My Thirty-Year-Old Roster
A stark realization
Out of the last six women I’ve slept with, three were 30, two were 25 and one was 33. While dating in Asuncion, I have heard “I am much older than you”, “Damn you’re young” and “I’m thirty four”. From country to country, city to city, I seem to be followed by a set of beautiful, luscious, thirty-year-old women.
I’m not complaining. I only initiate, and sustain, relationships with women I want in my life. I write this only intending to do a bit of soul searching. Some reflection on this trend that has infiltrated my life.
Why do I attract older women? Is it me? Is it them? What are the origins of this strange, but consistent phenomenon?
1. I am attracted to more emotionally mature women
This one’s great. I have had enough of college girls and career debutantes. I am fed up with waitresses and baristas. I want a women who has her shit together. A woman who has a career, is emotionally stable, and understands the fundamentals of a successful relationship. No more drunk calls at 2 am on a Saturday. No more heartbreaks and short-lived escapades. I want stability and happiness.
I don’t know if the women I date are emotionally stable. I don’t think the women I sleep with are looking for a relationship. My dating problems have changed, but that’s more personal than anyone else. There haven’t been less heartbreaks. And I certainly don’t want stability or happiness.
2. I am physically attracted to older women
Am I attracted to older women? Do I have a hidden kink? Maybe in the darkest corners of my soul, but my relationship dynamics are normal.
It could be physical appearances. Maybe I like wide hips? Maybe I like women teetering on the brink of maturity, with a certain fullness? So no starving college students or aspiring models. I want a women who’s got it going on. Who’s got the goods.
As painful as this was to write, it probably has a grain of truth. And when I do meet women, they tend to be at latin dance social, where demographics are 23-40. But is that really it? Where do I meet women?
3. Where do I pick up chicks?
Everywhere. No literally, everywhere. If I make eye contact with someone pretty for more than 2 seconds I hit on them. Doesn’t matter if it’s brunch, the bar, the mall, the subway. Friends out for happy hour or a family dinner. A fundamental value of mine is that if I get positive vibes I seize the day.
If I don’t get an indication that someone wants to be hit on, I use my time more sparingly. Even then, if a woman is drop-dead gorgeous, I make the time to say hi.
So the streets, malls, bars, dance socials (dating apps sparingly); the only thing these women have in common is that I’m attracted to them, and, well, they’re inevitably attracted to me.
4. Because I am more mature, I attract older women
God I love this one. What a satisfying answer. I attract older women because I am more mature. It’s not a flaw in my appeareance or unusual tastes. It’s because I’m better. A testimony to my wisdom. Evidence of my virtue.
I don’t think the above explanation is enough. As much as I might be attracted to maturity, I think that would reflect itself more in long-term relationships than a handful of dates. The data is sparse.
And there is a space that doesn’t filter for maturity. A dark, scary place of the internet where people all over the world judge each other in the shallowest, worst way possible: dating apps.
5. I look thirty (probably closer to thirty-five)
Dear god this is it.
And the evidence is there. It’s always been there.
It started in university. When close friends of mine made fun of me for my hairline. Then it manifested itself in the women I dated, after two years of chastity. But in Asuncion everything fit into place; thanks to Tinder.
The only place in the world where I’ve scooped up Tinder Likes like water in the ocean has been Asuncion. It’s been one of the few places I’ve had success with online dating, with women solely judging me on my looks (+ white foreigner).
And dear reader, I’ve playing with you. I knew this all along. Because these women have also told me “You’re thirty, no thirty-five”, “You’re 25?“ and “I thought you were lying on Tinder”.
I look thirty, maybe thirty-five. I don’t look the way I should. After vegetating for two years on a fraternity couch, I let myself go. The bags under my eyes. The stretch marks on my body. My hairline, which started its descent (or rather ascent) during my presidency. I feel defective.
While I love Asuncion, part of the reason I wanted to stay here was to get some surgeries. I’ve had a cyst for years. Getting something booked here has been a walk in the park compared to Canada. As these insecurities surfaced I’ve also been thinking of what else I could do. I could get a teeth whitening. I could lose fifteen pounds. I’ve booked an appointment to see a dermatologist and maybe I’ll finally get a new hairline.
These thoughts haven’t kept me down. I’ve never felt more confident in myself. I’ve never believed in my inevitable success as much as I have since I started traveling. I’ve had more adventures, friends, and lovers in the past three months than I did during my last two years of university. I have never felt better about myself or my mission in life.
And this is what made me come to this realization. While I was hiding from the world, dazed and confused, I didn’t need to confront these violent truths. But as I’ve explored the world I’ve realized I look older. Like, way older. This disappointment isn’t because of my appearance. Rather, the gap between how others see me and how I see myself. And when you strike up a conversation with anyone you’re attracted to, there are awkward moments when that dissonance kicks in.
That makes me feel ugly. At least, I look much older than I am. I am treated much older than I am. However, I am young. I want to feel young.
Getting a cyst removed, losing some weight or even getting a new hairline is one thing. Trying to return to the mean isn’t a big deal. But these questions bring to light something else. Another question that we all ask ourselves. When is it enough?
Am I really obsessing over this because of my dating life? Or is this just a greater insecurity? After a new hairline, where does it end? How much weight do I lose? How much money do I spend on skin care? Do I get rid of my eye bags? Do I try steroids? How far should I take self-improvement? What is the line between progress and unhealthy obsession?
Good-looking people attract good-looking people. People in shape attract people in shape. A great determinant of life outcome is how attractive others perceive you to be. Consequently, these insecurities are not only natural but useful.
Yet this can become dangerous. When your value is only determined by external metrics, losing your sense of self is easy. The greatest threats posed by steroids or plastic surgeries aren’t health-related. In small doses they are harmless. It’s your reliance on them for your self-image. What happens when you lose your looks? When you injure yourself? When you let yourself go? When you age? When life takes its toll on you, and strips you of your former beauty? What do you do then?
As far as existential angst goes, this is all pretty low on the totem pole. Most of my self-worth is derived from my accomplishments, from my talents and stories acquired in adventures. Even if it were, I pride myself as much on my sense of style as much as my physical attractiveness. And even in the latter, I hold confidence.
I try to be self-aware. I try to walk this line cautiously. I try to understand the balance between criticism and insecurity. Because regardless of how I look or how others perceive me, I can love myself—even if I look a bit older, even if I feel a bit ugly.
when your own fantasies scare you