A Case of Mistaken Identity

Dating Profile Mistaken Identity

A funny thing happened on the way to meeting Mr. Possible Right.  I unintentionally crushed on someone else in Mr. Possible’s Tinder profile.  How did this happen? Men, pay attention, and learn some best practices for dating photos.

It was a good beginning. Mr. Possible super-liked me and made the first text move. There was nothing extraordinary in his opening but no red flags either. He wanted to know where I lived, a fair question given the number of geographic mismatches one encounters on dating apps.

As I reviewed his profile, I had to quell my overly suspicious mind, a side effect of being online too long and encountering too many guys who misrepresent themselves.  So what if he went to a relatively obscure university in New Zealand. Perhaps he’s from Middle Earth. I decided to continue communication and hope for the best. After all, I liked what he wrote in his profile and judged him attractive, although I wasn’t sure how recent his photos were.

We volleyed briefly about our respective locations and heights. As a tall woman, I always ask a man his height.

In the spirit of starting a new topic of conversation, I asked Mr. Possible to write a caption for any of his photos. He responded by captioning all of them and then (bonus points) asked about mine.

I read the captions and wondered about Mr. Possible’s use of “me” rather than “my” in captions mentioning his grandson.  Perhaps he was from New Zealand, Australia, or the UK.

Grandson1

As I went back and forth between the captions and the photos, I suddenly realized that Mr. Possible was not who I thought he was. I really did LOL (a rare use of this hated acronym).

Read my response to find out what happened.

Well, this is pretty funny.  Apparently I’ve been crushing on your grandson. Only one man’s face is visible in the first picture and since your profile has 3 photos of the same man, I assumed this man was you.  You have to appreciate that men put photos from just about every stage of life on Tinder – from babyhood on up – and often do not post current photos. And they often misrepresent their age.  Perhaps you can post another full body shot of you.  As for me, the 2nd photo is from the…(redacted in the interest of anonymity).

As I wrote my reply to Mr. Possible, I considered that he might take offense at my response.  But in typical Nadia fashion, I decided to forge ahead anyway.  I couldn’t help myself and I wrote the truth. I thought he was the younger guy.  There was apparently only one visible image of the real Mr. Possible, a head and shoulder shot of a white-haired guy (not nearly as cute as his grandson).  And the real Mr. Possible looked much older than his stated age of 59. His grandson could easily be 59.

As expected, the next time I opened Tinder I found that Mr. Possible had unmatched me.

Just to calm down any readers who might be leaping to the wrong conclusion. I don’t care to date someone two or three decades younger than me (although men do it all the time).  I would and have gone out with men who are 10-12 years younger, but I’m not looking for someone’s grandson.

I don’t think Mr. Possible was deliberately trying to misrepresent himself. I think he was clueless about dating profile photos.

For all the Mr. Possibles who could use a refresher on dating profile photos, here are some best practices:

*Make sure you are the only person in your main profile photo and clearly caption photos with other people.

*Don’t include photos with members of the opposite sex – unless they are relatives – and then, clearly state their relationship to you.

*It goes without saying, though I’m saying it: No photos of you and your recently caught fish, freshly killed deer, or your gun collection.

*To ensure that your photos work on a dating site, view your profile as it appears online AND on your phone. Not all photo formats and sizes work on apps and mobile sites.  If your photo does not comply with the app’s requirements, your head may be inadvertently cropped out (as it was in Mr. Possible’s primary photo, leaving only his grandson visible).

And, gentlemen, if you’re going to post a photo with a younger, hotter man who happens to be your grandson, at least provide a caption.

Until next time, happy dating or not dating.

XXXOOO

Nadia

Resources:

Get A Professional Photo

Online Dating Photo Shoot

A Single Gal’s Friday

blox pix woman vacuuming

It’s Friday about 1 p.m. and I’m cleaning the house in between giving myself both a manicure and a pedicure (the clear polish I’m using signals low anticipation of my date tonight). The mani-pedi specifics determine the level of interest I’m feeling for a pending first date.

Clear polish indicates the lowest level of excitement (unless I’m in a clear polish phase). A salon mani indicates a relatively high level of interest and a salon mani-pedi combo is the equivalent of …well, let’s just say my hormones are geared up. Men, don’t worry, this post isn’t all about manicures.

Sit down and have some of Jose Andrés’ gazpacho while we analyze Friday’s timeline.

Let’s back up from the mani-pedi/house cleaning frenzy to the day’s beginning:

6:00 a.m.: I make coffee and read the Times on my iPad. I’m distracted from the latest Administration fiasco by wondering whether Mr. D, the guy I’m supposed to meet that evening, will confirm our date or fade away. Our last communication was 3 days ago so I’m not sure of the status. As you may recall, I’ve been burned before.

9:20 a.m.: Showered and dressed, I’m packing up my stuff for the gym when my phone beeps that I have an email. Yes, it’s Mr. D, confirming our 5 p.m. date and saying he’s looking forward to meeting me. E-mail has been our primary form of communication. We haven’t spoken on the phone though we have exchanged cell numbers. I no longer require a pre-date phone call and, as it turns out, it wouldn’t have made a difference in the outcome.

