Picky Eaters

Confronting my own ageism

My first post on Substack was in keeping with my usual Ready-Fire-Aim approach to new things; I had no idea what I was doing. Come to think of it, this is mostly my approach to dating, kind of winging it then hoping people will be amused by my writing about how I biffed it.

That said, I’ve taken a little time to update the masthead and give it a more polished look, which includes more visuals because, like my once 8-year-old said, “I’m never going to read anything without pictures, Mom.”

Now, here’s what’s on my mind this week:

I got a text the other day from a man cancelling our third date because he “just can’t get over the age thing.” We were the same age online, though I’d confessed on our first date I was actually five years older. The universal reaction I get when telling people my real age is disbelief, so I don’t feel too guilty about my dating app duplicity. When you grow up in the Pacific Northwest, rain and cloud cover naturally slows the formation of wrinkles. Add a little Botox and keep them guessing.

After my confession I said, “Here’s the thing. Men in their 50’s want to date women in their 40’s. I just want the interview.”

He didn’t disagree, although being a 6’2” white guy, he could hardly see the point in lying when doors had always just opened for him. I went on, “Men lie about their height all the time. They also want to prove their appeal has nothing to do with objective measurements.” I thought my argument was sound.

“Most of the women I know want to date older men,” he said.

“Maybe something to do with economic security?” I said.

“No, two of them made way more than I do,” he said. He had a pretty good job, so I was impressed.

“Who knows then. Daddy issues?” I wondered if his relative youth was going to wear on me.

This was the first time I’ve been dismissed by a potential romantic interest because of my age. We had even gone mountain biking and I mostly kept up with him. I’m not taking it too poorly because I wasn’t sure I wanted to date him. He ridiculed his former girlfriend (red flag alert!) and plays video games in his spare time. I already live with a teenage boy.

I could rail against the idiocy of men refusing to date women their own age. But I figure that kind of prejudice is no worse than my refusal to date a golfer. Those choices define our values. I admit, I also want to date younger men so I’m finding myself challenging. Yet the more I talk to my friends who are still dating, the more I recognize we are all operating with our questionable biases at the point we’re about to deep dive into undeniable old age and the reasons we might want to be with younger people might bite us in the ass.

Several years ago I asked an older man I was seeing why he only dated younger women. “My wife went off me sexually when she hit menopause. I want to be with someone who likes sex.” I could have asked him if there were reasons other than menopause that his wife might have stopped having sex with him. But I was drinking his wine and he was cooking for me.

“Would you really have a relationship with someone much younger?” I asked.

“Relationship, probably not. Fuck? Definitely.” I love it when men are mortifyingly honest.

My current reasons for not wanting to date older men has a lot to do with them having launched their kids while mine is still using acne cream and a year away from getting his driver’s license. We are at different life phases. They want their (lord have mercy) “partner in crime” for retirement adventures while I want someone who hugs me when I have a meltdown over how long a teen can exist in a dark room without suffering from a serious Vitamin D deficiency. That and I want to keep working for at least another decade.

Then this Modern Love piece “He Wanted to Date Younger Women” was published and I got all excited it would upend the age gap trope. But her love interest was six years her senior. The writer’s point seemed to be that despite her being “old” and wrinkled, a man could adore. Well, ok, but would a younger man adore her?

Last summer I had an ideal friends-with-benefits situation. He was three years younger, and we could talk for hours while we recreated. He volunteered with Hospice and attended to his elderly neighbors. He met my values criteria and our kids were the same age. It ended because he kept bonking his younger ex-wife. I had listened for hours to his stories of how she didn’t like doing the things he most enjoyed, things I’d been doing with him. During one of our last conversations, I literally threw my hands in the air and moaned, “If sex were off the table, how long would you stick around before you went insane again?!” He refused to answer.

When dating apps ask us what age and height range we want to filter for, we discount the qualities that might matter most, mine being: Has this person responsibly and lovingly raised kids and where are they in the process? Do some of their interests project into a future of infirmity? How important are their friends and community commitments? Can he hike all day without complaint?

But I had a little epiphany during that conversation which has become my new, I’m-nearly-sixty-mantra. If sex were off the table, would I still want to be with this person?

I know, you’re putting your fingers in your ears and shouting Sex will never be off the table! I agree with you. I’m just saying, hey, if it were, what values do you want to be sharing with the person you’re not having sex with? Ask me again in twenty years.

I’m changing my dating app settings to five years over and under my real age. Maybe six. I’ll walk the damn walk. But he’d better be able to keep up with me.

Love, Karin