Story time everyone! While at the reception for my great-grandma’s funeral the other day, I was hanging out with my family, and we were all catching up. I was complaining about how difficult dating in LA is. I have more than a thousand reasons why the pool of dateable men in LA is less than stellar. In fact, it is one of the biggest reasons I decided to move to San Francisco for law school. This is when my aunt told me she read something about how the men of my generation are actually the worst. It got me thinking about some of my own dating horror stories. I wasn’t sure if I would ever share this stuff online, but I personally feel that transparency is priceless. Knowing someone else out there feels the same way I do about something or had to deal with a similar thing that I did makes me feel less crazy and more normal. Most of my friends are in very healthy long-term relationships and cannot empathize with the dating horror stories I’m sharing in this post, but I sincerely hope that it makes someone reading this feel like less of an outlier.
The most recent atrocious date I went on was with a guy that I would hardly call stable. The first red flag was when he insisted on picking me up. I have a very strict rule about driving yourself to the first date (unless you already know them) because you need to feel things out. For all you know, they’re crazy, so don’t get in a car with someone until you’ve at the very least met them in person. I appreciate the offer, but when I turn it down, explain why, and they continue to insist on picking me up to a point where it feels uncomfortably forceful or “forget” that we agreed I’d meet them there, it puts a bad taste in my mouth in regards to my safety. Unfortunately, this guy did just that. Red flag number two for this guy was about ten minutes into our sushi dinner in West Hollywood when he confessed that he was high and kept pushing me to drink more sake, but I was driving home and wanted to stay sober. After dinner and ice cream, I felt that I had clocked enough time with him to make the date worthwhile for both of us. I wanted to go home and never see him again, but he was insistent on having me park my car at his house instead. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that he was insinuating sex on the first date. I hold no judgement in regards to other people that do that, but I don’t feel comfortable going home with someone I have only known for two hours (if even that). Eventually, I managed to confuse him enough that he let me get in my car and go home, but he was so furious I didn’t go home with him that he texted me the entire drive home. It was obvious he was disappointed because his mostly pleasant demeanor on our date turned to very sour texts that were extremely uncalled for. He said that I didn’t look like my pictures, called me names like “hungry big girl,” and mocked the dress I wore that night. For the record, all my pictures had been taken within the past three years, and all my clothes from the past five years still fit. I look exactly the same! The outfit he ridiculed is this white sweater dress I’m wearing here. It’s seriously cute! While I was mostly shocked he would have the audacity to say those things, my emotions eventually shifted to a sadder mood, and I found myself pulled over on Alpine in the Beverly Hills flats, crying in my car because the worst things I say to myself in my head were just told to me by someone else, confirming that I’m even my own worst critic.
The second instance happened yesterday. I was going for a walk in Beverly Hills because the weather was beautiful, and I was in the mood for some window shopping down Rodeo Drive (one of my favorite pastimes). As I walked by Mr. Chow, a man coming out of the restaurant was walking behind me. I didn’t think anything of what he was saying because I thought he was on the phone, until I turned around and realized he was in fact talking to me. Not in the mood for some smooth talking guy with a massive ego, I ignored him, minded my own business, and kept walking. After all, that is pretty standard protocol when a strange man you don’t know starts talking to you and you’re by yourself. However, when he crossed the street, he shouted at me, “Ok keep on walking with those cankles.” Ordinarily I wouldn’t have bothered to reply, but I shouted back across the street saying, “Word of advice: don’t point out a girl’s cankles.” Quite frankly, I acquired a lot of injuries in my ankles from competitive Irish dance growing up (and I’m sure genetics play a large role too), but that’s another story. His response was that that’s what I get for being rude and that I’m fat. I wasn’t aware that we lived in a world where minding your business was now considered rude, and girls that wear a size medium in most clothes are now considered fat.
This begs the question of how on earth have we become a society that raises men who would even dare tell a girl they’re fat? I long for the old days of my grandparents where you wouldn’t think to speak to a lady like that. I’m all for some gender equality, but that doesn’t mean chivalry and manners had to disappear. It makes me wonder who screwed up in their lives to let them grow up thinking that kind of behavior is okay. I seriously wonder how they got to adulthood without serious scolding from parents and teachers for this kind of underlying attitude on the treatment of women. If anything, it proved they aren’t real men. Rather, they come off as monsters. The sad part is that these two stories are only from the past three months and don’t even include the years of the 180° mood swings I get when I don’t sleep with someone on the first date, or the countless ghosting incidents that occur because they’re too cowardly to confess that they just didn’t feel a connection, or the countless backhanded complements that leave you wondering why they’re still sitting at the bar with you if they don’t even seem to want to be there.
It’s sad that I’m only 23 (almost), and I’m already exhausted when it comes to dating. I’ve morned and healed from my last serious relationship. I’ve done a lot of work on myself, and I have this gut feeling that it’s my time to find my forever person. I really want to find him, but after a lot of dating in LA, I can confirm that my person isn’t here. I think he’s in the bay so I am especially excited for this next chapter of my life, but I felt that these stories were essential to share because this behavior I continue to encounter by men of my age is absolutely appalling and unacceptable. Not all men are like this, and I am exceptionally fortunate to call many of the good ones my dear friends and family. However, I used to get excited about having a date because I got to meet someone new, learn about their favorite things, and listen to their stories. Now, I dread going on dates because I fear they will make me feel worse about myself. It hurts even more when a guy that still lives with their parents or a guy that doesn’t even have a high-paying job (there are lots of wannabe actors, writers, directors, etc. in LA) say these things. They’re full of flaws too and don’t have much ground to stand on, but somehow they think it’s okay to go for the jugular when they’ve been hurt. In reality, no amount of rejection can justify such disgusting behavior.
To say I’m done with the men (or monsters?) of LA would be an understatement. I love LA and I always will, but I don’t think the people here are my kind of crowd. When a local like me can’t even stand it anymore, that’s really saying something. I was incredibly lucky to find an amazing group of friends in college that showed me what true friendship is, and I appreciate my okay college boyfriend who taught me what I do and don’t want in my future husband. Perhaps I’ll share more of my dating stories over time, but for now, I think these two stories are enough. My blog post about my New York trip is nearly done, and I cannot wait to share that one with you all!
xx
Emily
