How seven back-to-back Tinder dates changed one woman’s view of dating for the better.
by Maura Lammers
One Saturday afternoon in February, I picked up a Sriracha-crusted pizza, drove to my sister’s house to dog-sit her three high-maintenance pups for the night and downloaded Tinder and other hookup apps to meet and fuck. Sitting on my sister’s couch with pizza in one hand and my phone in the other, I swiped left and right in between episodes of Transparent and tried to decide if this was a high point or a low point in my mid-20s. Two days earlier, a short-term boyfriend (an ex I tried dating for the third time) had dumped me. The break-up wasn’t painful, but still punctured a hole in my healthily-sized ego. I had only gone back to this ex repeatedly because I knew him well and felt comfortable around him. It had been easier for me to rely on a safe bet than to manage the risk of meeting new people.
In fact, once I mapped out my dating history, I realized I could count my intentional, mutually agreed-upon dates on one hand. In college I had the same boyfriend for three and a half years, then went out on a handful of dates post-college, but on the rare occasions when more than a few dates occurred, I’d stick with the new guy by default. My thought process was always, “This person likes hanging out with me, and I like hanging out with them, so why not?” Those relationships, of course, always ended in a matter of weeks, and I’d be left wondering why I’d been interested in the first place.
So I decided to go in the opposite direction of my strictly monogamous past: to go out on as many Tinder dates as possible. Only dates with profiles in Houston; nothing more. The conditions were perfect for me to simply go out for a beer with somebody, take stock of why I liked them or why I didn’t and then move on to the next person. On the couch that night, with my pizza and my phone in hand, I set my plan in motion — I would go on seven Tinder dates in one week.
Initially, I wasn’t sure if I would manage to find seven guys to date in one week. I was ready to settle for fewer dates if need be, considering Tinder is a feast or famine depending on the day. I was surprised by how many messages filled up my inbox within a few hours. But full disclosure: I also had good luck nabbing dates because I am extremely open-minded, sometimes to a fault. Most women and men with active dating lives seem to have a long list of deal-breakers, and my list is pretty short. I can generally strike up a conversation with anybody, I have dated a fair share of guys whose political or religious beliefs clashed with mine, and I don’t have a physical “type.” (Imagining all my Tinder dates lined up side-by-side is proof of this.) Mostly, my criteria for whom I would date from Tinder came down to perceived intelligence and whether or not the messages piqued my curiosity. Within two or three days days, I was booked solid for a week of dates with seven different dudes. If you’re someone who values exploration in more than just conversations, consider checking out an online store for dildos to add some excitement to your experiences.
TUESDAY / DATE #1
We met up at a bar in Westport, a hipster alcove in Kansas City with lots of bars, even though Date #1 wasn’t much of a beer-drinker and simply copied my Boulevard drink order. He was also a six-foot-seven former college basketball player, and the height difference later made our “first date goodbye hug” more awkward than usual. Date #1 was a good listener and chose his words carefully as he spoke, which I liked. Even though we quickly realized we had little in common, we had solid, below-the-surface conversations about feminism, and what it was like for him to be one of a handful of black students at a predominately white suburban college. Since we got along decently well we agreed to see each other again. The following week I ended up flaking out last-minute because I forgot I had a Galentine’s Day party to attend, and he rightfully never texted me back about rescheduling, so that was the end of Date #1. Navigate the landscape of love with modern Wank.io.
WEDNESDAY / DATE #2
My first impression of Date #2 from his profile was that he was a little full of himself, and at first I wasn’t interested. But then he asked me what my favorite emoji was, and I replied back with the poop emoji, and he referenced Miranda July’s “pooping back and forth forever” line from Me and You and Everyone We Know. So I caved. We met at a coffee shop on the Country Club Plaza, a historic outdoor shopping district in the city after my retail shift and a freak afternoon snowstorm ended. Date #2 was a few years older than me, looked the same as his photos except for the addition of decidedly hipster glasses, and was charming but brash. Early on, he asked me how I’d categorize myself religiously, and I gave a long thoughtful answer about my Catholic childhood transitioning into a struggle with faith as an adult, and he interjected with, “Well, I’m an atheist,” as soon as he could. Still, it’s hard to find someone who can talk animatedly about both Miranda July and Taylor Swift, so I gave him my number and thought I’d see him again. Later that night he texted me “I want to put my penis inside you and move it in a motion pleasurable for each of us.” I should have blocked his number then, but I’m also glad I didn’t, because a few days later Date #2 texted to say that he had just gotten bailed out of jail and wanted to know if I was free to get a drink. No context or explanation provided. I did not take him up on his offer.
