A collection of stories about my nightmare experiences using Tinder as a nomad.
“The Sharktank Date”
This is a true story
Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, March 2021
“I wanna meet new people, I wanna meet new people, I wanna meet new people” I repeat to myself one sticky afternoon in Playa Del Carmen as I swipe through Tinder profiles judging myself hard. “This isn’t about the love of your life Golan, this is about meeting other world travelers and getting out of your comfort zone”. But didn’t I do that years ago when I sold all my belongings to go rogue?
YOU MATCHED*
He’s tall, buff and handsome. (Although I am one of the few women in this world that doesn’t actually go for super tall men). His jaw is so chiseled he could probably bite through cement and he had a chest like Henry Cavill. We make plans to meet in Playa as he kindly offers to ride his super cool batman inspired motorcycle down from Tulum. He’s going to come aaaaaaaalll the way from Tulum to Playa just to meet me?! I must be special, kids.
I like to keep it simple when meeting a Tinder date for the first time. A quick afternoon coffee or a post workout smoothie is how I roll. You know, in case the conversation sucks and they end up a catfish. But since he was coming from Tulum, which is a 2 or so hour drive, on his bike, I figured we could splurge on a casual dinner. What to wear, oh what to wear?
I hear a beautiful purring engine get closer and closer as he rocks up on his Batmobile to pick me up. No catfish here folks! He looks exactly like in his photos. Like I mean… EXACTLY. He wore the same T-shirt, the same scarf, the same jeans and even the same shoes. He gave me mad Tulum vibes with that oversized yet fitted, low cut you-can-tell-I-work-out T-shirt and even did his hair the exact way in the photos. I wasn’t mad about it. He was hot.
I hopped on the back of his bike, we picked a Jamaican Jerk chicken spot to snag some dinner and we get to chatting. “So what do you do for a living that allows you to live all over the world”? He casually asks. “I am the interim CMO for an exciting startup” I respond, thinking we’ll quickly change the subject to a more exciting topic like where in the world we like to base the most and what countries we plan to visit next. I understand we all want to know what we do for a living, but I left those conversations behind in the USA. He persists. “Marketing! Yeah I’m also in marketing. In fact I am a marketing expert”. I hhmmmmm and ahhh.
“So how many users does your on demand startup currently have?” I answer in between bites of jerk chicken. “And what kind of marketing budget are you spending monthly at the moment?” He cuts me off before I could finish. “And what is your cost per acquisition?” I almost choke at the detail. “Do you have a strategy for bringing the CPA down?”.
This chiseled, Czech Republican, Batmobile riding, Tulum hipster must be posing as a nomad. He must really be a Shark Tank investor. Because these questions were coming at me at a rapid rate. I suddenly felt like I needed to present him with financials or a business plan, but all I had was jerk chicken sauce on my fingers and a lot of dirty napkins.
I decide to entertain him. I button up my sundress and slick back my frizzy curly hair as I tell him about the game plan for the startup, my marketing strategy and where we stand with “acquiring new subscriptions”. I forgot we were in Playa and felt like we were instead, sitting in a very hot and sticky Flatiron District in NYC with a lot of Mexican accents.
Now I love a confident man, but let’s be clear. Cockyness..is a turn off. The one red flag I did see on his profile before meeting him was his self proclaimed “marketing visionary” title. You can’t call yourself a visionary! Someone else has to bestow that honorable title on you. After I begrudgingly rant about my startup stats, he begins to show off all his nonsensical marketing jargon, as if he thought this would turn me on. As if somehow, I gave him the impression that the way to my heart, or perhaps my pants, was a deep, long chat about fucking facebook ads.
I could not be more bored. I ask for the check.
I figure the marketing visionary himself can front the bill, except he went from Shark Tank investor straight back to Tulum hipster when he admitted he left his wallet at home. Strike number 2, Batman. Talk about a lady boner killer. Nothing more unsexy than having to cover the bill for a man who looks like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel (gone awfully wrong). At least he had a cool bike!
In hindsight, I have no idea why I allowed this, but we headed back to my place and went to chat more on the rooftop pool. I asked him about his travels, if Tulum was it or if he was going to see more of Mexico and if he speaks other languages. But for some god forsaken reason this man could not shut the fuck up about marketing!!! Instead of gazing into eachothers eyes under a starry Mexican sky, he begins a second round of investor style questions, sucking the romantic life force right out of me:
Do you know your numbers?
Are you seeking more investors?
Who are your main competitors?
Have you researched them enough?
That’s when I blew a fuse.
“We clearly have very different ideas on how a date works!” I shoot
“Are YOU an investor interested in my startup”? I ask in which he replies of course not.
“Can we then please change the subject? I feel like you’re grilling me!” We lock eyes. That’s when his expression changes to complete disappointment. As if I told him he’s ugly, fat and stupid. He looks off into the distance, I check the corner of his eyes for tears.
Jesus christ, is he going to cry because I don’t want to talk about marketing?
He gets up, straightens out his pants and shrugs his shoulders.
“I don’t think this is going to work” – he says.
“You clearly don’t know your numbers”. I nearly choke on my own breath.
“It just feels like you don’t know your stuff and that your business is too new” – he continues. Is he for real? I let him implode into himself. I was turned off one jerk chicken wing ago. This man not only doesn’t have a clue how a date is supposed to go, but doesn’t own a wallet. Or a change of clothes for that matter. “I think it’s best I just see myself out”. He walks up the stairs, makes a wrong turn and finds himself struggling to locate the exit.
That’s when I sit back, relax and let him struggle before finally showing him the fucking door.
A week later, this POS has the balls to send me a text message.
“Hey Sally! I got busy these past few days. But I’ve missed you. But not your business ideas because they are not ready to succeed (sorry I’m so honest) but you as a person…”
Don’t worry kids, I responded. Because I’m too much of a firecracker not to.
“Dear Tulum hipster,
I’m confused as to why you’re texting me as I’m pretty sure you said “goodbye” that night. Also, a date is a date. It is not a Shark Tank business meeting. It’s not a time to ask hard investor style questions about someone’s startup you know nothing about. Also, a startup is a startup. Usually startups are not ready to succeed hence them being startups. There is always a growth process to a business. I know because I ran 3 small companies of my own. Also you said ‘business ideas’ as if I pitched you multiple ideas or something. I don’t know what your intentions are but I don’t think this is worth it. So take care of yourself and your marketing visions.”
“I’ve been single for a while and I have to say. It’s going very well. Like… it’s working out. I think I’m the one.” — Emily Heller
