The Bristol branch of the Awkward Army is meeting this
weekend, about which I am excited! So
when I got a Facebook message a couple of days ago from a fellow Bristolian
Awkwardeer, albeit one I didn’t know, I was pleased before I’d even read
it. Awkward people reaching out to each
other and networking, yay! What could
possibly go wrong with that?
Toby (not his real name) introduced himself as a friend of
two women I knew from the last meetup.
He said he’d been reading Captain Awkward’s blog for a while, and that
he and his girlfriend decided to come to the May meet. So far, so cool. He then disclosed that he has an account on a
dating website I use, and gave his username.
And for a second I was confused, like, ‘Yeah, so? Are you trying to ask
me out or something?’ But then he went
on to talk about coincidence, and how he’d had no idea I was part of the
Awkward Army when he’d joined, and didn’t want to come if it would make me
uncomfortable…
And the penny finally dropped. Holy
fuck – you’re THAT Toby.
He wasn’t asking for a date.
He was someone I’d already dated, once, and who had sent me a couple of follow-up
messages afterwards. And I had never
responded to those messages.
Well, I thought, this is terribly awkward. Which is… sort of almost comically
appropriate, I guess?
Toby and I went on a non-romantic, looking-for-new-friends
date last autumn, and passed a pleasant evening wandering the city streets and
talking about our favourite games, books, movies, etc. I tend to feel somewhat out of my element
when getting to know new people. I’m
sure I’m not alone in feeling the constant anxiety of What if we run out of things to talk about? What if the conversation falls flat on its
face? What if I say something stupid or
seem boring or everything just gets awkward or AHHHHHH. For me, meeting new people feels more like
work than play, and the part where I feel relaxed enough to properly enjoy someone’s
company comes later, when I begin to develop a sense of knowing what to expect
from them. I knew this about myself
going in, and I was prepared for it to take a few dates before I felt out-and-out
positive about continued contact with anyone.
What I didn’t take into account was the sheer amount of shit going on in my life at the time. I
desperately wanted to be generally okay enough to get out there, meet new people,
be awesome and have fun; and I set the cart before the horse somewhat. Walking home after my friendship date with
Toby – my first (and so far only) online dating experience – my sense of
wanting to hide under my duvet and make the world go away was ratcheted way up. At a time when my anxiety levels were running
higher than normal on the best of days, elevated anxiety was not something I
wanted to keep volunteering for on a regular basis. Although I only understand that in a rational
way in retrospect; at the time my experience was simply Gahhhhh, so many scaryfeels, why did I think this was a good idea?
When Toby messaged me through the dating website a couple of
days later, my feelings about meeting him again were very mixed, so I let my
reply slide while I was ‘deciding’. It
slid for a couple of weeks , at which point Toby texted me to say it was cool
if I didn’t want to see him again, and asking for feedback on if he’d done
something wrong or if I’d just not clicked with him. I felt guilty for not having replied to his
earlier message, and every time I looked at his text my failing-at-life anxiety
spiked a little, so again I kept putting off writing a reply. And then another week had gone by, and I
ended up thinking, Well, fuck it, it’s
been a rough few months so I’m going to just let myself off the hook and be
okay with not replying. It’s a big city;
it’s not like I’ll ever bump into him and have to justify myself.
*ahem*…
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL.
That is all.
I literally smacked my palm on my forehead when I finally
realised who the message was from. I
would super, super hate to be the
reason why anyone didn’t feel comfortable being an active member of the Awkward
Army. So I immediately replied to Toby’s
Facebook message and apologised for cutting contact, assuring him it had been
nothing to do with him, and that he hadn’t given me any ‘creepy internet
stalker vibes’ when we’d met, which was his chief concern. We messaged back and forth a little, and the
happy ending is that we will be sharing snacks and being friendly with each
other at the meetup.
This, my friends, is a lesson in privilege.
