I downloaded a dating app for the first time at an age where your knees sometimes make a noise when you stand up too fast. Not loudly. Just enough to remind you that you’re no longer in your “I met him at a bar and we kissed next to a coat rack” era.
Although, to be fair, been there. Bar, x years of relationship, checked.
Because when things start organically like that, you lower your guard faster. You surrender to the flow of it. You’re less anxious, less paranoid, more willing to just… go with it. And sometimes, what quietly costs you years isn’t even allowed to be called a mistake anymore. It’s an experience.
Which is very comforting….
Nothing is ever a bad decision. Nothing is wasted. You didn’t ignore red flags, you GREW. You didn’t stay too long, you LEARNED. We’re all just spiritually evolving, collecting life lessons like overpriced souvenirs.
And sure. Fine. An experience.
But also, can everything not be immediately rebranded into personal growth JUST for five minutes?
Some things are just bad. Some things are just a waste of time. Some things are just you sitting there thinking, ‘why did I tolerate this?’
It’s exhausting, this relentless optimism. The constant reframing. The need to turn every minor emotional disaster into a TED Talk.
Just… pause.
Let it be a bad decision. Let it be annoying. Let it be a little humiliating.
Let us at least experience what actually happened to us, for fuck’s sake.
And maybe that’s exactly why I don’t trust anything that feels too easy anymore.
Now it’s more like: I met him on an app and we discussed our attachment styles and workout routines over herbal tea.
Let me start with a disclaimer: this is not a critique. I mean, it is but, gently. Like when your mom says, “I’m not judging, I’m just observing,” right before absolutely judging you.
I am a Turkish woman trying to date in the Netherlands. Which, culturally speaking, sometimes feels like I accidentally signed up for an exchange program in emotional minimalism.
Dutch men are kind. They are polite. They are… deeply reasonable. Almost aggressively reasonable. Which sounds great until you realize that romance, by its very nature, is a little unreasonable. Love is not a well-organized calendar invite. It’s not “Shall we pencil in feelings for Thursday at 19:30?”
And yet here I am.
The biggest cultural gap isn’t language. My English is fine. Their English is perfect. The problem is… subtext. Or rather, the lack of it. I come from a place where what is not said is often the entire conversation. Here, everything is said. Clearly. Directly. Efficiently. Like IKEA instructions for emotions.
“Had a nice time. Don’t feel a romantic connection.”
Clean. Simple. Devastating.
Back home, that same sentence would take approximately three business days and involve at least one metaphor about the sea.
But here’s where it gets interesting: I don’t think the difficulty is about them. Or even about culture. I think the difficulty is about me refusing to become someone who loves less… just to make things easier.
Because I love love. I really do. I complain about men the way people complain about weather, constantly, dramatically, and yet I still go outside every day.
I say things like “I’m done with dating” the same way I say “I’m done with wine.” It’s simply not a sustainable position.
So I’ve decided to approach this like a social experiment.
Not in a creepy, “let me gather data on your childhood trauma” way. Relax. I’m not sending post-date Google Forms (yet). But I am paying attention. Patterns. Reactions. The subtle moment when a conversation shifts from curiosity to polite disengagement.
Because here’s the thing: no one is going to send you an essay explaining why they didn’t choose you. And honestly, would we even want that? Imagine opening your inbox to:
“Dear Candidate,
After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that while your emotional depth is impressive, it exceeds the current bandwidth of this position.”
After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that while your emotional depth is impressive, it exceeds the current bandwidth of this position.”
No, thank you.
But, Still… I am very curious.
Also, selectively delusional.
Because despite everything, I remain a deeply committed romantic. The kind that believes not only in love, but in good love. The kind that is warm and generous and a little bit unhinged in the best way.
And I am, objectively, very good at loving. This is not arrogance it’s peer reviewed and confirmed. Even my most emotionally destabilized exes would agree. Results may vary. Stability not guaranteed.
Which brings me to my favorite modern dating phrase: “I want something real. No games.”
Ah yes. The people who say they hate games are almost always playing 4D chess with your nervous system.
“I just want something simple,” he says, while taking three to five business days to reply.
“I’m very straightforward,” he adds, right before sending the most emotionally ambiguous message you’ve read since your last therapy session.
Meanwhile, I’m there, fully aware of what’s happening, thinking:
”Hi. I like you. This seems promising. Are we exploring this, or are we pretending we’re not?”
”Hi. I like you. This seems promising. Are we exploring this, or are we pretending we’re not?”
And maybe that’s the real issue. Not culture. Not language. Just… pace.
I feel things quickly. Not recklessly, just openly. And in a world that values emotional moderation, that can come off as intensity.
But I refuse to treat sincerity like a design flaw.
So yes, I will continue going on dates. Some will be lovely. Some will be so awkward they deserve their own podcast episode. I will laugh. I will overthink. I will absolutely text my friends things like, “he was kind, clear, respectful… and somehow still nothing???”
But not indefinitely.
Because here’s the part I’m adjusting: this was new for me. I tried it. I observed. I can’t say I’m impressed.
So I’m not fully opting out, but I’m also not particularly invested. The dates I do go on from here on out will mostly fall under the category of… social experiment.
And unlike Carrie Bradshaw, who turned her dating life and relationships into weekly columns, collected “data,” and then rewarded herself with a $4,000 Fendi Baguette.. I will not be monetizing my emotional confusion.
There is no editorial deadline.
There is no designer bag.
There is no designer bag.
At best, there is:
“You survived that date. Here is a glass of wine.”
“You survived that date. Here is a glass of wine.”
And honestly? That feels proportionate.
So yes, I show up but not endlessly, not at the cost of my own sanity. I show up when I feel like it. I step back when I don’t.
Because continuing to try is one thing.
Forcing it is another.
Forcing it is another.
And I’m not interested in forcing anything, especially not connection.
If it happens, it happens. If I meet someone who doesn’t find me “too much” but instead just… enough in the exact right way, great.
I’ll just be the slightly unhinged, Europe-based aunt with a cat to my four nieces, someone they both admire and quietly question.
And honestly?
It’s pretty strong and good ending.