahead of time that you won't even be around to see end? Your time's valuable - because you can't sit through dessert if you're not in love yet - but not valuable enough to just say "no"?
You're under no obligation ever - did you get that? ever - to say yes to a date. Part of becoming the best dater you can be is learning to say and respect the word "no." Use it: it's your right and, in this case, your responsibility if you can't do any better than kind-of sort-of half-committing to forty five minutes at the same table or until you just can't stand it anymore.
But, in case you're still tempted, I'm going to make this one really simple for you: cell phones off during dates so that you can't possibly worm your way out. Unless your date pulls out a hand-grenade, there's no call for early withdrawal of troops.
Dating Filters Part Deux
Bloggers should never announce their plans for a multi-part series: life intervened, and here I am, two days behind schedule. Plus that poll didn't close exactly when I thought it did...which makes me feel really intelligent, what with having posted it and all.
Anyway, I've crawled my way to my laptop to continue our discussion of dating filters.
While self-segregation is a largely self-centered and, dare I say it, somewhat shallow method of screening partners, other dating filters show more thought about what other people think: the Catholic who will only date other Catholics, the white person who will only date other white people, the Jew who triple checks the spelling of his date's last name, etc.
I'm not talking about people who don't date outside of their religious, ethnic, or racial group because they hate or fear people who are unlike them. In fact, there's probably little point of addressing these people, since they don't tend to read blogs started by polyamorous gay Jews (those are three of the most specific things you're going to hear about me, by the way - remember, DATE is about you!).
I'm talking about people who don't want to ruffle any feathers and essentially buy into the recurring cultural myth that families of blended cultural heritage are doomed to failure.
I don't intend to suggest that there are no benefits whatsoever of marrying someone who in particular is from your religious tradition. (Frankly, I think if you're unwilling to bring someone of another race home, it's time to have a nice long talk with your family about how unacceptable their views are in modern America - and, just so we're clear, I'm not just talking to white people with racist parents.) But you'll notice that this dating filter leads you far afield from the topic of this blog: dating.
This dating filter turns every date into an audition for a marriage partner. Frankly, if you wouldn't deem it appropriate to propose marriage on the first date, why are you thinking about whether or not you would marry this person before you go out!? Aside from any discussion about the type of person you might find to be marriage material, you've already taken half the fun out of dating. You're closing yourself off to people who have other experiences and other backgrounds, and if you find it the least little sad that your parents expect you to marry a Scot, nothing is going to change with your generation.
You're also forwarding the wrong set of expectations in a dating situation. Thoughts of marriage, even subconscious ones, can totally spoil your ability to get to know the other person as anything other than, say, a marriage-aged Hindu of the opposite sex.
From deep within the bosom of the gay community, I would like to offer the world a tidbit we queer folk had to figure out a long time ago: the approval of your community vis-a-vis your romantic choices isn't a good enough reason to make them. Appreciate other people for who they are, not for what they aren't (i.e., a carbon copy of you).
Moreover, don't overload the dating experience with thoughts about the future. It's hard enough to think two hours ahead when you're on a date, so why are you already thinking years ahead?
Anyway, I've crawled my way to my laptop to continue our discussion of dating filters.
While self-segregation is a largely self-centered and, dare I say it, somewhat shallow method of screening partners, other dating filters show more thought about what other people think: the Catholic who will only date other Catholics, the white person who will only date other white people, the Jew who triple checks the spelling of his date's last name, etc.
I'm not talking about people who don't date outside of their religious, ethnic, or racial group because they hate or fear people who are unlike them. In fact, there's probably little point of addressing these people, since they don't tend to read blogs started by polyamorous gay Jews (those are three of the most specific things you're going to hear about me, by the way - remember, DATE is about you!).
I'm talking about people who don't want to ruffle any feathers and essentially buy into the recurring cultural myth that families of blended cultural heritage are doomed to failure.
