When I realized I Was Crowned


I’ve recently pegged myself as Tinderella. It’s something I called myself once on my Snapchat that people seemed to think was funny. How can they not? An ode to Disney’s most notoriously glamorous Princess, you know, the one who wears glass fucking shoes and has a boyfriend whose legitimate name is “Prince Charming”.. (Ariel really got shafted with “Eric”, didn’t she?).. The whole concept of it is amazing. Disney’s beautiful, blonde, picture-perfect princess gets a modern day makeover in that she’s a frizzy-headed alcoholic who is recently dumped, utterly shameless and has taken to the most widely regarded mobile app for hookups to meet her suitors.


I fucking love being Tinderella. What the hell else am I supposed to do? It’s really just a metaphor for me being back in the dating game. For me being the want-to-be Princess but actually normal twentysomething chick on Tinder, like so many other women in New York. And I’ve decided to completely own it! The movement of women’s sexual empowerment is well in full-swing, and now that slut-shaming is considered shameful and the practices of courtship have practically flipped on their rusty axis, I figure it’s a great time to share my experiences navigating the world of dating, love and sex in NY.

Just as long as I can wear shoes made of whatever bullshit leather Aldo uses, you know, instead of glass.

Anyway- a few weeks into my Tinderella fairytale and I still haven’t found my Prince Charming. I’ve been on two actual Tinder dates, (neither of them ended with me seeing the guy again) and have engaged in real, off-the-app conversation with about ten guys.

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photo via @thehoneytruffle

My immediate findings: men are eager. They don’t seem to really want or need to know anything about you before they choose to ask you out on a date. I, for example, appreciate engaging in some-level of basic conversation before meeting up, just to ensure there’s some chemistry and that it’s not going to be a total waste of time. We all have a type,
in a way. I most appreciate humor and intellect, so if a guy is funny and we can text back and forth clever re-marks, or he has a killer first line, then for sure I’ll meet you for a drink. But if I get a “hey what’s up? You want to have a drink this week?” then I’ll probably ask him to pump the breaks for sure. Why should I? Do we have anything in common? Can you use a line from New Girl, or at least quote Always Sunny?

I mean, I get it. Tinder is for relatively quick and easy meetups and hookups, but still, there are soooo many fish in this sea that I’m choosing to cast my net in the bay where I know I’ll find my breed. (Did that metaphor even make sense? Should I Edgar Allen Poe this bitch and drag an allegory all the way through?).

Another finding: they are really, super, hypersensitive. I’ve had to cancel a few Tinder dates. Once because I Googled the guy and found out he was an impotent dog-thief with a pedigree socialite ex-girlfriend, (I can’t make this stuff up), and the other because I was exhausted from a long day, and a longer happy hour. As women, we shouldn’t feel super guilty, or that we have to defend ourselves, when situations like this happen. However, men get super butthurt when their egos get bruised and can say some really harsh and outright ridiculous things.

Another thing I’ve found in all of this courting-styled conversation, is that it’s really anything goes. I’ve tried tons of ridiculous conversation strategies, some of which I’ve included below, wherein I either respond with boring, one-sided, practically non-responses, and STILL get asked out, and others where I strike up the strangest conversations, and yet still hear back. I appreciate this part about modern-day dating because it actually does promote you to be yourself and “give no fucks” as we say.IMG_1621IMG_1622

This #TinderellaSaga is one that’s only beginning, so definitely keep following along as I date my way through the Big Apple.


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