"I Dated 50 Men In One Night!" from Playgirl 2004
I Dated 50 Men In One Night!
It is hard to find a man who you actually want to spend time with. There are the sweet guys who buy you dinner at the best restaurants, but a make-out session reveals there's no chemistry. Then there are the guys who want to get a couple of 40-ounce beers, head to the park, and get you wasted while he fondles your breasts. Yes, these types are fun for the now, but anything long-term is certainly not in the cards.
I decided to try Hurry Date, commonly known as speed dating, which is a gathering of equal amounts of singles put together by a organizer (who rakes in the dough) for thirty bucks a pop. There is no pre-screening or pre-matching, just a sign-up page on the internet, so you just have to hope for the best. It sort of felt desperate, and I thought that mostly lonely, needy, desperate singles were going to be there. But hey, you never know!
I did know I couldn't dive into the singles' pool alone. So with my best newly-single friend, Kiera, in tow, we arrived at Hurry Date's singles' soiree at seven o'clock on a Wednesday. When we arrived, there was a line of women waiting to get in with nary a man in sight.
Some of the women looked like they wouldn't need a matchmaking service, so the desperado thing was no longer an issue. Looking over woman after woman, I started thinking I signed us up for the wrong night, but then the guys started arriving, most in suits. Professionals. But not that desirable. This might be a long night, I thought, but I had to learn not to take this at face value.
Upon entry, we were given a nametag and a number so we could log in scores on our ballot card. There were tables with letters on them. Two people per table—one guy, one girl. When the whistle blew (which had an obnoxious circus-like feel), the guys, not the girls, would move on to the next letter table. We were given a scorecard to circle yes or no for each person.
Kiera and I had just enough time to primp a bit and get a cocktail before we started Hurry Dating. Then the whistle blew. Loudly. The pressure was on—my twenty-five three-minute dates were beginning.
Date number one was actually #67. His name was Ricardo, but he said that I could call him Rick. I told him that I like Ricardo better. My table was wobbly, so when Ricardo moved expressively, my drink spilled. Then the host tripped over my leg. After all the commotion, there was maybe a minute left of dating.
"So, Ricardo," I cooed. "What do you like to do for fun?"
The whistle blew.
This went on twenty-four more times. Answers ranged from skiing to spending time with family (bonus points, he must like Mom). Once, I actually got a "Well, I work all the time so I don't have a lot of free time to do fun stuff"—not impressive! Most of the guys were bankers or real estate agents, and a lot of them were twenty-four-years-old. Most of the dates blurred into one, but I did manage to take some notes: Michael was standoffish, Alex was from Hong Kong, Pablo was a lawyer, Steve was a DJ who plays 80s music, Chris was a plastic surgeon.
Then there was Alex (not the Alex from Hong Kong). Alex looked like the artistic type. He had long black hair, was kind of skinny, and seemed genuinely nice. Not the kind of guy I would expect at a Hurry Date; he seemed sort of "anti-system." As it turns out, Alex and I liked some of the same music. I admired that he didn't want to talk about work. "Suede or Blur?" I quizzed him on opposing Brit bands. "Suede," he answered. I like Blur. "What's your favorite Depeche Mode album?" I asked. He liked them all. Hmmm.
Meanwhile at another table, Kiera wrote notes like: Peter from Germany, Mike works for Red Bull, Armando's dad owns a big name denim company, George from Brooklyn. She also jotted down the name of a restaurant one of the guys said was good. Just as Kiera finished her twenty-fifth date, the host asked us to stay for round two because there was a shortage of women. That meant twenty-five more men for us.
Both Kiera and I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. We weren't drunk, but we were dizzy from our twenty-five "dates" and our voices were hoarse. When we came out of the ladies' room, one guy approached me and said, "You aren't leaving are you?" I told him I was in round two. "You the one I want to date," he said so close to my face that I could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. Kiera and I just made a face at each other. That's going to be three minutes in hell...perfectly enhanced by the inked devil.
Then the whistle blew!