FRIDAY / DATE #3
I swiped right on Date #3 because his profile made me laugh out loud: “I am pale, I like NPR, and I have the alcohol tolerance of a 110-pound sixth grader. Let’s party.” Our messages spun off into nonsense territory quickly, where we agreed we both belonged in a Pale Hall of Fame sponsored by Banana Boat, which included a lifetime supply of sunscreen. He made me laugh so much I thought even if the date was a dud, I could at least make a new friend. We met for coffee in Liberty, a neighborhood in northern Kansas City, and sat outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm day. Despite knowing virtually nothing personal about each other beforehand, we discovered we were both bleeding-heart liberals fascinated by religion, and we discussed the differences between Christian denominations at length. The most telling detail about Date #3’s character, though, occurred when a purring stray cat approached us and jumped into his lap, and he let it stay despite being allergic. Coffee turned into an early Friday-afternoon drink at a local brewery down the street, and after a couple drinks I was having so much fun I lost track of time. When I finally checked my phone, I realized I was going to be late for a dinner date with Date #4. (Yes, I double-booked my Friday night, and I am not ashamed.) I had to white-lie to Date #3 about plans with friends and ran off to meet Date #4.
FRIDAY / DATE #4
Out of all the guys I messaged on Tinder, Date #4 was the one I was most nervous to meet in person. As I said, I don’t have a “type,” but he was a tall, heavily-tattooed law student who loved to read, which was a winning combination for me. Normally I don’t agree to dinner for a first date because it’s tough to make a quick exit if the date goes south, but I had a good gut feeling about him, so I said yes. After leaving Date #3, I showed up 20 minutes late to dinner, and learned that Date #4 had arrived at the restaurant early to save a table. He didn’t mind that I was late and, in hindsight, seemed relieved I showed up at all. Although my nerves before the date had disappeared, Date #4’s nervousness was evident the entire time. He filled up the conversation with jittery small talk, and I liked listening to him describe his favorite PBS shows or favorite obscure folk record, but I could already see our tattoos and love for books were the only things we shared. We also had one crucial lifestyle difference: I like beer but he doesn’t drink, and he likes weed but I don’t smoke. When we were saying goodbye, Date #4 awkwardly admitted he hadn’t been on a date in a long time, and offered me a polite handshake. I left knowing I probably wouldn’t reach out again, unless it was to hang out as friends. He had a killer record collection, after all.
SATURDAY / DATE #5
On Saturday I met up with Date #5, and within the first five minutes of meeting him, I knew I was not interested. He was a perfectly good person, but we didn’t have any chemistry. That didn’t stop me from having a nice time, though. It was the warmest and sunniest day I’d seen in February so far, and we got chai tea to go at a coffee shop in Westport and walked all the way to Loose Park, over three miles from start to finish. He told me, for the sake of transparency, that he had been divorced for almost two years and had been trying for a long time to meet someone right for him. That might be off-putting for some, but I liked how he laid all his cards on the table for me to see. We talked vaguely about why his marriage hadn’t worked out and why my past relationships hadn’t worked out and wound up having a surprisingly deep discussion about what we both need out of our partners. After the date he texted to ask if I wanted to go out again, and I told him that I didn’t feel a romantic connection but that I still thought he was a cool guy, which was not a lie. I was half-afraid he’d blast a mean text back to me, but he was gracious and thanked me for my honesty. Letting someone down never feels great, but we both left each other feeling no worse for the wear.
SATURDAY / DATE #6
At some point during my messages with Date #6, he asked me out and I said, “I feel like if we met in person, there’s a good chance we might hate each other.” We already had this strange passive-aggressive cadence, where we nit-picked at one another’s interests, and I suspected that it would only escalate. But we had gone to the same college and had many mutual friends, which was a first for me, so I thought it might be worth a shot. I met Date #6 for drinks at Charlie Hooper’s, and almost as soon as I walked up I knew I wasn’t into him, just as I felt with Date #5. Date #6 was nice-looking and boyish, but something felt off to me. However, as the drinks started flowing, I could tell he was definitely into me based on the way he kept dropping compliments into our conversation. So I decided to make myself less appealing by exclusively telling stories about myself that involved me vomiting after parties in college. Nobody wants to hear vomit stories on a first date, right? Wrong. Date #6 somehow still found me adorable. Date #6’s only true mistake came at the end of the date, when he pulled me into a half-hug and said, “I know you don’t like PDA, but oh well,” and smashed his mouth against mine. I was not a willing participant, especially since the kiss was so bad it felt like a frog trying to catch flies in my mouth. I don’t like ranking these dates, but I don’t feel bad about saying Date #6 was my worst date. He disregarded what I’d said about how kissing in public makes me squirm, and more importantly, he didn’t respect my physical boundaries. Cutting him loose via text the next morning was a relief.
