JUST WINGING IT: ONE GIRL’S SEARCH TO ANSWER THE QUESTION, “WHERE ARE ALL THE GOOD MEN IN NYC?”

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Favim.com

Alright, Wingman faithful, I have a confession.

Even though I’ve been writing relationship content on this site for nearly two years, I’ve typically shied away from putting my own dating specifics directly in the spotlight. Sure, I mine my life, my conversations and my friends’/readers’ dating stories for inspiration, but I never threw the shutters open to expose the sordid details of who I’m dating and how it’s all playing out. Partly to preserve the privacy of past boyfriends, and partly to avoid sabotaging my own romantic prospects. I may be brave enough to write about sex even though my parents are reading, but I’m not crazy.

But that all changes starting today. In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m in my thirties and just got out of a relationship. It’s for the best, trust me, but that doesn’t make it any easier to acclimate. So what’s a recently single relationship blogger back on the market to do? Why throw herself at the mercy of her audience and allow them a portal into her dating life AND a chance to sit in the driver’s seat, of course.

That’s right, this content will be interactive. But I’ll come back to that later.

So why am I doing this? Because I hate that I know so many smart, beautiful, amazing women in NYC who are unattached. And yes, though some of it is by choice, many of them have essentially been priced out of the market by an ever-soaring standard of male expectations.

I need only look around a recent Barre Method class to illustrate my point. It was brimming with fit and seemingly successful women who were literally killing themselves to maintain a standard that yes, may be just for them, but also might be an attempt at keeping up with the (Bridget) Jones’ in this city. We’re killing ourselves to stay competitive, to remain optimistic and yet not do ourselves the disservice of lowering the bar. And we’re drowning ourselves in cocktails with our girlfriends while we figure it all out.

If I had $1 for every time I’ve been told, “I know a guy who would be perfect for you…if only he could stop being a dumbass and be a boyfriend,” I wouldn’t have to write this blog. Or at least, I could afford to shop in the expensive cheese aisle at Whole Foods. Whatever.

Back to my point. It’s like men here figure, “Why hang onto that 8.5 when there’s the possibility of a 9.5 just around the corner?” Or settle down at all! Not when the shelf life of the Metropolitan ManBoy doesn’t begin to spoil until at least their late thirties. The Peter Pan Syndrome isn’t new to the New York lexicon, but that doesn’t make it any less disappointing.

peterpan

So I implore you, gentlemen – and specifically men of NYC – prove me wrong. Show me that there’re guys out there who are smart enough to know a good thing when they see it, and are willing to set down all of the other BS while they get to the bottom of it. Or at least, come along with me during my process of elimination – it’s sure to be a fun ride.

I’m hopeful that such a dude exists. The question right now, however, is where to find him?

Actually, there are lots of questions. So let’s start with the basic parameters of the Holy-shit-remind-me-why-I’m-doing-this-again Miss Wingman Good Man Experiment, shall we?

First things first: What defines a good man? For the purposes of this experiment, it’s a man who’s charming, outgoing, intellectually driven, mature (but doesn’t take himself too seriously), reliable, witty, committed and who – for lack of a more elegant way to put it – has his shit together.

How does one go about finding him? The fuck if I know! Amirite ladies? But I’ll be comparing all of the different ways a woman dating in New York may stumble upon her game changer: through mutual friends, sites like Match.com, dating apps like Tinder, coworkers, and good old fashioned happenstance. Read: encounters in the grocery store, coffee shops, the gym, bars – even on the F train. And yes, that actually happened to me.

Are the guys going to know they’re part of this experiment? Initially no. Not on the first date, at least. I’ll tell them I’m freelance journalist, which is true. However, if we hit it off or if I think there’s potential there, on the second date I’ll disclose that I’m a relationship writer, and that any men in my life are fair game for content. That should go over well.

How will they be evaluated? Think player stats, like Fantasy Football for dating. They’ll also be rated on Wingman scale of 1 to 5, with truly outstanding bros receiving five Web‘s.

How is it interactive? In this Choose Your Adventure: Dating Edition, readers will be helping me decide who to set up dates with or chat up based off of biographical information. And yes, names will be changed to protect the innocent (I’m not that much of a dick.) I’ll also let you help me decide which of my photos to post, or what to say in my profile. It’ll kind of be like Romantic Mad Libs, only instead of your little brother filling in the blanks with scribbles, you can fill them in with potentially awkward suggestions for me. Yayyyy.

Is anything off limits? I reserve the right to omit someone with whom I’d like to preserve a potential friendship (or with whom our lives are too intertwined), in the interest of not committing social suicide. I’ll still be a mostly-open book though, promise.

Can the guys be from outside NYC? All five boroughs, Long Island and especially-close areas of CT and NJ are fair game, since I’m considering them to be in the “Greater NYC area.” Congratulations on becoming newly relevant to me, Jersey. Let’s hope your male talent is more impressive than your professional sports teams.

Will Miss Wingman still be posting other, unrelated content? You bet. It was just high time that my female readership got in on the action, too.

So that’s it, amigos. Yes, the revolution will be televised (figuratively, at least), but if you don’t want to miss out on any of it, subscribe to Miss Wingman or follow along on Twitter. Consider this me kicking the door to my life wide open (yikes), inviting the crazy in (hopefully not), and setting out the welcome mat (God help me) in search of good men in New York.

Until then, if anyone needs me, I’ll be just winging it.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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