Round Two: Steve wore plaid and was in round one as well. Jason had his own laundry company. Safir shook my hand so hard it hurt. Shane had a big forehead and looked familiar. Richard was a banker. Jason was a writer. Ash worked for a local radio station. Brian looked like a gay friend of mine. Jeff played guitar in a coverband. Barry was a thirty-five-year-old teacher (twenty-nine was supposed to be the max age) who asked me my birthdate and sign and wrote it all down. Matt grew up one town over from me and kept revisiting me between Hurry Dates. David was painfully shy and sweet and almost looked young enough to have a babysitter. Cris was the cigarette breath guy from earlier. He showed me his Tasmanian Devil tattoo, then asked me what I was drinking, and before I could answer, he was taking a sip from my glass. I didn't drink for the rest of my Hurry Dates. Cris went on and on about how he was so excited to meet me and that I was the one he was waiting for. (He told this to Kiera too, I later found out.)
Kiera's notes were almost illegible. She had more restaurant addresses, two stars next to Shane, one next to David along with the word "stripe". There was a check-plus next to Brooks, and Jason was bolded because he was number 81—the year she was born. There was also a drawing of a hypodermic needle. "What is this all about?" I asked later. One guy was apparently a salesman of medical supplies.
When the final whistle was blown, Kiera was at my table immediately and we were out of there. Fifty men in one night is tiring.
During the cab ride home, we were laughing hysterically recounting the night. "One guy actually asked me if my name was French! The last time I checked Michele was one of the most popular girl's names in America. Another guy asked why the men have to go from chair to chair? 'That's sexist, it should be the women,' he said."
"He said that to me too!" Kiera laughed.
"Then one guy said, 'Hurry Date is so worth it. It's like $1.25 a woman!'" (Now I felt cheap.)
"He said that to me too!" Kiera shouted.
Plus, two guys called me "dude".
The next day, we logged online and put in all our yeses and nos and downloaded pictures of ourselves. Twenty-four hours later, the site tabulates your entries and pairs you up with shared yeses. You get to see the nos who said yes to you and you have a chance to change your mind. Pictures are extremely important. Some of our dates never put up photos of themselves and it is just too difficult to remember everyone from three minutes. The site also tabulated your "Desirability Rating" (what percentage said yes to you) and your "Pickiness Factor" (percentage you said yes to).
I started with a 77% Desirability Rating and a 58% Pickiness Factor. Kiera had an impressive 91% Desirability and 80% Pickiness. (I later dropped one point in Desirability and Kiera gained one!) But scores are not what this is all about. It's about trying to make a connection with someone in three minutes, and enough of a connection to want to see them again. I waited for guys I yessed to contact me through the Hurry Date website (your personal email stays anonymous). I got eleven emails, twelve actually if you count the two from Pablo. After he invited me to dinner and a rental movie, he emailed again to apologize for being too forward and changed the date to a visit to the top of the Empire State Building. I got phone numbers and personal email addresses. My two favorites, Alex, the interesting artist looking guy, and David, the sweet, young looking one, were both interested in a second date. Armando emailed Kiera and I, even though he told Kiera that she was the only one he emailed. Brian told me that out of all the girls he met, he was most interested in meeting me again and that he felt natural talking to me. George was a sleeper surprise. In three minutes he didn't make a huge impression other than his strong Brooklyn accent, but his email was charming. "Thanks for circling yes. I really had a good time and I would love to spend more time with you and get to know more about you," he wrote. Plus, his picture on the website was adorable.
I think I could have made three friends from Hurry Date—Alex, David, and George. They seemed the most down to earth and on the same vibe as me.
Kiera and I have yet to make the next move and accept any of these dates. It's been a week, and a quick email from a potential date just isn't enough. It feels too forced or like a competition between us and the other women at Hurry Date, and we just don't want to be a part of that. It certainly was entertaining and is a great place to meet single men looking for single women. It's better than the bar scene because everyone's intentions are on the table. But maybe it's just that none of the guys really knocked our heels off. Then again, it was only three minutes and we all know that true pleasure takes a lot longer to find.
