Character Creation Screen
The talking stage has become so painfully linear that I genuinely feel like I’m trapped inside the same conversation with different fonts.
Match.
Generic greeting.
Generic response.
I say:
“Let’s get to know each other a little more. Tell me 3 things about yourself.”
And somehow, every time, they just recite the exact things already listed in their profile, like I’m conducting a job interview with their résumé in hand instead of trying to get to know them as a person.
There is something deeply dystopian about watching attraction slowly morph into a LinkedIn networking event.
I already know where you’re located, what you do for a living, and your three approved personality traits. Congratulations on being genetically identical to the other 47 men in my inbox holding a fish.
And boys…with peace and love, I’d genuinely rather see dick pics than fish pics at this point. That’s the only size comparison I care about this early in the talking stage.
Dialogue Trees & Poor Decisions
Then comes the part where I say:
“Your turn to ask me three questions.”
Because I’ve noticed that if the conversation is going to go anywhere, I have to be the one driving it.
And like clockwork, one or both of these questions appear every 👏 damn 👏 time 👏:
“Do you kiss on the first date?”
“How many tattoos do you have?”
Yes, I kiss on the first date. I’m a human being with a pulse and questionable judgment.
And because apparently I never learn with that second question, I’ll flirt back with: “11 or 12? I lost track. Maybe you can help me count them sometime.” 💁♀️
Am I contributing to the problem?
Unfortunately, yes, I know I’m part of the problem.
I can be very sex forward. But that’s also just genuinely part of who I am. I spent years trapped in survival mode, hating my body, feeling disconnected from myself, and trying to disappear. Now I finally feel confident, attractive, and comfortable in my own skin again, so yeah…sometimes that energy comes out a little aggressively.
But modern flirting feels less like connection and more like improv theater where everybody already knows their lines.
Prestige Class: Pattern Recognition
At this point, I’ve also developed certain levels of pattern recognition.
I can usually tell within the first few messages whether somebody falls into:
- Potential hook-up.
- Potential emotional attachment.
And honestly? That awareness changes things.
The men I see long-term potential with get more peeks behind the curtain. More of the real me between the flirting and banter.
The hook-ups?
Oh, I’m meaner to them.
Not cruel. Just…less emotionally available. More teasing. More controlled chaos. Sorry not sorry, Brandon.
Because once you’ve spent enough time on dating apps, you start recognizing who’s here for a hit versus who might actually sit with you through the hard parts of life.
Some men get flirtation.
Some men get vulnerability.
Very few get both.
The Player 2 Recruitment Arc
After some prodding, we tend to hit the video game portion of the script.
I try to withhold this fun fact about myself at first because the second men discover you know how to hold a controller, they stop flirting and start recruiting you as Player 2.
The energy shifts immediately.
Suddenly I’m no longer a woman they’re trying to seduce. I’m a rare collectible item they need to show their friends.
“Oh my God, you’ve played that?”
“Wait, you know what that is?”
“You game?”
No, Aaron, I emerged fully formed from the Xbox 360 era like Venus rising from the sea foam.
Eventually I admit it.
Yes, I used to game.
Yes, I know what you’re talking about.
Yes, I’ve played that.
No, your mind-blowing hidden gem is not actually hidden 🤪
ESPN But Make It Foreplay
If they’re not talking about video games, they’re talking about sports.
Look, I’m a hockey girl, but I know enough about the other Michigan teams to survive the conversation. And honestly? Sports games are fun. The food is greasy, the drinks are overpriced, everyone’s hyped, and for three glorious hours we all pretend this outcome has a direct impact on our quality of life.
I’ll wear the hoodie, learn the chants, and passionately support whichever team I’m supposed to be supporting.
Will I remember a single statistic tomorrow? Absolutely not.
Because I live near Michigan State University, college sports inevitably get brought up, immediately unlocking an entirely new dialogue branch.
“Bet you’d look good in green.”
“Well, it matches my eyes and olive skin tone.” 💁♀️
Because, unfortunately for everyone involved, I am nothing if not consistent when it comes to flirting.
Character-Specific Dialogue
I’ve also noticed that once I have learned enough about somebody, I start tailoring the conversation.
The gamer gets references to unlocking achievements and progressing through increasingly questionable stages of courtship.
The sports guy suddenly finds himself drafted into my starting lineup.
The specifics change. The pattern doesn’t.
I start borrowing pieces of whatever world they already live in and weaving them back into the conversation.
Not because I’m trying to mirror them. I just genuinely enjoy finding new ways to make somebody feel seen.
Most people are still deciding whether they’re interested.
Meanwhile, I’ve already started speaking the language.
The Bowl Of Soup Threshold
For awhile, I had another strategy.
