NFT Boy
If he seems cringe, he probably is cringe. And other obvious reasons why you should avoid crypto boys at all costs.
So there I was, swiping through dating apps at 11 PM on a Tuesday—as one does when avoiding folding laundry—when I matched with Jake. Jake had five photos: three were group shots where I had to play "guess which one," one was him holding a fish (why is this a thing?), and one was so blurry I'm 90% sure it was taken during an earthquake. But his bio said he was "spontaneous and loves adventure," which in NYC dating language means "I'll show up 20 minutes late but make it charming."
Our first date was at a coffee shop in Williamsburg. He arrived wearing sunglasses indoors, which should have been red flag number one, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt—maybe he had an eye condition? Nope. He just "forgot" he was wearing them for the first fifteen minutes. We talked about his podcast (red flag two: it had zero episodes), his "startup idea" (red flag three: something about NFTs for pets), and his recent breakup (red flag four thousand: it was three weeks ago). But honestly? He was funny. Endearingly chaotic. I agreed to a second date.
Date two was dinner in the East Village, and here's where things got interesting. Halfway through our appetizers, a woman approached our table. "Jake?" she said, her voice tight. I looked up, confused. She looked at me with pity—the kind of pity you give someone who's about to find out their apartment has bedbugs. "Are you on a date?" she continued. Turns out, Jake had a girlfriend. Not an ex-girlfriend. A current, very real, very angry girlfriend who had tracked him down using Find My Friends because he said he was "working late."
I watched this man—this podcast-less, NFT-dreaming man—try to explain to both of us that it was "complicated" and that he "needed space to figure things out." His girlfriend threw a breadstick at him. I grabbed my purse and my dignity (and honestly, her breadstick throw was impressive—solid aim). As I walked out, I heard him call after me: "I'll Venmo you for your half!" Spoiler alert: he did not Venmo me.
Two weeks later, I decided I was done with these disasters. I updated my entire dating profile—got rid of the blurry mirror selfie, the photo from my friend's wedding where I'm mid-blink, and that group shot where I'm mostly hidden behind someone's shoulder. I invested in myself. Got professional photos done that actually looked like me: confident, approachable, and breadstick-throwing-incident-free. The difference? Night and day. Suddenly, I was matching with people who had full sentences in their bios. People who showed up on time. People who had never heard of pet NFTs.
Dating in New York City is wild. It's chaotic. It's occasionally humiliating. But you know what makes it easier? Actually putting your best foot—or rather, your best photo—forward. Because when you look like yourself at your best, you attract people who are worth showing up for. And definitely people who aren't being tracked by their girlfriends via GPS.
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