Let it never be said that Miss Wingman doesn’t favor a democracy. I’ve gotten a flurry of feedback on my current Match.com profile, and it’s been (mostly) constructive. Here’re some of your suggestions…

The bulk of the feedback involved changing out my profile photo for one that’s cropped more cleanly, or as one of you phrased it, “that doesn’t appear to have a metallic dong above your left shoulder.” Um, ok… This is where Miss Wingman wishes she had some Photoshop-savvy editorial assistants in her employ, but point taken.

Other photo-related comments included:

“Perhaps post an action shot of you doing an activity that you love, or cheering on your favorite team at a game or at a bar (since you love sports), OR just go totally casual and have a friend take a picture of you as you’re seated across from them at a nice restaurant…it’ll allow your possible matches to picture themselves sitting across from you. Ok, I’ll shut up now.”

*Miss Wingman note: No need to shut up, kids. Door’s open for any an all opinions. Though I’ll have to work on finding photos that fit the candlelit dinner suggestion. Pics watching a game can be arranged. Do you think the men of Match will find a shot of me smack talking Broncos fans with wing sauce on my face off-putting? Because that’s what this weekend looked like…

As for my profile text, the masses wanted me to know:

“As a dude, this one is a bit intimidating: ‘I don’t like anything as much as I love my family.’ It might be better say it like this: ‘I’m very close with my family and they are one of the most important things in my life.’ It’ll give your possible matches the idea that you have plenty of room in your heart for them, versus just for your family. Not hatin’…just saying.”

Good notion. I’ll find a way to rephrase.

“You are a very positive/optimistic person. That is a fantastic and unique quality as there are so many ‘Negative Nellies’ out there… Maybe make a statement regarding your eternal optimism? It’s a quality that you can’t leave out.” Thank you, and good point. Even though Miss Wingman is fluent in sarcasm, I consider myself to be a glass half full person. And sarcasm is often confused for cynicism, I’m afraid.

“The line ‘I live by the mantra: Don’t listen to anything they say, just pay attention to what they do,’ is SO true but a guy may just read ‘She doesn’t listen’. Possibly use the cliche ‘Actions speak louder than words’ or something along those lines, to make your meaning clearer… just a suggestion.” Got it, cliches all the way. Check.

“Eliminate the subway comment, makes you sound like a judger and nobody likes a judger.” Normally I’d 100% agree with this statement, nobody likes a Judgey McJudgerson. However, since this comment came from a friend who lives outside of NYC, he failed to realize that it’s not judgmental so much as it’s just GODDAMN GOOD SENSE. And reflective of basic standards of decency and hygiene.

Being repulsed by people who eat on the subway can and should be used as a litmus test for people’s sanity. I’m sorry, but that line might have to stay.

And finally, the one that was asked by more than one male reader: “You didn’t say what you’re looking for in a man. Seriously, what is your type?” So in an effort to fill in the blanks on what guy falls into my wheelhouse, I’m offering this insight…

My type of guy is humble. He rarely makes himself the center of attention, but he can carry an intriguing conversation and charm the hell out of people when he deems it appropriate. He’s ambitious and has his act together, but not so focused on the trappings of success that he forgets to have compassion for his fellow man. A kind heart is as important to me as a fulfilling career and an eduction.

And speaking of which, I have to be intellectually challenged. I’m not hell-bent on my mate being smarter than I am, but I gravitate towards people who force me to see the world from a different perspective, teach me things I don’t know, or nudge me outside of my comfort zone.

My type of guy is loyal. Let me repeat that one: he’s loyal. Both to me and to his family, which needs to be a strong priority in his life. Loyalty may be a lost art, but there’s little doubt the person I end up with will have it in spades. And maybe this is where I lose some of you, but having some sort of faith-based belief system is important to me. I’m fairly religious, and though I don’t care whether my mate is of the same background, I do care that he has a sense of perspective and leans on something larger than himself. No skeptics, please.

My type is unafraid. He’s enough of a man to speak his mind, inconvenience himself for something or someone he deems worthy, and will fight to keep things of value in his life. I have no time for cowards, weaklings, pushovers, or for those who misrepresent themselves.

My type makes me laugh (though not all of my exes have fit that bill), keeps his promises (no flakey boys, please), likes sports, loves to be active, and will always seize the opportunity to just get in the car and drive. He values time spent away from a significant other doing his own thing, but fundamentally believes that things are more fun with me around. It helps if he’s a night owl, at least somewhat of a smartass, and doesn’t mind leaving my parents’ house in a full-on food coma from time to time.