I would see if I could get these men to take me out to lunch or dinner before anything physical happened.
And no, it was not because I was trying to secure a free plate of chicken tortellini alfredo like some folklore creature haunting Olive Garden.
I had layers to this.
First, if you’re going to fuck me, you can feed me first. I think that’s fair.
Second, dinner gave me a chance to vibe check in-person because attraction through a phone screen means absolutely nothing anymore. Some men text like tortured poets and then show up in-person with the charisma of an unplugged refrigerator. I’m looking at you, Stephen 👀
And third, it gave me a natural opening for a conversation that does not exactly fit neatly into modern flirting.
At some point, I feel like I need to explain that I had gastric sleeve surgery, lost 200 pounds, and still have loose skin that is very much living on borrowed time.
Which is not exactly a topic that slips naturally between:
“What music do you listen to?”
and
“What’s your favorite dinosaur?”
I am also very aware that I have body dysmorphia. I know I’m harder on myself than other people are. But if I don’t disclose it beforehand, my brain spends the entire time anticipating some horrible cinematic jump scare.
But hello modern dating.
Everybody either wants to skip directly to “dessert” or suddenly becomes deeply passionate about splitting the bill. Which, respectfully, Austin…be serious.
And listen, I can absolutely pay for myself. That’s not the issue.
The issue is that basic courtship now gets treated like a luxury add-on package.
Like sir…if the night is potentially ending with you seeing me naked, I really do not think buying me a bowl of soup beforehand is an outrageous financial burden.
God damn.
Rare Spawn Encounters
Now listen, I am not saying every experience has been bad.
There have absolutely been men who reached out first. Men who planned dates. Men who bought me flowers. Men who made me feel wanted instead of conveniently available.
There was the consistent communicator. The patient one. The kind of man who reassures instead of withdraws, and makes you feel like softness might not actually be a trap.
The kind of connection that feels steady instead of chaotic. Predictable in a comforting way. Like maybe your nervous system can finally unclench for five goddamn minutes.
Then there was the charming goofball.
The one where everything felt easy.
The nonstop flirting. The teasing. The magnetic eye contact. The kind of man who says ridiculous shit with enough charm that you find yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot.
But underneath all that charm was somebody who actually paid attention.
The guy who read my writing. Complimented my brain. Asked questions. Remembered details. The one who somehow turned good morning texts, Sunday movie nights, and a fourteen-minute drive into things I genuinely looked forward to.
And then there was the one who made sense.
The exhausted dad energy. The folding laundry. The “let’s cuddle and watch movies while the kids destroy the house” energy. The conversations about gardens, future homes, acreage, and navigating parenthood like we were two emotionally exhausted raccoons accidentally manifesting the same future.
And because I am apparently incapable of treating people like interchangeable dating app profiles, of course I catch feelings.
That’s the real problem hiding underneath all of this.
Because for as sarcastic as I sound about the talking stage, I actually do take connection seriously.
Which is both beautiful and deeply problematic because I can build emotional intimacy at an alarming speed. I start romanticizing people before I’ve even seen how they handle stress, inconsistency, conflict, disappointment, or the hard parts of real life.
And for all the emotional intimacy modern dating can manufacture in record time, it’s still wild how quickly somebody can vanish afterward. One minute you’re planning hikes and a glamping trip, and the next you’re staring at a “Recently Active” badge on Tinder trying to figure out if you hallucinated the connection entirely.
And maybe that’s why I keep trying.
Because underneath all the flirting, teasing, chemistry, and emotional chaos, I still genuinely believe intimacy is one of the most beautiful parts of being human when it’s handled with care.
I like learning people.
I like inside jokes.
I like hearing about somebody’s childhood or favorite movie or oddly specific fear.
I like physical closeness and emotional intimacy and feeling chosen in a way that feels intentional instead of convenient.
Underneath all the teasing and observational comedy, I think I’m still trying to find something genuine inside a dating culture that increasingly feels engineered to avoid vulnerability at all costs.
Everybody wants the benefits of closeness while keeping one foot permanently out the door.
And maybe that’s why the conversations feel so repetitive.
Because everybody is performing.
Trying to appear interested without seeming too interested.
Attractive but detached.
Available but not vulnerable.
Confident but impossible to hurt.
Meanwhile, I’m over here making jokes about soup, tattoos, and sports teams because humor is easier than admitting that modern dating has turned a lot of us into emotionally exhausted method actors auditioning for intimacy.
And despite all my bitching about it…I still keep showing up.
Still flirting.
Still teasing.
Still hoping maybe one of these conversations eventually breaks script.
Well…maybe not right now.
At the moment, I think I need to let a few ghosts finish haunting me first.
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