Hi, my name is Abby; I’m in my early 20s, and I’m single AF. After ending a long-term relationship almost two years ago, I’ve been trying (and struggling) to navigate the dating scene.
I’ve had my fair share of dates and disappointments since that relationship ended. But the very first guy I met after the breakup, around six months later, was possibly the most shocking. I’m finally feeling bold enough to share that experience in brutally honest detail, so buckle up.
Let’s call this man Hunter, because it’s a basic white guy name. Hunter and I matched on Hinge while I was away on vacation in Ireland, and right off the bat, the banter was THERE…even over text. This was my first time actually using a dating app, but even with my limited experience, I knew it was unique to feel a connection with someone solely through messages.
What exactly did I like about him? He was self-deprecating. He had a cool, quirky interest in anime, which I’ve never been super into, but I found endearing. And he was a professional athlete — a squash player, nonetheless, but still an athlete.
During the two weeks of my trip to Ireland, I’d anxiously await Hunter’s flirtatious responses to my texts, consumed by the possibility of us meeting. If we’re already hitting it off over text, I can only imagine how much we’ll vibe on our first date, I thought.
Once I returned home, I let Hunter know, and suggested he ask me out. He replied by acknowledging his horrible planning skills (a cute and honest response, I figured), and scheduled a date for drinks at a restaurant. Since I met my ex through a friend, this would technically be my first-real-first-date ever. And I was terrified.
In the days leading up to our date, I was consumed by stress, until finally, the much-awaited evening arrived. I wore a strapless black corset and leather pants, an outfit I knew looked great on me. I blasted “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift while applying my mascara (if you know, you know), and recruited my mom to pretend to be my Uber driver so I could get a free ride to the date (and for some moral support).
Luckily, Hunter was just as attractive in person as he was in his photos, although my standards for looks were in the toilet at this point. Still, though, I thought he looked handsome in his quarter-zip polo shirt as I arrived to the table.
He stood up from the booth (yes, he took the booth side, which should’ve been a red flag) and gave me an awkward hug. As soon as we sat down, I began fumbling with the menu, filling the silence with a joke about how stereotypically girly my drink preferences are. I peered up at him, waiting for his witty response, something I was so familiar with over text. But nope. No reply.
I figured that my joke just didn’t land, so I tried another. I told him how cool it was that he was a professional athlete and emphasized how little I knew about sports, to my former-quarterback dad’s dismay. And again, no reply. Strike two. It was as if his personality was a light switch, and it was only “on” over text.
At this point, I figured perhaps Hunter wasn’t in the mood for laughs, so why not try to get to know him at bit better? Thankfully, in my nervous state, I’d prepared tons of questions beforehand, so I tried out some of those. But he treated me like an interviewer, not a date, only answering in short, uninviting phrases.
The only topic of conversation that didn’t result in a horrifically awkward silence was SQUASH — the (questionable) sport he played professionally. So, in that two-hour date, I unfortunately learned everything there is to know about squash. I figured I’d rather hear him talk boastfully than sit in silence.
In the middle of the date, I excused myself to the bathroom, Googling some fun first-date questions in efforts to spark non-squash-related conversation. Once I returned to the table, I started with this one: “So, what’s your biggest pet peeve?” I figured, hey, everyone’s got one, right? Some people loathe pineapple on pizza (tasteless individuals), while others hate slow walkers (totally justified).
But he barely looked up from his phone to reply unenthusiastically, “Um, my pet peeve?”
I nodded and smiled, explaining what a pet peeve was in case he didn’t know, but that wasn’t the problem — he just lacked interest. “I don’t know,” he said. Another conversation, dead in the water. Back to squash-talk it was.
Only once I left the date — finally — did I actually understand what was wrong with this man. It wasn’t that he was too passionate about squash, or even that he kept checking his phone. The fatal flaw was glaring, simple, and yet so obviously rude, especially in a date setting.
He didn’t ask me a single question about myself the entire time.
Not once did Hunter think, Hey, I’ve been texting this woman for weeks, and I’d love to learn more about her. Whenever I brought up amusing personal anecdotes, it was always my offering, and he was never curious to hear more — which is shocking, given how many fun stories I have as a professional BuzzFeed writer.
He never thought of anyone but himself the entire time, and made absolutely zero effort to be a real man. But it doesn’t take a gentleman to show an ounce of interest in his date — it just takes a decent human being.
I called my cousin on the way home, laughing about how ridiculously awful the date was, and cackling even harder at how long I spent obsessing over this pathetic man who clearly had no social skills. I wasn’t offended when Hunter never reached out after that, and decided that he was a loser. But when I began going on dates with other guys, I noticed that this bizarre absence of charisma and curiosity was a pattern.
Hunter was no anomaly. It turns out that making basic conversation with many Gen Z men is like pulling teeth. My painfully real experiential research demonstrates the obvious absence of this basic skill — especially when contrasted to the natural, conversational flow in interactions with any 20-something woman.
When I noticed this phenomenon, I initially blamed myself. Perhaps they just weren’t into me, and decided to put zero effort into conversing because they found me hideous compared to my curated Hinge profile. But then I realized this simple fact: Even if you’re not into someone, you should still be respectful and kind. It’s not just chivalry that’s dead — apparently, so is demonstrating any interest in the other person whatsoever.
I did eventually meet a couple guys who knew how to converse. (They had other problems, which are stories for another time.) But the trend is still undeniable. And now, I can’t help but reflect on my experience with Hunter and other guys like him, because it says a lot about the state of men nowadays.
Many young adult men have lost the ability or interest in connecting with people. Not just their friends, but also their romantic prospects. It’s no wonder Gen Z men are lonelier than ever — they’ve stopped trying to get close to anyone.
Where this indifference comes from is beyond me, but the issue is apparent. And as a woman, it’s scary. I hate thinking about how many more excruciating dates with men like Hunter I’ll have to go on, where I’m pulling 99.9% of the weight in the interaction. And I’m terrified of the lack of control I have in fixing this problem, since it’s not up to us women to teach these boys a basic skill they should’ve learned in middle school.
But on the other hand, I feel luckier than ever to be the woman I am, and for my blossoming new female friendships that never feel like work. I’m now letting each new experience with a disappointing man fuel my confidence, which is the only way I’ll be able to keep dating.
Do you have any bad first date stories? Tell me in the comments below, or in this quick anonymous form!
And finally, if you want to stay in the loop on all my brutally honest experiences, check out my full series, Abby’s Dating Diary!
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