Superficially, my type has been my age or a few years older – he should feel like a peer, not an old man. Nor a project, either. Dudes requiring mothering need not apply. He’s generally clean cut and preppy. Not, like, Nantucket Reds preppy, but well put-together with a discerning sense of his own style. Height runs the gamut (Miss Wingman has dated guys 5’9″ to 6’6″), but his body should mirror my own belief in physical appearance – that being strong, fit and toned is something to pride oneself on, but not to obsess over.

I’ve dated financiers, Green Berets (OK, only one of those, but one was enough), engineers, architects, musicians, and been equally fascinated by dudes in bespoke suits as by ones in head to toe tattoos. I more concerned about the qualities the man possesses than by the package in which it comes. But strong physical chemistry is essential.

So that’s it, my kickass readers. My man in a not-so-brief nutshell – hope that answered your question. Below are two alternative profile photo options. Comment on which you prefer to help me choose. Unless, that is, you’re as sick at looking at my face as I am these days. Seriously, why am I doing this again? Until next time, as usual, I’ll be just winging it.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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It’s that time, Wingman faithful. Your chance to turn the tables on me and make the advisor the advisee. See? All those quips about man jewelry and wearing bad shoes are about to come back and bite me in the ass. Somewhere, scorned dudes everywhere are lining up to give their two cents.

Be nice, y’all.

So below you’ll find the “About Me” section of my Match.com profile. I found it unexpectedly stressful to sum up who I am for the male online dating population at large. Way more difficult than writing my editorial bio for Miss Wingman…or my grad school thesis, for that matter.

Let me know what you think. Do I sound normal? Overly dude-like? Sarcastic? I consider that last one a compliment, by the way. Also this is my profile photo that appears with the accompanying text.

There’re other photos, too, but they’re all similarly framed – from the waist up. I realize that not having full length shots may make people wonder if I’m a size 2 up top and a 12 on the bottom – or if I have, like, a wooden leg or something – but this chick doesn’t take many head-to-toe pics. Not without other people in them, at least.


Don’t forget to keep it right here for more of Miss Wingman’s Good Man Experiment, aka “Where Are All The Good Men In NYC?” so that you can play along at home with my version of Choose Your Adventure: Dating edition. Sigh.

Until then, as per usual, I’ll be Just Winging It.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Profile name: WRITERCHICK**** (digits omitted)

Headline: “Headlines are way too much pressure.”

The first rule of being on a dating website is don’t talk about being on a dating website in your profile…or maybe that was Fight Club.

Nothing I write here could adequately describe who I am (ironic, since I write for a living), but here’s a stab at the Cliffs Notes version of me:

-I fall asleep most nights to SportsCenter.
-I have an unnatural addiction to Fresh and Co salads and guacamole.
-People who eat on the subway repulse me.
-I’ve interviewed most of my musical idols.
-I don’t like anything as much as I love my family.
-My knowledge of pop culture borders on embarrassing.
-I find my zen through a heavy bag or running shoes.
-I wanted to be a Huxtable growing up.
-Getting my Masters in Journalism was the best decision I ever made. Hoya Saxa!
-I live by the mantra, “Don’t listen to anything they say, just pay attention to what they do.”
-Hearing my nephews’ feet bounding down the hall and them exclaiming my name as they run to answer the door is my favorite sound of all time.
-I will probably never give up cheese, carbs or scotch. And I’m OK with that.
-People who make me laugh have a leg up on the rest.

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Whilst perusing the never-ending dude army that is Match and Tinder, Miss Wingman recently found this dude. Yeah. 

And though sadly, no, my type does not involve abs that look like your diet consists of 50% tuna, 50% Met-Rx, 0% carbs (seriously, bro?), I felt the need to share this with you. Why? Because this is the type of thing we’re dealing with here, kids.

Even more ridiculous than the married guys with profiles who give zero fucks about unabashedly showing their wedding rings in photos are dudes like the above male.

And the only acceptable comment on him comes courtesy of my tot nephew, who upon seeing this screenshot saved in my phone asked me wide-eyed, “Is that Superman?”

To be fair, he has an obsession with superheroes.

