Red Flags

After I broke up with my ex, I went on a string of first dates that were bizarre, but always ended for principled reasons. The first was a man I had met on the dating app Tinder. Jake was tall, with dark hair and a friendly smile. We exchanged witty banter for a few days then agreed to meet at a bar in Astoria. We met up on the street corner, shook hands, and started walking towards Freddie’s Wine Bar. While we were walking he asked me if I worked out and when I told him I did, he asked how I liked to work out. At the time I rarely went to a yoga class and ran several times a week. “Yeah I can tell, you’re pretty skinny,” he said, which should have been a red flag him triggering me about my weight. But I let the date continue.

I ordered my drink at the bar then began to walk toward a table. I assumed he would pay. I realized my erroneous assumption when the bartend flagged me down and told me I still had to pay for my glass of Merlot. We picked a table in the back in a private room–it was dimly lit and we could see the rest of the bar through glass paneled walls. We progressed in conversation past formalities and I asked what he did for a living. He had formerly been a journalist and quit because they wouldn’t let him write things he wanted to write about, which could have been an indication of his bigotry. He then got a job as a personal trainer. He mentioned how girls are really in to squats now to get that “nice booty.” After he inquired, I told him I didn’t do squats. He said “I don’t know, I noticed a little something back there.”

Again should have been a red flag.

I began to pry into his political opinions and asked what he wrote about as a journalist. He mentioned the recent protests in North Carolina and the current on going debate about gender neutral bathrooms. I told him I thought it would be an important progression so non-binary people feel they have a safe place in public spaces. When I was in Germany all of the public bathrooms were gender-neutral and everyone had adapted just fine. He said “I don’t know. I just don’t really get why anyone would want to change sexes.”

Still trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but knowing his answer to my response could be a deal breaker. I told him, “well I’ve never experienced gender dysmorphia, but I can empathize with how hard it must be to not feel comfortable in your body. I like being assertive and feeling powerful–traits that are stereotypically male. And I’m fine with not feeling 100% feminine all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why do you feel 100% masculine all the time?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah I do. Look at these biceps. Do you have any idea how much I can bench. You think some girly-man would have pecs like these?” he defensively argued flexing his muscles ever so slightly and clinching his jaw.

“Okay, but it’s the stereotypes I have a problem with–society defining what it means to be a man or woman. Why does it matter if you’re stronger than me?” I asked.

“Because women want stronger men, who are smarter than them and bring them up,” he responded.

I looked down at my glass and drank the remains in one draft. “Oh,” I said “I have to go to the bathroom,” when I came back from the bathroom–and I had never done this before–I said I wanted the date to be over now. He said alright and walked me out to the corner of the street. I gave him an forced handshake and went my separate way. A few weeks later he texted me “hey babe, how about a second date?”

I answered “no, I don’t want this to continue.”

“Sure,” was all I got back in response.