When I first started this Tinder challenge, I had this overwhelming desire to go on a date with a Wellington Hipster. Big life goals, I know and so hard to find in Wellington! Where would I even find one? Little Beer Quarter? Golding’s? Dukes Carvell?
Because I’m lazy and a massive loser, its unlikely you’ll ever catch me at Meow listening to some unknown band having a good time unless I was so drunk that I thought I was listening to Kanye West. This is said with some conviction because I a) have been so drunk at Meow that I thought I was at a Kanye West concert and b) have been semi-drunk and been to an actual Kanye West concert.
I’m trashy yes, but at least I admit it. I haven’t spent the last eight years with cleavage spilling out of my Lippy dress and wearing heels I can’t walk in from Wild Pair to suggest that I was anything out of the ordinary. I own like three black “2 for $30 cardigans” from Glassons for fucks sake.
Upon first impressions and close inspections, Date #13 was by all sense of the word: a Wellington hipster. They’re even more hipster if they deny it. He had dark hair, brooding eyes and a big fucking beard. Oh baby. I really feel like his Tinder photos need step-by-step analysis to ensure we’re all on the same page with what hipsters look like:
- 1st photo: Front angle, close up of his beard taking up 40% of the camera real estate. Nailed it.
- 2nd photo: Him wearing a denim shirt and a striped t-shirt taking a photo of the person taking his photo. Artistic… I think I get it?
- 3rd photo: Him and a friend wearing Fay-Bans all suited up with a few buttons off his shirt. Sultry.
- 4th photo: Him wearing a plaid shirt and blazer at a premiere of a New Zealand film. So cultured. I can’t even deal.
- 5th photo: Him against a Subaru Leagacy on the beach. Hipster on beach?
- 6th photo: (Seriously, can anyone even find six good photos of themselves? ) Him holding his surfboard, on a beach walking towards the camera. Hipster on surfboard?
There was something attractive about him that I couldn’t place at the time (I think its because he looks like a younger, hipster version of my Dad). He wasn’t my usual type of blonde hair, blue eyes and Dad-bods – he was tall, dark and handsome. I was borderline intimidated and didn’t want to make the first move because, like I said in my previous post, I can play a long game because I’m crazy and date 29 other people.
Then Date#13 uploaded a moment. Of him and his dog.
All attempts to have played it cool were immediately thrown out the window. I LOVE guys who have dogs, I literally can’t even deal. I used to pretend to get jealous when my dog’s baby daddy held his leash and girls would give him the eye. I’d jokingly say in a cute way, “I’m kidding” but really…
I felt like I had landed the Tinder jackpot by matching this babin’ hipster who had a small fluffy dog. I couldn’t wait until we moved in together, got married and our dogs became best friends. Even though I was freaking out, I tried to play it cool and talk dog:
Me: “Your dog?”
Date#13: “Yep. That’s my little man!”
Me:”My dog is the second one in photos.“
Date#13: “Cute. What breed is he/she? Name?”
Me: “Italian Greyhound Cross. Richie McPaw.“
Date #13: “That is amazing.“
We started going backwards and forwards on this chat for a wee bit talking dogs and it took five responses for Date #13 to suggest we get our dogs together. Such a cheap line, I fell for it, hard. It took two days for Date #13 to get my number and we vaguely aimed for a dog walk on our first free weekend together.
We met the following weekend, I’d immediately texted him after I was full of brunch with White Jay-Z. Date #13 was chilled and free after his shower, though he warned me he was feeling pretty shady, had gotten locked out of his flat the night before and lost his wallet. God, hipsters are so unorganised. I guess that settled who was whipping out their Westpac Debit Plus card to pay for the first date.
We organised to meet up on the waterfront near Te Papa. I had Richie and he had his little pooch too. It was a windy afternoon and I was pretty sure I was ill-dressed for the cloudy weather.
Date #13 was immediately recognisable. He even walked like a hipster and kind of scuffled his way towards me in a semi-smooth way, wearing flip-flops, camel-coloured pants and a plaid shirt. He was dressed part hipster crossed with an arborist armed with a tiny fluffy dog (he did warn me that he was from the Wairarapa).
The conversation was casual and free flowing from the get-go. He was friendly and either relaxed or incredibly hung-over. I was surprised there was even an injection of personality since his face was 50% beard but he was pretty animated with his eyes and had a strong brow game.
The conversation was kept pretty light as we got coffees. Richie was yet to hump his smaller new best friend and they happily co-existed walking together. Being the responsible dog-owner that I am, I usually don’t mind having to pick up faecal matter especially when it comes from a six kilo dog, but timing is everything. Richie held our little dog-squad up and I picked up his tiny poo with two fingers and walked 10 metres in the opposite direction to put it in a bin. When I returned, Date #13 politely pointed out that there was a bin right in front of us.
We sat down at Kaffee Eis and I was paying so much attention to his dog since he (the pup) was so chilled and we discussed dog-lyfe, the balance of parenting and having a social life. Date #13 had already done some travelling overseas in his early 20’s and we had a few connections through a marketing agency that we had both done some work through. Half-way through the coffee, I was already forgetting that this was the first time we had ever met since there was very little filter to our conversation.
The biggest, burliest man came over during our coffee and I (assuming because Richie is kind of a big deal) that he was wanting to pat my dog. But no, the big, burly man was wanting to pat the tiny dog. I literally couldn’t believe it and Date#13 was not bothered by the attention his dog was lapping up.
After about an hour the weather started to turn, it kind of stunted the date and I had to eventually get home to be taken out to dinner by a previous conquest. He suggested having a beer at Black Dog as it was dog friendly and I was having a great time with this Hipster.
This is when the conversation got deep. I admitted to him about my 30 Day Tinder challenge and he had the chilled out “you do you” attitude and didn’t seem to mind that I was going to write about him. This then escalated to a woman’s right to her own sexuality and doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He was clearly a feminist. He spoke about his love for his younger sisters and how annoying it was when guys walk past him and call his dog a ‘faggot dog’ since it’s not the dog who can respond. “He’s defenceless! He can’t stick up for himself!”. [ Edit: I found out six months later when I met some people who he used to live with and read this particular post, they enquired who his sisters were as they were under the impression he was an only child. Decided not to probe this any further as surely people don’t lie about having siblings and he had previously confirmed that they were only ‘half’ when I asked him. The mind boggles.]
Urgh, I was already crushing on Date#13 and dreading going on another date with a previous conquest in a few hours (Which I can comfortably say, since previous conquest has since deleted me on Facebook because I’ve been dating other guys and writing about it). I had this feeling though that because I was too casual and open about my Tinder situation, I felt like I had immediately got the dreaded friend-zone. I didn’t really mind all that much, it was too early in the game to get caught up in one guy. I guess though, that I just wanted to marry this feminist Hipster and have 10,000 of his babies. Or in other words, have sex with him.