OnHINGEd: Entry 5. Date 5.
"A lesson in gratitude and the f*ckboy attitude"
Hi 2BD, thank you for #holdingspace for my version of closure regarding Toe. I know it was long (unlike our timeline together), but I was proud of that one—it’s lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Anyways, onwards and upwards, am I right? These battle scars♩♪♫♬
Enough of him. It’s time to get a grip and remember who I am; THE presiding judge of the Courtroom of OnHINGEd, and don’t you forget it, I’m officially back after a four-date hiatus. The next man on trial... well, we have a history.
New York City is a big city. But it’s also an island—a small one. Remember how I mentioned the inevitability of seeing someone you know on Hinge? Well, when you do, it can be either embarrassing or a pleasant surprise. I’m happy to announce this one was the latter.
Let me take you back to 2019.
My dear cousin Sia (who, if you recall, I inherited apt 2B from) was dating a man. In the spirit of Sia-style codenames, let’s call him Chandelier. Sia and Chandelier met in college and were off and on for three years. He came to several family functions, and I eventually met him one summer at my grandmother’s house. He was nice and handsome enough, although no one is ever quite good enough for Sia.
Me, being a lustful 19-year-old at the time, distinctly remember asking Sia if Chandelier had a brother, a lamp perhaps? Ha, HA…ha, I’m too much. Well, not only did he have a brother, but a twin brother. And no offense, Sia, but I'm relieved to hear they were fraternal. While eagerly awaiting a photo of said twin brother, I was informed—tragically—that he was taken. By a model / equestrian socialite / nepo baby, that’s what I call a ‘triple homicide’. Miss REDACTED. Okay, I’ll give you a hint—her father founded a multi-billion-dollar company named after a fruit.
So yeah, needless to say, he was off the market. But he was fine, fine, and for the rest of Sia and Chandelier’s relationship, I couldn’t help but think she was dating the wrong twin. Alas, just like the real Sia’s platinum single, “Chandelier” got annoying and overplayed. So she decided to stop swinging from it, and it was for the best; he never was the brightest bulb in any chandelier, for that matter. OKAY, cutting myself off with the puns. They went their separate ways. Chandelier became nothing more than my cousin’s ex. It had been years since he’d entered my orbit until one late-night Hinge scroll… there he was: Chandelier’s better half, the brother that got away— his hot twin.
2BD, meet Prairie Boy.
Code Name: Prairie Boy (PB) - Age: 26 - Occupation: CoFounder of a Nonprofit - Height listed on the app: 5’10” - **Height in reality: 5’9½”
**because height is always 2BD.
The first photo on PB’s hinge was one of him and Chandelier, and it was brutally unfair. Chandelier stood on the left, caught off guard by the camera, and behind him to the right was bare-chested Prairie Boy, 6-8 pack (2bd) glistening in the sunshine and smouldering like Flynn Rider. Plausible deniability was going to be difficult. But PB had a great profile, it was “ICE-y” if you remember from my previous analysis. He seemed well-travelled and fun, bonus points for not being in finance, need I elaborate?
So what did I do next? The only logical thing was to immediately send a screenshot to my cousin group chat (we are six girls, so you can imagine the energy).
After some much-needed clarification and roasts to be expected from Sia’s protective older sister, I thought about my next course of action. The first time PB appeared, he was in my “standout section”, where Hinge locks up all the guys who are most your type unless you pay for more (criminal, I know). I end up just closing the app and not doing anything. But when he appeared a second time on my normal feed, he was haunting me. Plus, I thought of you all; this was textbook 2BD worthy. Besides, one of his prompts was too good not to respond to, so I did.
I decided that if he matched with me, then I would reach out to Sia personally and make sure this didn’t weird her out too much. Sure enough, the next day, I had a message back from Prairie Boy—
I may have blushed, god, could he sound anymore f*ckboy though. The whole being called my name thing over text gets me every time. I took a page from his playbook and sent his name right back.
This was clearly not his first go-around on Hinge. I was dealing with a vet, but I was no rookie either. It was officially time to text Sia and get her input. I texted her that we matched, and he proposed a drink. Her response confirmed the f*ckboy suspicions twofold, but she was on board.
A 2BD mutual Hinge match, except I was the sole party who knew of our mutual connection, this was going to be great. Plus, I could now categorize PB as only a hookup, so it took even more pressure off. “Serial cheater” was alarming, but the outcome of the date was 2 be determined, and I wanted nothing more than to outdo the hinge doer. I had put my reps in at this point, and I at least owed it to my 19-year-old self with a crush to see if he was worth the hype. So I gave PB my number, and we were off to the races.