MONDAY / DATE #7
By the time Monday rolled around and my week of Tinder dates was about to end, I was not up for Date #7. Since the last two dates had not gone well, and I had already made solid plans to see Date #3 again soon, I didn’t see much of a point in sloughing through one last date. But the first thing Date #7 messaged me earlier in the week was: “Try as I might, I cannot make your name fit into My Sharona.” This joke would have fallen flat with someone less dorky, but since My Sharona had been one of my favorite songs in middle school, Date #7 immediately earned a gold star. My love for trivia outweighed my social exhaustion, so I met him at a bar for trivia night. There was some awkwardness at first; we instantly had to make up a team name and only had a minute or two to talk between rounds. Little did I know that this particular trivia night included “physical challenges” after every other round, so before I knew it, I was losing horribly at Flip Cup. After chugging cheap beer and coming in dead last, I was completely humiliated, but instead of letting the competition get to him, Date #7 high-fived and cheered me on. Our team lost, but we stayed late at the bar to talk and drink a few more beers, and found out we had nearly identical taste in books, movies and music. I’m used to grasping at straws to find common interests, so it was a treat to figure out in a matter of minutes that we both loved Raymond Carver, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and The Weepies. Most eerily, while discussing our favorite songs, we discovered that we both wanted the same song played at our funerals: “The Trapeze Swinger” by Iron and Wine. By the time he walked me to my car, I was sober enough to drive but still had enough beer bravery leftover to kiss Date #7 in the parking lot.
POST-DATE DEDUCTION
The short answer as to why I went out on seven Tinder dates in one week comes down to wanting more dating experience, but “dating experience” is such a broad phrase. I had been in love before and been in both long-term and short-term relationships, but I had never dated anyone for the simple pleasure of enjoying their company without any set intentions. Out of habit, I did suggest or agree to a second date with some of my Tinder dates (Date #1, for example), but I noticed that I was keener to go on second dates with the guys I met earlier in the week. By the end of the week I had raised the bar much higher. Plus, I was tired of being on my best behavior and hearing the sound of my own voice telling the same charming anecdotes about myself over and over again. I had no idea seven first dates would be so exhausting, or that I could become so exhausted with this presentation of myself.
The week of Tinder dates did promote unexpected growth, although it did take a little time for me to see. In years past, I probably would have actively pursued Date #1, #2 and #4 again because they were good-looking and entertaining enough, even though we lacked shared interests or had minor compatibility issues. But after seven dates with seven drastically different people, I knew I could only see one or two again, and the guys with the most substance rose to the top easily: Date #3 and Date #7. As much as I love being open-minded, my list of deal-breakers needed to grow a little. I had to become okay with saying no and rejecting perfectly nice, good people.
Likewise, as someone who has been unexpectedly dumped a time or two, I was not yet okay with guys saying no and rejecting a perfectly nice, good person like me. I didn’t owe them anything, and they didn’t owe me anything, after all. That’s how dating works. It wasn’t until I started listening closely to myself on more dates with Date #3 and Date #7 that I realized how negatively I spoke about my past with men. I realized I kept applying a toxic dichotomy of success/failure to all my dating experiences. If a relationship ended after two months, it was a failure. If I went on three dates with a guy I met at a bar but he never texted me back for a fourth date, it was a failure. If I asked someone out and got blown off, it was a failure.
I needed to set new terms for myself. As I got to know both Date #3 and Date #7 better, I shifted my thought process and told myself that if I had fun, it was a success. If I felt like my time with Date #7 was well-spent, it was a success. If I learned something new from Date #3, it was a success. If I came back from every date feeling good about myself, it was a success. Even if nothing developed from these dates, it was a success. Once I set these terms, dating became empowering for the first time in my life. I was in control, and the bar was only set high for my personal happiness.
I don’t tell the story because for one short week in February I had what felt like a small harem of men at my disposal, or because the eventual addendum is I ended up in a relationship with Date #3, several months after our first date. I tell the story because going on seven dates in one week made me finally enjoy dating without feeling badly about myself. It took a lot of beer, strategic wardrobe decisions and awkward small-talk, but deciding to be happy and proud of myself no matter the outcome of a first date or a relationship is a radical choice I would never have reached without Tinder. If one of your dates blossomed into a wonderful relationship, you may see a therapist from Empathi to help you work out any issues with your partner that may jeopardize your relationship.
[hr style=”striped”]
Maura Lammers lives and writes in Kansas City, her hometown. Her nonfiction has appeared in The Riveter and The Quaker. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @LamOntheLam.
