Date Stats
My Outfit: Blue Nantucket shirt, white shorts, blue flip flops
His Outfit: Blue suit trousers, white shirt, loafers
Day: Sunday
Time: 9.30-11pm
Overall Rating: 7/10
I really, honestly, thought Academic Tinder could be it. He was cute in his photos, he was a college professor of History at a very schmancy university and he was a reader of actual books (i.e. not ‘Russell Brand: My Booky Wooky’ or ‘David Beckham: Football’… not entirely sure if the latter is actually a real book, but it sounds like the sort of thing most of the men I date would have read).
After a highly pretentious debate about the pretentiousness of Adelle Waldman’s writing in ‘The Love Affairs Of Nathaniel P’ (a book that made my skin crawl with it’s pretentious twenty-something’s living in Brooklyn who sit around and debate things), we arranged to get drinks at Birerria, the rooftop bar at the top of Eataly, after my rehearsal.
Our drinks plans were made while I was actually in said rehearsal, so I was wearing an oversized ‘Nantucket’ shirt, which was less than ideal for a first date but I decided that history professors might not care too much about that sort of thing, with their elbow patches and absent-mindedness.
I arrived a little late and he had a white wine waiting for me. My kinda guy. This acceptable gesture was unfortunately negated by the fact that he was standing and chatting with a small Asian-Australian gentleman. He waved me over and introduced us as if this whole situation was the most normal thing in the world.
The small Asian-Australian gentleman was travelling around America from Sydney and the first ten minutes of my Tinder date were spent feigning interest in an Australian strangers travels around the states. I imagine that out of politeness this would have gone on indefinitely had the Asian-Australian’s travelling companion not come to whisk him away to a different table, leaving me alone with my Tinder date to whom as yet, I had not even said ‘hello’.
Acting as though the last ten minutes had never happened, Academic Tinder immediately launched right in to some deep questions about writing and life and history. It was just like ‘The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P’, except that it was happening in real life.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a heated debate as much as the next person but there is a time and a place, and the first few minutes of a first date ain’t it.
It became clear that he wasn’t going to relent on this tone of conversation, so about half way through my glass of wine, I accepted that I was on a date with an academic, and this was how it was going to be.
I abandoned polite smiling, nodding, wondering who that text was from, checking out the cute guy on the next table, in favor of actually engaging in our conversation.
He seemed a little taken aback when I called him up on something he had just said about Milton and we fiercely debated Paradise Lost and whether Milton’s religious views were at odds with his intelligence.
The conversation lead into one about religion in general.
He said, ‘I’m not religious, I’m Jewish’, in what was clearly an attempt to be provocative, so my instinct was to ignore this comment. Surprisingly, my curiosity trumped my immaturity, and we entered into an interesting conversation about ethnicity vs religion.
Although it was a Sunday night, we decided to order another round of drinks and he told me stories about his past which he invariably led into some sort of academic debate.
By the end of my second glass of wine, I was having a great time and was genuinely disappointed that the bar was closing.
Despite this, however, I was not feeling a spark romantically with Academic Tinder. I’m well aware that what I’m about to say is my downfall where matters of the heart are concerned, but I am just more attracted to the ‘bros’ than the spindly academics.
As we parted ways, he lingered and said he’d had a great time and really wanted to see me again. I agreed and then, keen to avoid an awkward attempt at a make out, I patted his arm and said, ‘Thanks for the drinks’, awkwardly solidifying the fact that I would never hear from him again.
Although this was not a love match I’m rather alarmed at how much I enjoyed myself… am I a pretentious twenty-something who sits around and debates things? Should I actually be looking for love in (shudder) Brooklyn?
Tinderella 