I want to cut to the chase and get to the date, but I would like to note that the talking stage did survive my trip to Miami, and if you would indulge me in explaining my tactic, you have no choice <3. While making small talk over text, I mentioned I was going to watch the Miami Open (tennis) that weekend, and PB sent me this:
The phone summary update had botched the analysis, but it was cute that he took a screenshot, and I kept it in mind and used the same format to inform him I was back. Genius. He wasted no time after that in locking in a time and place for our first date.
The afternoon of the date, I call Sia to do some recon on PB. I summarize her response and advice into five bullet points:
He is a seasoned online dater (spotted on both Hinge and Raya).
He can talk the talk — your typical fboy sweet-talker, smooth walker, basically a cautionary Hannah Montana song.
He is actually a decent person: charismatic, cares about the work he does.
He is a cheater — can’t change that. Cheated on his ex-girlfriend, to be exact.
I am not to bring up Sia. I should "go about it like a normal Hinge date whom you accidentally stalked too hard.” He did request to follow me the day before the date, so he must know that Sia and I are mutuals.
***NOTE: On the topic of Instagram: this man’s feed is better than most women I know. Like… I’m talking curated photo dumps, film pics, ocean wave videos — the lot. Is that a red flag? Maybe a little.
Night came and I was back in my first date uniform, not thinking twice about wearing my heeled boots — if I was taller, so be it. Sia did reiterate that he was a short king. Locked in and ready to meet this man in the flesh, I giggle at the thought of 19-year-old B going out with this guy five years later. Good on you, B.
I speed-walk five minutes around the corner to make myself five minutes late, pushing open the door. The bar is very unassuming from the outside, but as soon as you step in, it’s like a scene from the Roaring Twenties, with a modern twist. Music is blaring, drinks are flowing; I forget it’s a Wednesday. But that’s New York, gotta love it. One preliminary scan of the bar, and I notice PB at three o’clock. He’s not even facing me, but I’m telling you, I have a knack for detecting muscular backs. Let’s not get into it. I tell the host who I’m meeting and confidently walk over to tap him. I have a flashback to my first date for OnHINGEd with Marshmallow more than a month ago... oh, how far I’ve come.
PB must have felt my presence approaching because he turns around just as I’m about to tap his shoulder. He half-stands, and we greet each other with a hug. Instantly, I can tell he’s not nervous at all. For all I know, he just came from another date and has one planned for tomorrow and the entire weekend. He does this all the time. But so do I. I settle into my stool at the high-top, and when I tell you this man’s eye contact cuts like a knife, I mean it. It’s not overbearingly sharp — more like a cute little knife that still slices through you like warm butter. He is very handsome, 2B expected.
I’m not even sure where the conversation began; it truly flowed effortlessly. The biggest perk of going out with someone who dates a lot is that they know how to make conversation. Combine that with my ability to yap, and it was a masterclass. On paper, this date was going as well as it possibly could. Part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it was just... easy. I had met my match in terms of a serial dater, and it was fun to have the upper hand, knowing he was blissfully unaware that his brother had wronged my cousin. Anytime siblings came up, I would deftly redirect the conversation to avoid risking my identity. He was well aware of my name, though still tacking it onto the end of every sentence like he’d known me for years, a classic fboy tactic that I can’t complain about. Sigh.
Then it was time for the Letterboxd test, and he passed with flying colors. He had interned at one of my favorite production companies (major plus), and he understood some pretty niche references. For example, when our second round of drinks came, I remarked that the flavors reminded me of that scene in Ratatouille where Remy combines a bite of cheese with a juicy strawberry, and it just hits — PB immediately knew what I was talking about, and that made my night. Please see reference below.
I was so caught up in the Letterboxd test that I completely forgot about the couch commercial test; I was rusty. Oh, that reminds me of the new test I’ve also implemented: do they or do they not have WhatsApp? This tells you a lot about their network, and their profile photo is always helpful. I love a man with WhatsApp, and let me tell you — Toe did not have one, but PB did. Go figure.
PB is in the middle of explaining his nonprofit, which works closely with farms and food distribution (thus the codename Prairie Boy), when he gets so animated with his hand gestures that he completely knocks over his glass of water, spilling it all over the table. I laugh and quickly say, "I’m usually the one supposed to do that." He laughs, not even phased, it’s impressive how calm and collected he stays. I notice the silver bracelet on his wrist as he wipes up the water. I’m into it.
But... I still don’t feel the same butterflies and attraction I did with Toe, which unfortunately is all I can compare it to at the moment. Ugh. Prairie Boy and I are having fun, two hours have already gone by in twenty minutes…but do I want to rip his clothes off? No. Was he more attractive to me when he was unavailable, the allure of my cousin’s boyfriend’s hot brother? Maybe.
