Frankie Dale explores the topics of love, relationships, and the self as seen in her past dating column, "To Be Frank", featured in Salient Magazine.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve never known how to play it ‘cool’. When I was 10, I professed my undying love for a family friend: I told him I wanted his babies and that we should start looking at wedding venues. His lack of reciprocation made future family gatherings pretty awkward.
Now, in my so-called adult life, my 10-year-old impulsive self remains largely intact. Even when I know sending a risqué text that will have me questioning my will to exist by morning, I still hit send. I justify it by pretending I’m in a 2000s rom-com – there’s no real consequence if I indulge these behaviors with a strong cosmopolitan, a Prozac prescription and some kitten heels to hide my increasingly worsening athlete’s foot acquired from an ex. Essentially, I’m Kate Hudson in 2003, right?
These days, I try not to overthink my cringe tendencies – because 75% of the time, it pays off (if you count pay off as menial sex and relationships with Virgo men). The other 25% does leave me wondering: am I good at being forward… or am I just bad at flirting?
In more recent years, what began with the promise of a bountiful friendship quickly unravelled into a bad 2000s comedy where, spoiler, I’m the punchline. At first, we clicked. He was funny in a way that he seemed oblivious too. But a week after we hooked up, something shifted. Or maybe I did?
He started replying less, and with replies that were reminiscent of messages that I’ve sent when I’ve been viscerally repulsed: “ha-ha nice!”. Suspecting he wasn’t into me, my ego overcompensated and suddenly I was acting unhinged. My logic: “Might as well lay all my cards on the table”. Girl, your hand is tragic. Real players know when to fold.
Whenever I saw him in person, I’d make a fool of myself – like asking him to come home with me after we’d made accidental eye contact once the entire night. I sealed my fate by going all in, aware I had nothing to bet on.
One night, I tagged along to a bar with him and a few friends (read: invited myself). He actively avoided me, so eventually I decided to leave to meet up with other friends – but when I said goodbye, he mentioned linking up later. Maybe my hand wasn’t so munted after all?
The friend I met up with reminded me not to forget who I am – being forward is my thing. So I messaged the guy who clearly hated me to see if he wanted to link up and shockingly, he said he was keen. After hours of radio silence, my friend and I followed up with, “helllooo! I just want to fuck!” He didn’t reply until 5pm the next day and by then, I knew the game was over. (No I didn’t.)
Turns out, it’s not about the cards you’re dealt – it’s knowing when to stop playing before you lose it all; specifically your dignity.
READ MORE ON DATING:
When it comes to dating, why are we so scared to let our feelings grow?
The ins and outs of sex and dating
After a few days of a chill identity crisis, I decided there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d just let the game of it all get the better of me. Sure, maybe in the process I’d developed a completely new personality with no shame – but at my core, I was just being myself.
The truth is, I wasn’t in love with him. I was fond of him – he claimed to watch Gossip Girl on long-haul flights (hot). But I didn’t know where I stood, so I did what I always do: laid all my cards out. It did make me think: was he good at flirting because he was passive? Is that what it takes? Or did it just feel like I was bad at flirting because he wasn’t into me?
For argument’s sake, I hooked up with another guy — someone who somehow struck that near-impossible balance of being both forward and charming without ever crossing into creepy territory (something I, personally, am still working on). Not to mention, he’s a Cancer (a kind soul) and seemed genuinely invested in whether I lived or died. Naturally, I needed to see where this could go.
I could’ve asked to see his deck, but I didn’t need to; we were on the same wavelength. Sure, there were moments where I might’ve pushed things a little far, but he always matched it with an even ballsier joke (i.e. “I’m looking for someone to practice finding the G-spot on.”)
It’s a nice feeling, knowing that if I text him asking to grab a beer, he’ll say yes, instead of smashing his phone with an axe in hopes that he’ll never hear from me again. Because we were both honest and forward, future communication was easy. He knew I wasn’t trying to trick him into rearing our unborn children — I just liked him.
Maybe we’re all bad at flirting when the other person simply isn’t into us. When the vibe is right, even your cringiest moves can come off as endearing. If being ‘good’ at flirting is a mix of being forward, not creepy, and occasionally being into someone who’s actually into you, then maybe I’m not a total disaster after all.
In the end, it’s not about playing it cool — it’s about finding someone who appreciates your uncool. Like my current partner, who puts up with a nighttime routine that involves three-year-old earplugs and whale sounds. Go fish 😉