I have never had to worry about giving anybody
a ‘creepy’ vibe. I have never had to worry about coming across
as physically or sexually threatening* when meeting a new person for the first
time. My privilege in presenting as a
short, white, female person makes me incredibly unlikely to ever be identified
as potentially dangerous, unless I am being aggressive on purpose. It had not occurred to me that, as a strange man
meeting a strange woman from the internet, not wanting to appear even slightly
threatening would be a very real concern for Toby. Neither had it occurred to me that he might
be wondering if I had never replied to his messages because I’d felt creeped
out by him. My guilt rested on the idea
that he might feel rejected and sad; the ‘Was I creepy?’ angle simply did not
enter my head.
Men should be
aware of this when they go on dates.
They should be aware that a
woman will probably have concerns for her safety playing at the back of her
mind when out with a stranger, and they should
be aware that comments or jokes that are often well-received as harmless fun by
other men may well send a red banner running up a woman’s flagstaff. For instance, a date who ‘harmlessly’ makes a
jokey comment about an act of sexual assault or domestic violence, or who uses a
slur like ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ as a term of endearment, is unlikely to ever hear
from me again. Even setting aside the valid
fear that such men may be out-and-out rapists and abusers who are testing my boundaries to see if I would make a pliable victim, in my experience these
comments are the signature moves of people who don’t have the self-awareness to
realise what they are seeking: to feel good and safe and strong within
themselves by behaving in ways that encourage others to feel ‘less’. Less intelligent. Less funny.
Less able to judge right from wrong.
Less able to stand up for themselves.
Less valid as human beings. I am
not interested in feeling ‘less’, or in being around anyone who needs me to
feel ‘less’ in order for them to feel ‘more’, so these people tend to get
weeded out of my life as quickly as I can manage it.
Toby is clearly aware of all this potential-red-flag stuff. I take my hat off to Toby; he has
pole-vaulted over my minimum standards for Decent Human Being with quite a bit
of clearance room, which makes me very glad to now have a second opportunity to
get to know him. What I need to be more aware of, going
forward, is that guys are aware of this. They are
concerned about being regarded as creepy.
And that means, if I drop a decent guy after a date or two for UNRELATED
LIFE REASONS and don’t ever explain why, he is going to be asking himself if he
came over as threatening. And that’s not
cool of me. So in future, I must Use My
Words!
* I’ve never been regarded as physically threatening, to my
knowledge, but I have met guys who seemed emotionally threatened by my
confidence, assertiveness, and pride in taking care of my own shit – or at
least, they just weren’t into women with such traits. Mostly they were guys who dated very
feminine-presenting women, which put them in the position of being the Manly
Man who protects ‘his girl’ and insists to her that no, really, she is
beautiful, even if she’ll never believe it.
Or better yet, that’s she’s beautiful because she’ll never believe it, a la that puke-making Bruno Mars
song about the timeless attractiveness of young women with low self-esteem. All of which is fine, I guess, if you’re into
that; but holy moly am I ever not the
lady for those men, because that relationship would run like –
Dude: Give me that large object you’re carrying; it’s too heavy for you.
Kate: It’s cool, I
got it.
Dude: No, I mean it, you’re
going to hurt yourself. Give it over.
Kate: Get out of the god
damn way, before I drop it on your foot.
Dude: Aw, baby, you’re
so beautiful!…
Kate: Inorite?
Dude: …when you’re trying
to be angry!
Kate: *chokes* *drops heavy object* Well, now I’m really beautiful.
Dude: WHAT THE FUCK
YOU CRAZY BITCH OH JESUS THE BLOOD
Kate: Would you
please excuse me while I call you an ambulance?
(Okay, not really; only in my wildest fantasies would I
actually maim this guy. But I wouldn’t call him, and I’m guessing that wouldn’t be a problem, because he
probably wouldn’t call me either. I love
how guys like this just opt right out of my social pool; it sure does save me
the job of telling them to fuck off.)