-Michele Zipp
It is hard to find a man who you actually want to spend time with. There are the sweet guys who buy you dinner at the best restaurants, but a make-out session reveals there's no chemistry. Then there are the guys who want to get a couple of 40-ounce beers, head to the park, and get you wasted while he fondles your breasts. Yes, these types are fun for the now, but anything long-term is certainly not in the cards.
I decided to try Hurry Date, commonly known as speed dating, which is a gathering of equal amounts of singles put together by a organizer (who rakes in the dough) for thirty bucks a pop. There is no pre-screening or pre-matching, just a sign-up page on the internet, so you just have to hope for the best. It sort of felt desperate, and I thought that mostly lonely, needy, desperate singles were going to be there. But hey, you never know!
I did know I couldn't dive into the singles' pool alone. So with my best newly-single friend, Kiera, in tow, we arrived at Hurry Date's singles' soiree at seven o'clock on a Wednesday. When we arrived, there was a line of women waiting to get in with nary a man in sight.
Some of the women looked like they wouldn't need a matchmaking service, so the desperado thing was no longer an issue. Looking over woman after woman, I started thinking I signed us up for the wrong night, but then the guys started arriving, most in suits. Professionals. But not that desirable. This might be a long night, I thought, but I had to learn not to take this at face value.
Upon entry, we were given a nametag and a number so we could log in scores on our ballot card. There were tables with letters on them. Two people per table—one guy, one girl. When the whistle blew (which had an obnoxious circus-like feel), the guys, not the girls, would move on to the next letter table. We were given a scorecard to circle yes or no for each person.
Kiera and I had just enough time to primp a bit and get a cocktail before we started Hurry Dating. Then the whistle blew. Loudly. The pressure was on—my twenty-five three-minute dates were beginning.
Date number one was actually #67. His name was Ricardo, but he said that I could call him Rick. I told him that I like Ricardo better. My table was wobbly, so when Ricardo moved expressively, my drink spilled. Then the host tripped over my leg. After all the commotion, there was maybe a minute left of dating.
"So, Ricardo," I cooed. "What do you like to do for fun?"
The whistle blew.
This went on twenty-four more times. Answers ranged from skiing to spending time with family (bonus points, he must like Mom). Once, I actually got a "Well, I work all the time so I don't have a lot of free time to do fun stuff"—not impressive! Most of the guys were bankers or real estate agents, and a lot of them were twenty-four-years-old. Most of the dates blurred into one, but I did manage to take some notes: Michael was standoffish, Alex was from Hong Kong, Pablo was a lawyer, Steve was a DJ who plays 80s music, Chris was a plastic surgeon.
Then there was Alex (not the Alex from Hong Kong). Alex looked like the artistic type. He had long black hair, was kind of skinny, and seemed genuinely nice. Not the kind of guy I would expect at a Hurry Date; he seemed sort of "anti-system." As it turns out, Alex and I liked some of the same music. I admired that he didn't want to talk about work. "Suede or Blur?" I quizzed him on opposing Brit bands. "Suede," he answered. I like Blur. "What's your favorite Depeche Mode album?" I asked. He liked them all. Hmmm.
Meanwhile at another table, Kiera wrote notes like: Peter from Germany, Mike works for Red Bull, Armando's dad owns a big name denim company, George from Brooklyn. She also jotted down the name of a restaurant one of the guys said was good. Just as Kiera finished her twenty-fifth date, the host asked us to stay for round two because there was a shortage of women. That meant twenty-five more men for us.
Both Kiera and I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. We weren't drunk, but we were dizzy from our twenty-five "dates" and our voices were hoarse. When we came out of the ladies' room, one guy approached me and said, "You aren't leaving are you?" I told him I was in round two. "You the one I want to date," he said so close to my face that I could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. Kiera and I just made a face at each other. That's going to be three minutes in hell...perfectly enhanced by the inked devil.
Then the whistle blew!
