Opinion - I am that kind of girl

Two weeks ago, my evening agenda was stacked pretty tight. I had to do two Lust List interviews for Creative Loafing and go on two Tinder dates for my ... self. The sole reason I was meeting any of these dudes was because they were conventionally attractive and interesting enough to warrant pause. It’s just that half of them came from my editor and half came from a hasty scroll through a five-mile radius.

It’s good to arrive for interviews briefed on your subject. That’s just basic journalism, folks. You springboard the Q&A off research — bits from past interviews, profiles, perhaps a collection of semi-remarkable tweets. The bulk of your story, though, is the one they tell you IRL. The scoop you don’t or can’t get from opening a bajillion tabs.

Now, in Our Modern World, more and more dates are being made via text or third-party messaging services between two people who only know a digital snapshot of each other. It’s a little mysterious, really. As an online-dating novice but a grizzled reporter, well, I did my research for those Tinder dates. Nothing, like, past the first page of Google results, but some cursory stuff, sure.

Although both the Lust List subjects and my Tinder dates suspected or knew I’d done a little legwork before our first meetings, it didn’t feel kosher to broach this topic in any of the situations. I asked Lust Lister Sharif all about Lusca, the place I knew he worked because it’s on the Internet and it was my job to know that. Two nights later, in a strange coincidence, I sat across a table at Lusca with Tinder Dude No. 1, feigning surprise as he revealed an upper-arm tattoo I already knew about because, duh, Instagram. (It wasn’t that far back, promise!) At one point with TDN1, though, I came clean. “Yeah,” I said between the second and third round. “So what? I Googled you.” I was curious what mutual friends we had and what kind of conclusions I could draw from that. Maybe I could form an idea of what to expect. Also, I assumed everyone does a tiny bit of investigating before the first date. When I elbowed TDN1, teasing that surely he did the same, his face warped as if I’d insulted him. “No!” he said. “That’s creepy. I wouldn’t stalk you.”

Whoa, dude.

Is it stalking when it’s readily available information on the Internet? Any prospective or current employer could and will find your unlocked social media accounts. Google Image is fair game. Actual online “stalking” exists, and it’s not cool to joke about, as it is a serious danger. Many, perhaps jokingly, use the word to describe using social media for its intended purpose. The word stalking suggests desperation and intended malice. That is so far off base.

I had drinks with a friend after my maddening week of interviewing attractive people. He asked about the Tinder guys. That’s when I thought to ask him the same thing I asked TDN1: “Do you look up people before the first date?”

“Nope,” he said, at least not obviously lying. I asked why not. I really didn’t see the harm in at least seeing if someone you might eventually see naked is also active on Twitter (bonus points if they are not). “I don’t like to enter the bar with a set of expectations,” he said. He had a point.

Tinder Dude No. 2 yielded some impressive, and thus terrifying, research results. He was highly decorated and published in his specialized field. He was well versed in a lot of cool stuff such as wine, metal, proper use of the em dash. He also appeared criminally good-looking in every photo. Too quickly, I formed An Idea of what this person would be like. I became excruciatingly nervous.

On the Internet, we are granted the huge, kind opportunity to sculpt ourselves any way we want (or think we want, at least). We know the right angles, photographically and philosophically. We create a presentation, often unknowingly. And from that presentation, strangers see An Idea rather than A Person. Ideas don’t have faults — no first date anxiety, no cigarette burns in their cars, no indecision over which shirt to select from the merch table. An Idea is A Person in soft focus.

A friend drove me to the Masquerade for my date with TDN2. I pled for a ride back to my car. She wouldn’t oblige, so I emerged, knees shaking like a newborn antelope. There, I met A Person. A really cool person. Something I suspected based on My Idea, but he had more sharply defined edges than I could have predicted.

TDN1 had the beginning of a point. Although, I don’t find research creepy or akin to “actual stalking,” I’m beginning to understand and respect the surrender of going into a first date blind. Even though we have amazing, easily accessible resources to dive deeper, maybe we shouldn’t. That’s when A Person turns into An Idea, and we set ourselves up for disappointment. Ideas carry a lot of pressure to dazzle, to live up to the expectations that, surely, no real human could fulfill. That isn’t really fair.

(There were no second dates.)

Beca Grimm is a freelance writer who just moved to Atlanta in August, so she’s still trying to sort all the different Peachtrees. If you see her confused in traffic, please forgive her. She is also no longer on Tinder.