Lately, when I meet a new man, I’m making an effort to smile more, joke more, and leave the sarcasm out of it. Apparently, my face and my sense of humor may have been sending a joint statement. Neither consulted me first.
I’m 37, and men approaching me with romantic interest has never been a regular feature of my adult life. Usually, I’m the one who starts things. Even then, it often goes nowhere. I don’t mind showing interest, but I would quite like to experience the other side of the arrangement occasionally.
On paper, I think I have a fair amount going for me. I’m educated, financially independent, artistic, and fit. I also think I’m reasonably attractive, an assessment for which I do have some supporting evidence. This isn’t a demand for a boyfriend in recognition of services rendered. It’s why I’m puzzled: I don’t feel that my life or my appearance explains why so little seems to happen.
There are, however, a few things that might make the entrance difficult to find. I’m tall. My resting expression is not exactly a welcome committee. I can be very direct, and my general demeanor sometimes leans gloomy. From inside my head, I may simply be existing. From outside it, I suspect I can look as though I’ve already considered an offer and declined.
That is my theory, anyway. I don’t know what any particular man is thinking, and I can’t attribute every missed approach to my height or my face. But those are the things I notice about how I might come across, so they’re where I’ve started making changes.
I’ve been trying to be more agreeable in conversations with new men and more careful about negative humor. A comment that feels dry and funny to me could sound judgmental to someone who doesn’t know me. I’d rather not have a possible flirtation end over a joke whose chief accomplishment was requiring an explanation.
The awkward part is working out how much adjustment still feels like me. Smiling because I’m enjoying someone is one thing. Monitoring every expression and sentence for potential romantic damage sounds like a second occupation. I’m already financially independent; I wasn’t hoping to acquire unpaid work.
There’s another mismatch I’d love to clear up. A man’s looks genuinely aren’t very high on my list. Being shorter than me or carrying a little extra weight would not automatically rule him out. I worry that my appearance or manner might suggest a much stricter admissions policy than the one I actually have. I can be interested without requiring him to resemble a taller, leaner version of himself.
I want to make that openness easier to see without coming across as desperate, or agreeing with everything just to prove I’m pleasant. For now, I’m putting more warmth into those early conversations. The sarcasm is getting less airtime. I’m still the tall woman in the conversation, hoping the man opposite me understands that he’s allowed to flirt.