Probably the most notable thing we connected on was our habit of speaking things into existence and stressing our parents the hell out about it. I had moved to NYC with no job and nowhere to live, and he had quit his finance job to pursue his nonprofit. “We have a lot in common in that regard, B,” he said, sprinkling my name onto the end of the sentence again like a cherry on top of an already sugary sundae, ah, there was a hint of a butterfly.
Here was a guy willing to talk about familial rifts, about friends losing homes in the wildfires, about his guilty pleasures — essentially giving me more in one date than Toe had in four, so why was I still thinking about him? I don’t know, but I think I do. I guess that’s just an observation I’ll save for the reflection recap next week.
By the time we finished our third drinks, I was sufficiently tipsy, and we were talking about the upcoming hot weather forecast. He suggests I come play volleyball on Saturday, and I brush it off. Did this mean a second date?
The bill comes, and the stainless steel of his Amex hits the wood of the countertop with a satisfying thud. As I stand to put on my coat, I clock his height for the first time: Wow. I had a full inch on him. I was not expecting a Petit Prince 2.0 situation. Okay, it wasn’t that bad; he was probably my height without the boots, but still. My thoughts were interrupted by him asking, “Can I walk you home?” Sure King, it was a legit five-minute walk.
“Yes, you may,” I responded, and he led me out of the restaurant.
On the way back, we talked about me being a bad cook (men love that, am I right?) and my weird neighbor until we reached my iconic, fluorescently lit stoop. I didn’t have much time to contemplate him coming up or not. My apartment was clean, Rufus was out of town, and I knew he was an fboy, so I could use that to my advantage. But part of me just didn’t think it was going to be worth it, at least not yet. I wasn’t giddy.
I was mid-sentence, pointing at the window of my weird neighbor, when he abruptly stopped me and said, “Can I kiss you?” No way he just asked me that? I mean, slay, I’m all for consent, but it seemed so not his style — and so rushed. Was he nervous after all? No way right? I answered coyly, “Yes, you can,” and he leaned in. It was the kind of kiss that's in limbo between a peck and a makeout sesh. I don’t know how else to explain it. It was... meh. Not good, not bad. But if that kiss was any indicator, it was a no for him coming upstairs.
I’ve seen enough guys turn around and leave my stoop after a kiss at this point to smirk at how humbling it is, watching them look down at their phones, contemplating the best route, and walking away. It feels powerful, standing over them as they scurry home. I get back upstairs and collect my thoughts— as I said, on paper, 10/10 date: great spot, great conversation, great attraction, but something was missing, still the butterflies? Or maybe I was still just hung up on he-who-shall-not-be-named. Truth hurts. F*ck you Lizzo.
That night, I wondered if I’d wake up the next morning with a text from him. But what did I even want, exactly? Did I want to see him again, or did I just want the attention and validation that it went well, that he had a good time, but what about ME? Did B have a good time? I did. I really need to put me first dammit.
Thursday came and went, and we hit the 24-hour mark after the date, still nothing from him. I won’t lie, I was disappointed and confused. I was a pro at acting like I was having more fun on a date than I was…was that what he had been doing? But then why the effort to walk me home and ask to kiss me? It didn’t add up. I know he had a good time. I also was starting to feel guilt creeping in for not texting to thank him for the drinks. I had seen the bill, it was not cheap. I wanted to be the girl who always follows up to say thank you, so I made a deal with myself to set that precedent by starting with the next guy. Plus, Shaw told me that texting him now would not affect the outcome of whether he was going to text me.
The weekend passed, and still nothing. You can imagine, combined with Toe’s lack of effort at the same time, it felt like peak OnHINGEdness in the worst way.
My friend — let’s call her Liberty, because like that green lady on the Hudson, she’s as hard as copper and gave me a harsh reality check as I spiraled to her one night. “This is New York City, for God’s sake. Give him at least a week. He won’t text you before then.” Whatever you say, Lady Liberty.
I thought she was crazy. I had already confirmed everything Sia told me. I didn’t let him come up; he didn’t get what he wanted (sex), so I wasn’t worth the time anymore. Wtf was the point of suggesting volleyball then? Whatever.
I was going down the same damn rabbit hole again late Monday morning in the shower. Steamed-up bathroom and Chili Peppers going through my speakers. Stomach in my throat. When all of a sudden…Ping!
One new message.
“B! How was your weekend?” -PB.
END OF ENTRY 5. DATE 5. The rest of the story with Prairie Boy…
2B CONTINUED.
His fate will be revealed in next week’s final reflection. Stay bold :)
xx 2BD
No, B. It’s time for these MEN to get a GRIP.