I don't intend to suggest that there are no benefits whatsoever of marrying someone who in particular is from your religious tradition. (Frankly, I think if you're unwilling to bring someone of another race home, it's time to have a nice long talk with your family about how unacceptable their views are in modern America - and, just so we're clear, I'm not just talking to white people with racist parents.) But you'll notice that this dating filter leads you far afield from the topic of this blog: dating.
This dating filter turns every date into an audition for a marriage partner. Frankly, if you wouldn't deem it appropriate to propose marriage on the first date, why are you thinking about whether or not you would marry this person before you go out!? Aside from any discussion about the type of person you might find to be marriage material, you've already taken half the fun out of dating. You're closing yourself off to people who have other experiences and other backgrounds, and if you find it the least little sad that your parents expect you to marry a Scot, nothing is going to change with your generation.
You're also forwarding the wrong set of expectations in a dating situation. Thoughts of marriage, even subconscious ones, can totally spoil your ability to get to know the other person as anything other than, say, a marriage-aged Hindu of the opposite sex.
From deep within the bosom of the gay community, I would like to offer the world a tidbit we queer folk had to figure out a long time ago: the approval of your community vis-a-vis your romantic choices isn't a good enough reason to make them. Appreciate other people for who they are, not for what they aren't (i.e., a carbon copy of you).
Moreover, don't overload the dating experience with thoughts about the future. It's hard enough to think two hours ahead when you're on a date, so why are you already thinking years ahead?
Monday, August 4, 2008
Dating Filters #1: Self-Segregation
This week on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, I'm running a series on what I like to call dating filters: the series of burning hoops and litmus tests we put ourselves and others through before saying, "Yes, I will meet you for a drink this Friday." (Wednesday's post will be based on the results of the poll on the right side of your screen - don't forget to vote!)
Is there anything inherently wrong with dating filters? No: they can help you weed out people that you won't even be able to have a polite cocktail with. As won't be news to anyone, if there is something (or some things) about other people that you absolutely cannot tolerate for any amount of time, using these as dating filters can save you aggravation and wasting an hour of both of your lives.
Dating filters can be a lot more sinister, though: they can be used as a crutch that eventually prevents you from finding anyone with whom you can share a satisfactory dating experience. In an episode of the Simpsons, Moe, a victim of one of Bart and Lisa's phone pranks yells out to the patrons of his bar: "Amanda Hugandkiss! Hey, I'm looking for Amanda Hugandkiss!" Barney responds: "Maybe your standards are too high!"
The first type of dating filter is self-segregation: that is, identifying one part of yourself (quite typically a very obvious, somewhat externalized characteristic) and only allowing yourself to date people who share this characteristic. Smokers, athletes, dog and cat people, and homeowners are just some examples of people who self-segregate.
Is it nice to be able to sit in the smoking section when you're a smoker on a first date? You bet! As a smoker myself, I can say with absolute confidence that, when I'm on a date with a fellow smoker, I enjoy myself more. The last thing I want to do on a date is separate myself from something that I find comforting: my nerves are all in a twist and nice puff here and there can really take the edge off!
That being said, are all my dates with non-smokers terrible? By no means. Sure, I have to try hard to have minty fresh breath (and, as an aside for smokers: this is really actually harder than you think it is) and I am compelled to go the entire experience without my little carcinogenic safety blanket. Is it difficult? You bet. I was once on a date with a non-smoker that lasted well into the early hours of the following morning, and, though I was having the time of my life, I started getting really nervous after the seventh or eighth hour. He noticed this and asked why: I thought about it for a second and then I was compelled to admit that this was probably the longest I had gone without a cigarette since I was a teenager.
But, you'll note, that's only part of the story: the other part is that I really was having the time of life, and he got to see the smoke-free side of me, which, while a little keyed-up, turns out to be pretty fun.
Are you within your rights to self-segregate? Yes. If you know l'odeur de chat that follows you wherever you go is just going to end up scaring potential mates' dogs, it's all right to only date cat people. If you can't stand even the slightest whiff of tobacco smoke, it's all right never to date a smoker. And if you only want to see people who share your exact economic background, no one is forcing you to date a renter.
