You Should Stay Within Your League!
How being a six is the reason for not finding love
There is a massive number of reasons why I am on and off on dating apps. I am off at the moment, but I’m sure that when my disappointment fades I will be back. I chalk it up to hope. To quote Red from The Shawshank Redemption:
“Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”
I am kind of new to this, a year ago I had no idea about it all, never used Tinder or Happn or OkCupid, nothing. I was living blissfully, free from the horrors of the dating world of today. I felt it was somehow below me. And I was scared to put myself out with a couple of pictures and some phrases that allow others to judge me for and decide whether I’m good enough for them or not. I wanted love to happen without orchestrating it, naturally, just bumping into each other on the street, or in café, or at a meeting… looking into each others’ eyes and boom, in love. Well wake up, Alice, you are not in wonderland.
Then I lost my dating app virginity and signed up first for Tinder, and the rollercoaster started.
The thrill of swiping, matching, being complimented wears out quickly only to give room to the unsolicited sexual offers and disappointingly dull conversation starters or the soft rejection of someone unmatching me. It is spiked every now and then with the hope of finding someone interesting enough to exchange numbers and continue the conversation elsewhere. That leads to meeting for coffees and maybe for more (sometimes disappointing, sometimes not that much), or in other cases, it abruptly develops into receiving dick pics or being asked for nudes.
But sometimes conversations, both online and real life led to me getting dating advice from random guys — some tried to be genuinely helpful, others just plain stupid or rude.
While some make me laugh, there is one that makes me furious.
Men are ranking women from one to ten.
Below seven you have no chance to find anything.
This one happened in a real-life conversation. We met for a coffee that turned into drinks and staying out until 2 am, being a long heartfelt conversation about love and life. It all went nicely, and I liked him, he liked me. We laughed a lot, and the conversation was getting more and more intimate. He tried to impress me with stories and his fitness achievements (showing some half-naked pictures I could only hum and nod to). But it seems I wasn’t good enough for him after all.
At some point, he told me about his theory about men and women and especially how he ranks women (and all other men do the same, so he said). I heard it before but somehow the way he said it, was infuriating.
Men are ranking women from one to ten. Mainly based on the looks. They’d fuck everyone above four, strictly a hit and run kind of encounter. But below seven you have no chance to find anything more than that. You should stay within your league or stay single, he added.
I heard enough. I didn’t ask. He said it anyway, rated me to be a six. I had nothing to say to that. We spent 6 hours talking, and the place was closing when we left. I didn’t offer him to walk me home, so we both went home separately, never spoke again. Well, good riddance.
But it still made me exceptionally angry!
I refuse to be a number. Any number!
I don’t think I am a six. I don’t want to be a seven or eight or nine either. It’s not about being ranked lower than I’d prefer or where I‘d put myself. I am not a number! It reminds me of prisons and concentration camps, where you are degraded to be a number, stripped from all your layers, your dignity, your true self.
He said it is mainly about the looks. Well go figure, I am more than my looks. I am more than my personality. I am more than my kindness. I am more than my intelligence. I am everything I think, everything I do, every choice I make, every bruise I suffered, every moment that made me smile. I am the energy that I am radiating, and I am the strength that comes pouring from my pores. I am the sarcasm that can make you cringe or make you fall in love with me. I am the words that I use and the frowns that I make. I am put together from the learnings and sufferings of strings of events that are unique to me. I am not even one in a million. I am one in 7.5 billion.
Sure, the looks matter, but the preferences differ, the grades on the scale can range from one person to the other. Maybe Joe is into skinny girls (there are a lot of Joes out there) but Jim prefers more the curvy ones. Maybe Joe likes freckles, and Jim is into shining green eyes. What would a six look to them? And a nine?
I might be a six for Joe and a nine for Jim. Which one is my league then?
Are you immediately assuming that Joe is better looking than Jim (be honest, are you?) and this is the reason why Jim is into curvy girls? Is it a guarantee that Joe has a better sense of humor or a more contoured six-pack than Jim? Am I to stay in Joe’s idea of my league, where I am only a six? And should I settle for a hit and run — as clearly this is all I can get? Or should I look and wait for a Jim, no matter what? Or settle for a Jim no matter what he looks like, just because he is in my league?
Surely the media distorted the preferences of men about what beauty means, but did it change the preferences completely? Did the beauty standards’ existence render chemistry useless? Do we really believe that freckles cannot be sexy and a little bit crooked mouth cannot crack an amazingly beautiful smile? That an asymmetrical face cannot be more attractive than a symmetrical one to some?
Did the media also destroy the ability of men to look beyond a pretty face or a hot body? Did it take away all their rational decisions to still appreciate fundamental values, a sense of humor or outstanding intelligence? Did they all become shallow beings, driven solely by instinct? I don’t think so.
I am not staying within my league! Because I have no idea what my league is. And I don’t even intend to find it out. Ranking someone this way is a clear sign of immaturity and trophy hunting. I am not a trophy, I am not here for your entertainment, and I don’t care if I am ranked two, six or nine by a complete stranger.
Get to know me. Appreciate me for who I am. Find my beauty and fall in love with it.
And if I can do the same, then we are a fit regardless of our respective leagues.
Thank you for reading.
