Insincerity vs. Discretion, Laziness and Self-pity
If I scroll back to the beginning of the list of dates I’ve been on that I keep in my notes app, that is, back to the fall of 2018, one of the first names is M_____. For my purposes here there’s no need to describe her. What matters is that she got into an argument with the bartender about keeping the bar’s entrance open. We were at Mayflower, on Waverly Avenue in Clinton Hill. It’s a small place. With the door closed it was too hot for the bartender; with the door open it was too cold for M_____. I closed the door at her request; after a while the bartender reopened it. This happened two or three times, and then finally the two of them exchanged angry words. I didn’t think my date was in the wrong, but I also didn’t think she was in the right. Rather, I was indifferent to the dispute, while at the same time being conscious of a feeling that I needed to be on her side.
We were on a date because it had seemed to both of us that there was potential for attraction to and interest in the other. Maybe it hadn’t panned out, but that didn’t matter. According to the logic of a code I had not until that evening been aware of, I was her ally from the time we met until the end of the date. If I don’t like someone’s way of arguing with a bartender over whether or not the entrance to the bar should be propped open, I can pay for our drinks and leave, but short of that it’s the two of us against the world. This isn’t apparent on most dates, because ‘the world’ ceases to exist. I meet someone, we talk, size each other up, and while we’re together we don’t pay attention to anyone else, or at least we pretend not to.
After it’s over we go back to noticing our surroundings. I turn a corner, or enter the subway, and out comes my phone.
Even then, though, we’re not quite through. I still owe my date one more thing: a message.1 This could be to ask her out on a second date, or to propose we might try meeting again as friends. Or else I can decline to ask her out again. In the latter case I need to express two things, one positive and one negative. The positive thing goes something like I was glad to meet you and enjoyed our conversation. This should be followed by an example of something she said that interested me, and maybe also a link to a movie or song I mentioned. The negative part is more delicate. The friendly message also has to carry, maybe overtly or maybe between the lines, the news that I won’t be asking for a second date.
Once that’s sent we more or less go back to where we were before we matched. Not exactly, because we had a conversation and know all sorts of things about each other. We’re no longer strangers. But we might as well be.
*
A week or two ago I had wine with someone on a Saturday evening. We had matched in the afternoon and the match seemed promising enough that we scheduled a same-day date. In the end it was a bust for both—we each got the wrong idea about the other from our respective profiles and messaging. Not that it was the worst date in the world, or that we didn’t have things to talk about (there are always things to talk about). But when it ended I didn’t want to kiss her, and she didn’t want me to try. The meeting had been a waste of time for her, and a waste of time and money for me.2 But that’s life. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. As we parted I imagined the message I would send Sunday afternoon.
I had plans in the afternoon, though, and it slipped my mind. I didn’t remember until it was almost midnight. Too late! When I opened the app she was gone. She had unmatched me.
It’s trivial, of course. She won’t have given me another thought. But I like these ritual insincerities. Telling one sweet little lie after another makes me feel like I’m at Versailles.
*
Lots of people don’t send this sort of message. It’s not unusual to ghost after having drinks with someone, to ghost after a hookup, even to ghost after a few months of dating.
The practice wouldn’t suit me, but it intrigues me. Why would someone choose to ghost rather than than to wrap things up, maybe not honestly, but neatly? I can think of lots of reasons, three of which I’ll mention.
The first is discretion. How many of the women I meet actually want one of these day-after goodbye messages? And how many just roll their eyes at my inanities? I think the answer is something along the lines of: more than half want to hear from me, but not more than three-quarters. So unless you’re a mind-reader, and can intuit who wants a message and who doesn’t, you can’t please everyone. Let’s suppose it’s sixty-five percent. That is, sixty-five percent of women prefer the closure of hearing from me. If this is right, by making the effort to send the messages I disappoint thirty-five percent of the women I meet. If instead I did nothing, I would disappoint sixty-five percent of them. If these proportions are accurate, you could argue that it’s better not to take the trouble, better to please the smaller group than the larger one.
The second reason is like the first, but it’s untheorized. Probably most ghosters would not bother to defend their behavior on grounds of a scrupulous cost-benefit analysis or whatever. They’re just lazy.
Finally, something a little darker. It’s possible to go on a date with someone, to spend the night with someone, to see someone once or twice a week for a few months or more—it’s possible to do all of this without liking the person in question. Single people get lonely sometimes, they feel starved for company, tenderness and touch, they lower their standards.
And then, when one has had enough, whether that means two hours or two years, what does one feel? Self-pity? Resentment? Was that the best I could do? This kind of disgust, I imagine, is conducive to ghosting.
Why am I the one who owes her a message, and not vice versa? Gender norms. I have no idea if any of this applies outside heterosexual dating.
Gender norms, again. God bless them.