But you have to understand the consequences: when there is a litmus test before you'll even agree to the first date, you're closing out a big part of the population. Self-segregators can come to feel that their criterion is the key one, and that everyone who doesn't measure up is totally, objectively undatable. Understand that this is your criterion and your criterion alone, and that other people might be screening you out for some other reason.
Do you not feel defined by being a jogger? Or a smoker? Or a person with 3 siamese cats? Do you wish these things weren't the only thing other people were considering about you? If you don't see yourself as a one-dimensional person, you can benefit by not thinking of other people as one-dimensional, either.
Coming tomorrow: more on dating filters!
Is there anything inherently wrong with dating filters? No: they can help you weed out people that you won't even be able to have a polite cocktail with. As won't be news to anyone, if there is something (or some things) about other people that you absolutely cannot tolerate for any amount of time, using these as dating filters can save you aggravation and wasting an hour of both of your lives.
Dating filters can be a lot more sinister, though: they can be used as a crutch that eventually prevents you from finding anyone with whom you can share a satisfactory dating experience. In an episode of the Simpsons, Moe, a victim of one of Bart and Lisa's phone pranks yells out to the patrons of his bar: "Amanda Hugandkiss! Hey, I'm looking for Amanda Hugandkiss!" Barney responds: "Maybe your standards are too high!"
The first type of dating filter is self-segregation: that is, identifying one part of yourself (quite typically a very obvious, somewhat externalized characteristic) and only allowing yourself to date people who share this characteristic. Smokers, athletes, dog and cat people, and homeowners are just some examples of people who self-segregate.
Is it nice to be able to sit in the smoking section when you're a smoker on a first date? You bet! As a smoker myself, I can say with absolute confidence that, when I'm on a date with a fellow smoker, I enjoy myself more. The last thing I want to do on a date is separate myself from something that I find comforting: my nerves are all in a twist and nice puff here and there can really take the edge off!
That being said, are all my dates with non-smokers terrible? By no means. Sure, I have to try hard to have minty fresh breath (and, as an aside for smokers: this is really actually harder than you think it is) and I am compelled to go the entire experience without my little carcinogenic safety blanket. Is it difficult? You bet. I was once on a date with a non-smoker that lasted well into the early hours of the following morning, and, though I was having the time of my life, I started getting really nervous after the seventh or eighth hour. He noticed this and asked why: I thought about it for a second and then I was compelled to admit that this was probably the longest I had gone without a cigarette since I was a teenager.
But, you'll note, that's only part of the story: the other part is that I really was having the time of life, and he got to see the smoke-free side of me, which, while a little keyed-up, turns out to be pretty fun.
Are you within your rights to self-segregate? Yes. If you know l'odeur de chat that follows you wherever you go is just going to end up scaring potential mates' dogs, it's all right to only date cat people. If you can't stand even the slightest whiff of tobacco smoke, it's all right never to date a smoker. And if you only want to see people who share your exact economic background, no one is forcing you to date a renter.
But you have to understand the consequences: when there is a litmus test before you'll even agree to the first date, you're closing out a big part of the population. Self-segregators can come to feel that their criterion is the key one, and that everyone who doesn't measure up is totally, objectively undatable. Understand that this is your criterion and your criterion alone, and that other people might be screening you out for some other reason.
Do you not feel defined by being a jogger? Or a smoker? Or a person with 3 siamese cats? Do you wish these things weren't the only thing other people were considering about you? If you don't see yourself as a one-dimensional person, you can benefit by not thinking of other people as one-dimensional, either.
Coming tomorrow: more on dating filters!
Hey Daters!
There's still a couple of days left to vote in DATE's first poll (it's over to the right of your screen). The results of the poll will affect my entry for the day it closes. So, wanna help make DATE? Vote!
Also, please keep sending in your questions! We've gotten a few and are anxious to publish our first DATE advice column!
Thanks, readers!
Also, please keep sending in your questions! We've gotten a few and are anxious to publish our first DATE advice column!
Thanks, readers!
