The Tina Effect

Tina is the name of the first woman in New York that I asked out following my difficult breakup with Lucy.  She was pretty, quirky, she liked the same music as me, and made me laugh, and so I decided to ask her to dinner.

After four dates, it seemed forced and strange.  She kept agreeing to see me, kept letting me pay for dinner, kept laughing and saying she had a great time, and also never showed me signs that her interest increased beyond that surface stuff.

And she was doing me a great service, because I didn’t really like Tina.  She did this strange animal voice and rudely cut off conversation.  I also wasn’t that physically attracted to her.  This isn’t a knock to her, she’s pretty, just not the person I saw myself desiring and wanting that I expect as a potential partner.

Yet through this I persisted.  I agreed to a fifth date, I talked to her friends, I kept going on and on and eventually went ahead and kissed her.  It was uneventful and not passionate.  I was trying so hard for a woman I didn’t want, who didn’t want me, who allowed me to pursue her, while I myself did not want to pursue her.

And then comes the crux of the situation - Tina says she doesn’t feel the spark “physically” that she really needs and thinks we should be friends.  Well, exactly.  Same here.  But somehow I got offended.  I got hurt slightly.  My pride, more than anything, got wounded.  But why?!  This is a woman I did not want, who I did not even lust after, who I found to be mildly frustrating.  Why?

Because Me dating is a performance. No different than being on a stage acting out lines.  I say things I have never, ever said to people while I’m on a date.  Phrases like “fair point, fair point” I say when a woman says something I blatantly disagree with, so as not to stir the pot.  I have never uttered those words in conversation, ever!  Louis C.K. says men are 8 guys in one on a date, and he’s right.  It’s so hard to feel comfortable in my own skin when I’m with a woman, because I immediately feel she wants me to dance like a fool on stage, “dance, monkey, dance!” “Show me why I should like you.”  The pressure is on me to impress them, not the other way around.  The power sits with them, and I pay for everything, never try to be confrontational, and am this vanilla and nondescript nice guy, who isn’t heavily one thing or another, and tries to downplay his own accomplishments and passions, under the expectation that I might be coming off as a braggart.

They, meanwhile, in my view, can sit back as the Don Corleone of the situation and decide whether or not to invest in me.  I’m the pharmaceutical salesman of the dating world.  She doesn’t squirm, she doesn’t waver, she speaks confidently about her life and her passions, states her opinions on topics, and doesn’t care if I’m not familiar with them.  She knows I’m pursuing and therefore sits back and gets pursued.

I’m not angry or upset about this phenomenon, because I create it.  I set up that dichotomy and perpetuate it over the course of a few dates.  I set up the situation where I have never been myself on a date, not even for an instance, and she in turn is pretty sure that she doesn’t like who I am or isn’t sure who I am.  She knows, however, that I’m a good guy, and she’s right.  I know I’m one of the all-time good ones.  And in life I’m on point with so many things that are important to me, and I’m successful and ambitious.  But it never comes through, because I was too busy performing.

Because I’m performing, I want to please whomever I’m acting for, and in the case here, it’s Tina.  So a rejection by Tina is a rejection of my own dating style, the person I worked so hard to project, but was never really me.  It led me to pursue women (there are a bunch more, trust me) who I didn’t really want, who are perfectly nice and attractive, but not for me.  There’s nothing wrong with them, but they are not right for me.  Nor am I for them.  But I always persist.

I don’t know how to stop the Tina Effect.  Maybe I never will.  I always know my encounters with women go better when I’m surrounded by friends, because I can be myself, snarky, darkly funny, and passionate.  They can see me get out of my seat because of a song lyric or movie quote.  I can gesticulate and sing and point at others.  I can be me: loud, observant, funny me.  I don’t worry about being “found out” to be a chubby unsuccessful loser, something I act on a date to avoid (it’s also not true).

I think the real byproduct of the Tina Effect on me is I’m 30 and single, and nearly everyone else around me is not.  It’s not the worst thing, because I am totally free to come and go, but I definitely long to share my life with someone, well, the right one.  And my biggest regret this year is letting a few really quality women fall through my fingertips because I haven’t been able to move past the Tina Effect.  I have been so busy performing that I never got the chance to enjoy their company, to soak in the present moment, and see for myself how I felt.  In turn, they politely declined to see me again.  I had it coming.