By: Jennifer Silverman
The Curious Columnist
After a long hiatus, I recently returned to dating apps. Not surprisingly, virtual romance roulette is still exasperating.
In digital dating, the focus is primarily on photos, encouraging users to prioritize covers over books. Thus, most opening lines contain demeaning commentary masquerading as flattery (or the cringy fire emoji which apparently conveys the same.)
The “About Me” portion of profiles is often ignored, so most prospective matches do not meet one another’s criteria. Wallflowers may receive likes from party animals. Religious folk might try their luck with agnostics. Cat people often approach dog lovers. Sure, there is the whole “opposites attract” thing, but some common ground is essential, right?
And with every swipe, our expectations seem to become increasingly restrictive, whittling what we come to consider “our type” down to an all-or-nothing characterization. When profiles don’t meet our every criterion, we brush them aside and keep combing.
Eventually, we become robots rejecting potential prospects in mere seconds. But what exactly are we rejecting? A person? A bad photo? A typo? Maybe all the above. Maybe none of the above.
My type is a debonair, witty, Cary Grant. His limbs are not adorned with tattoos (no judgement – they’re just not my jam.) He doesn’t stroll about with a python coiled around his neck. His commentary is courteous and captivating rather than crass.
To state the obvious, I didn’t personally know the real Cary Grant. Who’s to say he did not have a concealed tattoo or two, or an affinity for things that slither? Have I immediately rejected guys who don’t fit into my imagined Cary Grant mold? Yes, I have.
And I didn’t stop there. I’ve turned down gentlemen who want kids. I’ve passed on dudes who cite undying devotion to The Grateful Dead as a prerequisite to marriage. I’ve declined dates based on age. (Well, I stand by that one. I just turned 40, and somehow, I still get carded. Sorry, but I’d rather my date not be mistaken for my grandpa.)
A short time ago, I received a message from a fella who seemed authentic and kind. I reviewed his profile carefully. Impression one – tattoos. Impression two – hiking, kayaking, mountain-climbing. Impression three – mud…lots of mud. As I’m an unequivocal non-athletic, prissy neat-freak, I swiped left, vanishing the happy hiker into thin air.
Should I have given him a chance? Maybe. Are personality, integrity, and having a big heart far more important than a propensity for outdoorsy, mucky pastimes? Absolutely. However, I take these guys at their word. If they remark how much they enjoy messy pursuits in nature, I assume I’m not their girl. (In fact, I’m the antithesis.)
Sure, we all have dealbreakers. But I wonder if perhaps I am hastily rejecting someone wonderful because he does not jive with the Old Hollywood image in my head. (Cary Grant was never muddy – even in the jungle.) When I arbitrarily split hairs, am I actually ignoring the bigger picture?
Maybe shared hobbies are not paramount. Maybe I shouldn’t be searching for Cary Grant when most guys my age have never heard of him. Maybe I need to find the balance between adhering to my preferences, and reminding myself that they may not always serve me.
So, perhaps I’ll say yes to the next charming hiker, and see what happens. After all, the man is more important than the mud. And who knows? He just might appreciate a prissy presence in his life.
Jennifer Silverman has served as a celebrity wardrobe stylist for hundreds of TV personalities and professional athletes. A few of her favorite projects include The Olympic Games, The World Cup and The Oscars. Silverman and her Westie, Petunia, relocated from Manhattan to Amelia Island in 2019. She launched her popular newspaper column, The Curious Columnist in 2022, and recently authored a personal essay for Business Insider. Additional quirky commentary penned by Silverman is available by visiting www.CuriousColumnist.com. Email her at Jennifer@CuriousColumnist.com