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Go Dutch if you want to go again
In more from the world of first-date advice, I've got another fast fix-it for all of our wonderful readers:
Pay for your own experience.
I believe you'll come to see that part of our central philosophy at DATE is dating egalitarianism. We're living in a world where feminist criticism has given us an opportunity to shine new light on all of life's experiences, but somehow not enough of this light shines into the dating corner. Many people expect to go on the dates their grandmothers went on and then move on to fully equal, modern relationships.
To put a fine point on it, this doesn't work.
The dates we're all trained to go on - and, sadly, we're all trained to go on heteronormative heterosexual dates, so that's what I'm going to start by talking about - invest both too much power and too much responsibility in a man, while depriving a woman of a voice and any responsibility. In reality, whether you want to see it or not, the power dynamic is tipped most of the time before the two of you have even sat down to (anything but) dinner.
[Again, talking to just our heterosexual daters for a moment:]
A few questions for the lady dater: Did he make the initial contact (e.g., approach you in the bar, send the first message on the dating site, ask you when you got done slinging coffee)? Did he make the first call? Did he propose the plan and the time for your first date? Did you automatically accept his plan? Even if it barely interested you? Did you agree to be picked up? Did he do most of the talking and then pay the check?
This is the date everyone in American culture is taught to go on. This makes it no one's fault when two particular people have this experience. He's not an asshole if he picks the restaurant and suggests that you order the crab cakes. This is also what he's been taught: men have to do the approaching and chasing, have to make the phone calls, have to be the ones with the plans and the ones to make the reservations, pick up their female dates, charm them with talk of their high-paying jobs and thrilling hobbies and then, obviously, to pick up the check.
This dating model hasn't just ruined expectations and countless dates for heterosexual pairs. It's infected gay and lesbian dating from the time that gay men and lesbians started dating partners of their choosing out in the open. We automatically painted ourselves into male and female/masculine and feminine quarters: we became tops and bottoms, butches and femmes, and hardly gave a thought to what it would be like to create a dating world that wasn't based on a heterosexual model that was even oppressive to heterosexuals.
And I am by no means talking about some distant past: I once found myself, before I had started to take my own advice, saying to a man on the phone as we tried to make plans for our first date: "I thought men liked making all the decisions." In retrospect, it was one of the most debilitating and awful things I've ever said about myself, but it revealed a new world of dating truth to me. I'm a man: I date men: and neither of us should ever feel entirely responsible for what happens on a date.
With my apologies to almost everyone in the dating world: we haven't allowed our expectations of dating to change in about fifty years, and it's time for a quiet revolution.
It starts with paying for your own experience - and, let's be honest, you're probably still going to sit through a few more first dates in restaurants, and that means having the courage to reach for the check. Asserting yourself economically is one of the many things you can do straight off the bat to equal out power dynamics. Ideally, a date should be a meeting between two equals, and this can't be achieved when all of the power and responsibility are one side. Take an automatic load off your date and pay for your own tofu teriyaki. The added side benefit? If you're not used to doing it, you'll feel really good about yourself after. It's proof to both of you that you don't need your date in order to eat.
And that's powerful.
Pay for your own experience.
I believe you'll come to see that part of our central philosophy at DATE is dating egalitarianism. We're living in a world where feminist criticism has given us an opportunity to shine new light on all of life's experiences, but somehow not enough of this light shines into the dating corner. Many people expect to go on the dates their grandmothers went on and then move on to fully equal, modern relationships.
To put a fine point on it, this doesn't work.
The dates we're all trained to go on - and, sadly, we're all trained to go on heteronormative heterosexual dates, so that's what I'm going to start by talking about - invest both too much power and too much responsibility in a man, while depriving a woman of a voice and any responsibility. In reality, whether you want to see it or not, the power dynamic is tipped most of the time before the two of you have even sat down to (anything but) dinner.
