A Man In His 30s Explains To Me What’s Wrong With Women In Their 30s
I recently got an unsolicited message on Instagram from a guy who claimed to have matched with me on Hinge in 2019. The DM is longer than a full-screen iPhone 11. A lot of effort has obviously been put into the crafting of this charming message.
He lists out his top-line stats.
39 years old.
Work as [insert impressive job title].
Never married, no kids.
Furthermore, upon investigation of your digital content, I’d like to take this opportunity to put in an application for a second chance at a date.
The message ends with: I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this DM and I look forward to your response or ending up on your podcast, which I have reworked below to add this to his top-line stats:
I have banter worthy of a podcast mention.
So, completely charmed and only mildly creeped out, I break my cardinal rule of dating: I agree to go to dinner for a first date.
I arrive at the restaurant, where we very awkwardly say hello. There’s the usual small talk about work, the weather, what we’re looking for in life. I very quickly realize he’s not as quick-witted as his messages. The conversation is actually pretty dull. Which is fine! You don’t need to be a comedian to date — I’d just been expecting something different based on his text game.
We chat blandly about our lives as I inhale my equally bland pasta. I’m hoping to have this wrapped up in ninety minutes, max.
Within the first ten minutes, he tells me he wants kids. Two kids. Well, three, if things go well with work. He’s a shareholder at the company he works for, so ya know, he says, it all depends on how things pan out. So yeah, probably three.
I’m pretty impressed with how seamlessly and subtly he alerts me to the fact he’s got money. He’s three kids rich!
Since there’s no romantic connection, I decide to delve a little deeper into his dating experiences. For the digital content.
He proceeds to tell me everything that’s wrong with women in their 30s. And, jeez: as a 30-something-year-old woman, it’s enlightening!
One of his biggest gripes is that men in their late 30s have to lower their standards. Significantly! Case in point: his very good-looking friend.
Get this: His friend — did I mention he’s good-looking? — swiped right on a girl that he NEVER would’ve swiped right on in his early 30s.
“What was wrong with her?” I ask.
He motions to his face. “Something just wasn’t right.”
I think he means she’s ugly, but again, I’m impressed with how seamlessly he thinks he’s hiding his superficiality.
He also has issues, he tells me, with Instagram filters. He tells me the story of a woman he chatted to for four months via text. In her photos, she’s HOT. Like, super hot.
(He actually kisses his fingers and says: mwah.)
But then they meet. And she has…
He gestures to the wrinkles under his eyes.
I look confused. “Wrinkles?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And, like. Bags.”
His next gripe: “Women over thirty-fou… How old are you again?”
“I’m 32,” I say.
“Yep, okay. So I’ve noticed that women over 34 have great banter on text. But then you meet them in person and there’s no banter whatsoever.”
Yeah, it’s definitely because they’re over 34, I think. It has nothing to do with the fact you’re dead inside.
And women over 35? Don’t even get him started! He taps on his watch, aggressively imitating a biological clock. Women over 35, he says, just talk about wanting to have kids, even a month into dating someone! Not on the first date, like we’re on right now — a whole month later.
He sighs, exasperated. “It’s like,” he says. “Can’t we just get to know each other first?”
I wonder whether these women mention if they want two or three kids. Those bloody women over 35… They’re all tick-tock, tick-tock.
I look at my watch. Tick tock, indeed. Three minutes to go.
“You sound pretty bitter,” I say.
He nods. “It’s fucking brutal out there.”
I look back at him, nodding my head in agreement. “It sure is.”