Rejection Is Reciprocal
Nerves and ego made me reluctant to place myself on the online meat market.
My 21-year-old daughter took me by the hand and signed me up.
Apparently, this is how modern romance works. You upload your face. You shop by category. You scroll through men presenting their best angles and carefully curated virtues. There are success stories. Marriages. Babies. Hope.
Once committed, I’ll admit there was a flicker of excitement. I had released my face into the wild for strange men to evaluate. In return, I was entitled to trawl through a catalogue of single men with marketing spiels of themselves.
In a wistful mood, I examined every photo and bio, looking for compatibility.
In annihilator mode, I swiped left on twenty profiles in one sitting.
Shallow reasons I rejected men:
Small, fluffy, yappy dog
Pointy head
Pointy jaw
Too tall
Too skinny
Blotchy
Shoes I didn’t like
Lazy photos
Too needy
Unoriginal comments
Looked like my ex
Hang on.
Isn’t that the point? To be discerning?
After the novelty comes the roller coaster.
Feel good about myself.
Question myself.
Hopeful.
Hopeless.
Hopeful again.
Hopeless again.
“I’m deleting this damn app.”
“I’ll give it one more chance.”
The number of ‘likes’ I sent to men who never replied was roughly equal to the number of likes I received from men I ignored.
Why?
The humbling answer was the same in both directions:
Not interested.
It sounds harsh. It isn’t.
Not everyone likes pineapples. Not everyone likes mangoes. There is nothing wrong with either fruit. Some men are pineapples. I don’t like pineapples. I’m a mango. Some men don’t like mangoes.
Rejection, it turns out, is symmetrical.
I rejected men for being too eager, too dull, too intense, too vague.
Men rejected me for reasons I will never know.
Perhaps I was too opinionated.
Too old.
Too direct.
Too sexual.
Too something.
It can be unsettling realising you are someone else’s “no.”
The app provided the data.
Cameron fell in love with someone else mid-chat. Efficient.
Andrew deleted me because I took too long to respond. Lesson in momentum.
Lawrence required one hundred questions before coffee. I bowed out.
Mr Grey wanted a dominatrix. I wanted a latte.
Gerard did not match his profile. Disappointing.
The Hypnotist ghosted.
The Car Salesman ghosted.
The Physiotherapist ghosted.
Pfff.
Then there were actual dates.
James in Logistics. He talked. I listened. He talked. I listened. He talked. I left.
Tim the Teacher. Lovely. No spark.
Donald the Banker. Kind. No future.
No spark. No future.
Let’s try some group events.
A speed dating night that felt like a social experiment and hurt my brain.
A singles event where married men turned up??
A hiking trip with men who were geographically inconvenient.
Pub nights. Gym. Supermarket? Let’s not go there.
Through it all, awareness surfaced.
I was rejecting as steadily as I was being rejected.
The same pride that felt bruised by silence was delivering silence in return.
I am not universally desirable.
But I am not universally undesirable.
I am specific.
So is everyone else.
Some men wanted endless messaging. I did not.
Some wanted immediate intensity. I did not.
Some wanted dominance. I did not.
Some wanted a pen pal. I did not.
And some did not want me.
I told myself I was fine on my own. And I am.
If someone rejects me, that IS good.
In fact, I reject ‘them’ because I do not want to be with someone who does not want to be with me.
The app broadened my shoulders.
It also taught me scale.
There are many men.
There are many women.
There are many mismatches.
Rejection, when stripped of drama, is simply filtration.
You filter.
You are filtered.
The symmetry is almost comforting.
Somewhere, someone is swiping left on me while I swipe left on someone else.
We are all pineapples and mangoes in rotation.
And occasionally, mercifully, two fruits land in the same basket.
Until then, the ego can keep adjusting.
If rejection is reciprocal, so be it.