[Again, talking to just our heterosexual daters for a moment:]
A few questions for the lady dater: Did he make the initial contact (e.g., approach you in the bar, send the first message on the dating site, ask you when you got done slinging coffee)? Did he make the first call? Did he propose the plan and the time for your first date? Did you automatically accept his plan? Even if it barely interested you? Did you agree to be picked up? Did he do most of the talking and then pay the check?
This is the date everyone in American culture is taught to go on. This makes it no one's fault when two particular people have this experience. He's not an asshole if he picks the restaurant and suggests that you order the crab cakes. This is also what he's been taught: men have to do the approaching and chasing, have to make the phone calls, have to be the ones with the plans and the ones to make the reservations, pick up their female dates, charm them with talk of their high-paying jobs and thrilling hobbies and then, obviously, to pick up the check.
This dating model hasn't just ruined expectations and countless dates for heterosexual pairs. It's infected gay and lesbian dating from the time that gay men and lesbians started dating partners of their choosing out in the open. We automatically painted ourselves into male and female/masculine and feminine quarters: we became tops and bottoms, butches and femmes, and hardly gave a thought to what it would be like to create a dating world that wasn't based on a heterosexual model that was even oppressive to heterosexuals.
And I am by no means talking about some distant past: I once found myself, before I had started to take my own advice, saying to a man on the phone as we tried to make plans for our first date: "I thought men liked making all the decisions." In retrospect, it was one of the most debilitating and awful things I've ever said about myself, but it revealed a new world of dating truth to me. I'm a man: I date men: and neither of us should ever feel entirely responsible for what happens on a date.
With my apologies to almost everyone in the dating world: we haven't allowed our expectations of dating to change in about fifty years, and it's time for a quiet revolution.
It starts with paying for your own experience - and, let's be honest, you're probably still going to sit through a few more first dates in restaurants, and that means having the courage to reach for the check. Asserting yourself economically is one of the many things you can do straight off the bat to equal out power dynamics. Ideally, a date should be a meeting between two equals, and this can't be achieved when all of the power and responsibility are one side. Take an automatic load off your date and pay for your own tofu teriyaki. The added side benefit? If you're not used to doing it, you'll feel really good about yourself after. It's proof to both of you that you don't need your date in order to eat.
And that's powerful.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Can I call yet?
The prevalence of dating advice in our culture is manifest in the amount of it must of us can quote off the top of our heads without quite being able to name a source. The number three seems to be particularly important in American dating lore: two of the most important things you hear about dating as an American are 1) no nookie until after the third date and 2) wait three days to call.
DATE is always in the pursuit of dating truth, and I take issue with both of these numbers. The one I want to talk about tonight is the second (but trust me, trust me, I'll get to the first one).
Ask an average person how long they think they have to wait until calling someone after a successful first date, and I'll wager that nine out of ten of them say three days. If your probe further, you might get this hypothetical average person to say that, "Well, you don't want to seem desperate." But no one can quite offer a reason why 72 hours is the magical number that washes away your desperation.
Today in an article for my day job, I wrote that you need to be assertive in your communication (as well as other aspects of dating). If you're desperate, you're probably going to sound even more desperate if you wait the requisite three days. Conversely, if you're not, you won't sound that way even the next day.
Am I advocating calling the next day? No. Is there a time too soon? Yes. But, it's not a magical number. I think it's much more rational to call someone sometime between five minutes after you part ways and that point when you're pacing around your apartment with six of their seven digits dialed into your cell for two hours on end.
All right, no, do not call as you're walking away from what should be anything but the restaurant (one of our new team members will be posting soon about alternatives to the restaurant). Give it some time. But not so as not to sound desperate.
The reason you shouldn't call right away is to let that feeling build up. That nervous energy that develops after a really good first date is a magic only attached to that event. It's a mixture of hope and fear and general delectation that can be its own reward. Savor this goopy mixed-up feeling and let your date do the same. If it really was a good first date, she's feeling it, too.