Incidentally, to the abs guy, wherever you are…there are no words. But to the aforementioned group of married men, consider yourself targeted. Yup, every time I come across one of you, don’t be surprised if your screenshot doesn’t end up on public display. Not a fan? You should’ve thought about that before. The app’s called Tinder, after all. Not “Adulterer.” Happy hunting! –MW.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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You’re not officially involved in the New York dating scene until you’ve sacrificed your profile photo (and, in some cases, your dignity) at the altar of a GPS-based dating app. But Miss Wingman finally pulled the rip cord, and recently went on her very first Tinder date. This is what happened.

The set up: Mutual right-swiping, Tinder style.

The guy: A sensitive ponytail man-type, only without the ponytail. Clad in a cardigan and rocking at least a 3-day shave stubble, we’ll call this dude Soft-spoken Sean.

In what can only be called a supremely small metropolitan world, when Soft-spoken Sean initially chatted me up on Tinder, the first thing he said was, “Do you have a friend named *Marni?” (*yeah, that’s not her name either.) I do, in fact, have a friend by that name, and he proceeded to tell me that he’d only ever met one other person with my first name, and that person was at his then-girlfriend’s birthday party nine years ago. Yes, 9.

He told me that at the time he’d thought I was cute, and when I popped up in the Tinder-sphere, he had a hunch it was the same person. I didn’t know whether I should be very flattered that this relative stranger remembered me, or mildly creeped out. But, after texting with her to confirm that he was normal, we agreed to meet for coffee in Brooklyn on a Saturday afternoon.

Age: 33

Hometown: I suck, but I completely forgot what he said. I’m sure it was something in the tri-state area though.

Occupation: Film and television producer. Er, Production Assistant? AP? Fuck if I know. Dude had left a job in finance in his late 20′s to get his masters at a prestigious NYC university specializing in journalism, and since he’d only been in the production game a few years, I assume his job was support staff. But props to him for making the jump. Miss Wingman’s a big proponent of finding your passion.

Height: Tall – at least 6 feet. Arguably the most manly thing about him, in fact.

The date: It doesn’t get more placid than a coffee shop in DUMBO in the middle of the day, with someone to whom you already have overlapping social connections. So needless to say, I was expecting things to be pretty low key. Just not quite like this…

The date was really sedate. Like, they couldn’t have been more cozy or platonic if he was curled up on a sofa with a cup of tea and a cat in his lap, sedate. And speaking of tea, that’s what he ordered. Not joking! And no, he’s not British.

Um, yeah. I think you can probably see where this is going already.

Fahhhk, I can’t say enough good things about this guy, either, but once again there was no spark on my end. Maybe it was because Soft-spoken Sean and I spent so much time talking about our production backgrounds and being caffeine-driven film & television gurus who work until 2am and never have health insurance, but it felt like he was a friend. Or maybe it was because he just didn’t seem like a guy’s guy.

In any event, something was missing (his masculinity, perhaps?) and I felt like I was the dude at the table, not him. I can’t emphasize enough how sweet, intelligent and pleasant he was, but it seemed more like an afternoon you’d have with your aunt over a cup of camomile than a Tinder date. Where was the flirting? The “You wanna get out of here”‘s? Much like my coffee, I’m afraid, it was all a little too vanilla.

Postgame analysis: Soft-spoken Sean has a lot – and I mean alot – of good qualities…for some other girl. Some vegan, Rachel Maddow-watching, cat-owning Williamsburg girl. Just not this chick.

The takeaway: Alas, I need more of “Smartass Sam” than a Soft-spoken Sean.

Final score:Webout of 5. I enjoyed talking to him, and I liked him immensely as a person. I’d actually be friends with this guy, and I don’t mean that in the bullshit, disingenuous way that most people do. Still, getting Friend Zone’d is the kiss of death. I suck, I know.

Next up Miss Wingman’s sorting through a mountain of Match emails, though the front runner seems to be a 39-year-old Oxford grad who moved to Brooklyn after several years abroad and, if his profile photos don’t lie, enjoys tennis, having good hair, and fairisle sweaters. What do you think, Wingman faithful, should I give it a go?

Weigh in on what you’ve read so far, boys and girls, and in the meantime, as usual, I’ll be just winging it.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Sometimes we’re shown the left limit and then the right limit, just so that when we find the sweet spot in the middle, we’ll know it. Such is the case with this next date – a far cry from F Train Bobby, for sure.

The set up: Met through mutual friends at a happy hour in midtown. Eventually met for drinks in my neighborhood on a Monday night.

The guy: After our initial meeting – in which we spoke for only about 15 minutes – this next guy, who we’ll call Serious Steve, emailed our mutual friend. He offered an editorial recommendation for me and told her to pass it along, so I emailed him back a thank you. So began our back and forth.