Round Two: Steve wore plaid and was in round one as well. Jason had his own laundry company. Safir shook my hand so hard it hurt. Shane had a big forehead and looked familiar. Richard was a banker. Jason was a writer. Ash worked for a local radio station. Brian looked like a gay friend of mine. Jeff played guitar in a coverband. Barry was a thirty-five-year-old teacher (twenty-nine was supposed to be the max age) who asked me my birthdate and sign and wrote it all down. Matt grew up one town over from me and kept revisiting me between Hurry Dates. David was painfully shy and sweet and almost looked young enough to have a babysitter. Cris was the cigarette breath guy from earlier. He showed me his Tasmanian Devil tattoo, then asked me what I was drinking, and before I could answer, he was taking a sip from my glass. I didn't drink for the rest of my Hurry Dates. Cris went on and on about how he was so excited to meet me and that I was the one he was waiting for. (He told this to Kiera too, I later found out.)
Kiera's notes were almost illegible. She had more restaurant addresses, two stars next to Shane, one next to David along with the word "stripe". There was a check-plus next to Brooks, and Jason was bolded because he was number 81—the year she was born. There was also a drawing of a hypodermic needle. "What is this all about?" I asked later. One guy was apparently a salesman of medical supplies.
When the final whistle was blown, Kiera was at my table immediately and we were out of there. Fifty men in one night is tiring.
During the cab ride home, we were laughing hysterically recounting the night. "One guy actually asked me if my name was French! The last time I checked Michele was one of the most popular girl's names in America. Another guy asked why the men have to go from chair to chair? 'That's sexist, it should be the women,' he said."
"He said that to me too!" Kiera laughed.
"Then one guy said, 'Hurry Date is so worth it. It's like $1.25 a woman!'" (Now I felt cheap.)
"He said that to me too!" Kiera shouted.
Plus, two guys called me "dude".
The next day, we logged online and put in all our yeses and nos and downloaded pictures of ourselves. Twenty-four hours later, the site tabulates your entries and pairs you up with shared yeses. You get to see the nos who said yes to you and you have a chance to change your mind. Pictures are extremely important. Some of our dates never put up photos of themselves and it is just too difficult to remember everyone from three minutes. The site also tabulated your "Desirability Rating" (what percentage said yes to you) and your "Pickiness Factor" (percentage you said yes to).
I started with a 77% Desirability Rating and a 58% Pickiness Factor. Kiera had an impressive 91% Desirability and 80% Pickiness. (I later dropped one point in Desirability and Kiera gained one!) But scores are not what this is all about. It's about trying to make a connection with someone in three minutes, and enough of a connection to want to see them again. I waited for guys I yessed to contact me through the Hurry Date website (your personal email stays anonymous). I got eleven emails, twelve actually if you count the two from Pablo. After he invited me to dinner and a rental movie, he emailed again to apologize for being too forward and changed the date to a visit to the top of the Empire State Building. I got phone numbers and personal email addresses. My two favorites, Alex, the interesting artist looking guy, and David, the sweet, young looking one, were both interested in a second date. Armando emailed Kiera and I, even though he told Kiera that she was the only one he emailed. Brian told me that out of all the girls he met, he was most interested in meeting me again and that he felt natural talking to me. George was a sleeper surprise. In three minutes he didn't make a huge impression other than his strong Brooklyn accent, but his email was charming. "Thanks for circling yes. I really had a good time and I would love to spend more time with you and get to know more about you," he wrote. Plus, his picture on the website was adorable.
I think I could have made three friends from Hurry Date—Alex, David, and George. They seemed the most down to earth and on the same vibe as me.
Kiera and I have yet to make the next move and accept any of these dates. It's been a week, and a quick email from a potential date just isn't enough. It feels too forced or like a competition between us and the other women at Hurry Date, and we just don't want to be a part of that. It certainly was entertaining and is a great place to meet single men looking for single women. It's better than the bar scene because everyone's intentions are on the table. But maybe it's just that none of the guys really knocked our heels off. Then again, it was only three minutes and we all know that true pleasure takes a lot longer to find.
-Michele Zipp
posted by Michele at 10:06 AM
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