The other part of the equation: you shouldn't give a call back until you know what you'd like to see happen next. And I mean in a rational way; of course you want to see him again: that's why you've got this goopy mixed-up feeling. But give yourself time to actually picture the next date and what it would ideally be like. A reasonable sketch of the second date should include at very least an activity and a couple of times you're available that you could bounce off her schedule. You don't have to present all this. You can, in fact, just call to say that you had a great time and that you'd like to do it again soon.
[A note on the word "soon:" after much experience and much talking with friends, I've determined that, if you mean it, you have to say soon, not some time. Soon creates a feeling of sincerity while some time is almost intolerably vague and could be taken a hundred ways that don't translate into Gee, I'd sincerely like to see you again.]
The reason you have to have a plan is simple: even if it isn't at all what happens, you've come out of the fog and are making rational decisions again. You've checked your calendar to make sure you're available (instead of, say, fantasizing about beaching out with him in Hawaii for the rest of your lives). If you can't wait until you've reached this state, you might sound a little strange and, dare I say it, even desperate when you give her the call back.
However! This might very well happen within the first 24-48 hours after the date is over. Here's a little secret: unless you're dating someone with a ridiculously inflated sense of self, he's not going to mind hearing that you're interested. Again, assert yourself in your dating communications: don't wait to be called, and don't worry about seeming desperate if you don't wait for three days.
Honest, clear-headed communication can't lead you wrong.
DATE is always in the pursuit of dating truth, and I take issue with both of these numbers. The one I want to talk about tonight is the second (but trust me, trust me, I'll get to the first one).
Ask an average person how long they think they have to wait until calling someone after a successful first date, and I'll wager that nine out of ten of them say three days. If your probe further, you might get this hypothetical average person to say that, "Well, you don't want to seem desperate." But no one can quite offer a reason why 72 hours is the magical number that washes away your desperation.
Today in an article for my day job, I wrote that you need to be assertive in your communication (as well as other aspects of dating). If you're desperate, you're probably going to sound even more desperate if you wait the requisite three days. Conversely, if you're not, you won't sound that way even the next day.
Am I advocating calling the next day? No. Is there a time too soon? Yes. But, it's not a magical number. I think it's much more rational to call someone sometime between five minutes after you part ways and that point when you're pacing around your apartment with six of their seven digits dialed into your cell for two hours on end.
All right, no, do not call as you're walking away from what should be anything but the restaurant (one of our new team members will be posting soon about alternatives to the restaurant). Give it some time. But not so as not to sound desperate.
The reason you shouldn't call right away is to let that feeling build up. That nervous energy that develops after a really good first date is a magic only attached to that event. It's a mixture of hope and fear and general delectation that can be its own reward. Savor this goopy mixed-up feeling and let your date do the same. If it really was a good first date, she's feeling it, too.
The other part of the equation: you shouldn't give a call back until you know what you'd like to see happen next. And I mean in a rational way; of course you want to see him again: that's why you've got this goopy mixed-up feeling. But give yourself time to actually picture the next date and what it would ideally be like. A reasonable sketch of the second date should include at very least an activity and a couple of times you're available that you could bounce off her schedule. You don't have to present all this. You can, in fact, just call to say that you had a great time and that you'd like to do it again soon.
[A note on the word "soon:" after much experience and much talking with friends, I've determined that, if you mean it, you have to say soon, not some time. Soon creates a feeling of sincerity while some time is almost intolerably vague and could be taken a hundred ways that don't translate into Gee, I'd sincerely like to see you again.]
The reason you have to have a plan is simple: even if it isn't at all what happens, you've come out of the fog and are making rational decisions again. You've checked your calendar to make sure you're available (instead of, say, fantasizing about beaching out with him in Hawaii for the rest of your lives). If you can't wait until you've reached this state, you might sound a little strange and, dare I say it, even desperate when you give her the call back.
However! This might very well happen within the first 24-48 hours after the date is over. Here's a little secret: unless you're dating someone with a ridiculously inflated sense of self, he's not going to mind hearing that you're interested. Again, assert yourself in your dating communications: don't wait to be called, and don't worry about seeming desperate if you don't wait for three days.
Honest, clear-headed communication can't lead you wrong.
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