9:45 a.m.: Working out – it’s cardio day and I’m taking a little break from swimming to give my arms a rest so I pound away on the low impact cardio machine while listening to tunes on RockMyRun.

10:45 a.m.: Run errands, none of them relevant to the dating life. No meet cutes to report but a yummy taste of fresh bread from the local bread store.

11:30 a.m.: Back home for a lunch of that gazpacho.

Let’s return to the cleaning/home nail salon activities. Here’s the deal with cleaning my house before a first date. Although I have never brought someone to my home at the end of a first date/meeting, lately I’ve been cleaning my house “just in case.” Just in case I meet someone who stirs up so much mutual chemistry that we must end our evening at my house. So I vacuum, clean the bathrooms, hide any evidence of my blog, and turn on my bedroom’s ambient lighting (eclectic electric lamps and candles). Somehow this exercise, even though I know it’s likely futile, makes me feel better – like there’s a possibility of romance and sex and who knows what else.

The reality is, since my divorce, first dates haven’t led to this outcome…but one never knows and I think I may be at a place (and at an age), where the pluses of such an encounter might just outweigh the potential minuses.

3:00 p.m.: I shower, reapply my makeup, and totally change my planned outfit for this evening – opting for black jeggings and a silky top (more casual than my original choice of a black skirt/blouse combo).

Mr. D suggested I choose our meeting place. I picked a laid back bar/restaurant. I try to mix up first date locations for the wait staff’s sake as well as my own. I base the choice of a casual or more formal venue on my sense of what might work best with a particular man (of course I have to like the place too).

4:45 p.m.: It’s raining like crazy as I drive to our date – slight butterflies, but mostly trying to maintain hope that this, my 100th give-or-take first date, will be a good one.

5:00 p.m.: I pull into the parking lot – right on time. Before I open the door, Mr. D calls me on my Google Voice number. Our first conversation – and it’s to tell me he’ll be 15 minutes late since he forgot his phone and had to return home to get it. Sigh. I tell him I’ll meet him inside. At least he doesn’t have a thick accent from his home state of New Jersey.

5:15 p.m.: It’s still pouring rain and I’m sitting in the last booth by the bar. I’m drinking a happy hour white wine, checking my phone for any updates from Mr. D, and looking at every single male who walks in the door. There’s a man who looks 80. That better may not be him! Phew, he keeps walking.

5:30 pm.: Okay, he’s now officially 30 minutes late and I’m trying to be calm. The waitress, sensing my frustration, tells me that rain and flooding are impacting traffic. I take another sip of pinot grigio, respond to a text from my brother, and note that there’s absolutely no one of interest sitting at the bar.

5:36 p.m.: I see a man enter the front door. He’s unattractive, definitely not 6′, walks rather stiffly, and appears to be wearing a “company” work shirt.  Oh, good, he’s leaving…wait, he’s taking out his cell phone to make a call. Yep, my phone is ringing. I tell Mr. D where I am (he apparently doesn’t text as I had sent him a text with my whereabouts) and he lumbers over to the booth.

Sigh. I would never have guessed that the man before me is the same one I’ve been communicating with on OurTime. Ladies, and gentlemen, I’m sure you have faced this situation before. You try to hide your utter disappointment at the disconnect between someone’s profile photos and the flesh and bone person in front of you. You have two choices: make the best of the situation or be a total bitch/dick, make an excuse and leave immediately. I try to make the best of it and stay for at least 30 minutes. I can talk to most anyone for 30-45 minutes. I draw on my journalism training and ask questions.

Mr. D is at least a nice man and makes an effort to get to know me. I stay for almost an hour (remember I waited 30+ minutes for him) but decline a second drink or any food. Side note: I’ve learned to not order food in these situations. Inevitably, the conversation stalls and you still have to eat/wait for the bill, etc. Mr. D plans on having another beer. He refuses my offer to pay for my wine and stands up to shake my hand (!) as I prepare to leave. Our height disparity is clear. “You’re tall!” he says. Yes, I think, as I remember that his profile promises a man who’s a full 2 inches taller than me.

6:45 p.m.: Home. Eating a sandwich made with bread from the bread store, and glad I don’t have to eat with Mr. D.

8:30 p.m. Looks like a Netflix night. It’s the premiere of The Incredible Jessica James and I’m loving the opening scene with actress Jessica Williams being brutally honest with a first Tinder date. Nothing like a funny movie to help soothe your disappointed heart.

9:30 p.m. My phone beeps with an email from Mr. D. (He definitely doesn’t text.) He writes that he enjoyed meeting me and hopes to see me again. I’ll email him tomorrow to say: I enjoyed meeting you too but, sorry, I don’t think we’re a match. At this moment, I’m more interested in what happens to Jessica.

Until next week, happy dating or not dating.

XXXOOO

Nadia