For the record, before I even met this guy I’d seen him do two very considerate things: bring a present to his female friend for her birthday (seriously, what hetero man does that without his wife or girlfriend orchestrating it?), and email an unsolicited helpful career suggestion. So I went into this date with high hopes, to say the least.

Age: 38. Ironic since the date I’d had right before this could’ve been his son.

Hometown: Can’t remember, but we spent most of our time talking about a city in which we both used to live.

Occupation: Not finance. Something with product design, software, or that generally requires that he be exceptionally smart. Which he was, in an unpretentious way.

Height: Enough inches taller than me that it was a non-issue.

The date: We met for after work drinks at my neighborhood pub, and had a light dinner. He was dressed nicely, well-mannered (you know how much this matters to Miss Wingman) and gentlemanly. He picked up the bill without hesitation.

Not long into chatting, I realized how reserved this guy was. Not just because he’s Serious Steve, but because there was something so measured about his demeanor. These are hardly bad qualities – the last person I dated was similarly methodical – but I couldn’t help but think how much my personality seemed to bowl his personality over. He didn’t make me laugh, and I’m not sure I got more than a smile out of him either.

We chatted for about two hours, during which time we had several things in common, but there was no discernible spark. And I really, really wanted there to be. I knew how great he was, but I couldn’t avoid the voice in the back of my head that said, “This isn’t your guy.”

When we eventually parted ways, I had every intention of giving him a second chance, just to confirm my suspicion. But as it turns out, I wasn’t free the next time he emailed, and after the holidays he didn’t follow up and I didn’t revisit it. For the best, I suppose. Perhaps he sensed the disconnect.

Postgame analysis: Now before you all cry wolf, or rather “See! Nice guys DO finish last!” hear me out. Miss Wingman’s dating history has always been in direct contrast to that stigma. I only ever date respectable, mature, sweet guys, and I’ve been blessed with a steady stream of anti-jerks (well, for the most part, at least.)

So my lack of chemistry with Serious Steve had nothing to do with him being too nice, or boring, or whatever other adjective you’ll hang this on. It has to do with a general feeling that there’s a difference between being an adult, and being too grown up. Just like there’s a difference between being immature, and being young at heart.

I know myself, and I need someone who strikes a balance between having his act together, and not taking himself so seriously that he can’t dance to Kesha at a bar with my friends and I (which is all I feel like doing these days) and take a Fireball shot…or three.

It’s nice to balance each other out, but sometimes this extrovert finds that her energy and/or sarcasm overwhelms my counterparts. And when it does, that’s my cue to put my hand up and say, “Check, please.”

Figuratively, but sometimes literally, too.

The takeaway: While I have an enormously high opinion of this dude (seriously, single ladies, if anyone wanted his number I’d endorse him), I just know that he and I didn’t par. It goes to show that, much like the last relationship I had, even though it looks good on paper and there’s mutual admiration, there has to be enough passion on both sides to keep it afloat.

Final Score: 4 Web out of 5. Like I said, he’d be an outstanding catch for some woman – the right woman – but I’m just going on instinct that the lucky lady isn’t me.

Next up, Wingman faithful, my first ever Tinder date. And a chance to choose which of my Match.com suitors (please don’t let it be the 41-year-old from Forest Hills who can’t spell) will get a shot at the title. Remember to keep it right here for more of Miss Wingman’s “Where Are All The Good Men In NYC?” Experiment, get your friends in on it if you’re so inclined, and until then, as always, I’ll be just winging it.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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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.


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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Courtesy: Redditor Moth_ladder

Courtesy: Redditor Moth_ladder

Ahh the holidays. The perfect time of year for snuggling by fireplaces, sipping hot cider with the one you love, and the feeling of “Ho Ho Hope all you happy couples choke on your candy canes” if you’re currently single.

Just kidding. Bitterness doesn’t suit anyone. Definitely don’t go that route.

But it is an especially cruel time of year to be solo. So just in case you’ve been feeling like Santa is kicking you in the junk lately, I’ve got your back.

Here’re Miss Wingman’s Top 10 Tips For Surviving The Holidays As A Party of 1. Good luck, godspeed, and may January get here soon, goddammit.

Drink. That may not be the politically correct thing to say, but fuck it. Drink. Whiskey, eggnog, wine, whatever. You’ve earned the right to throw a few back. So imbibe early, and often (just not at work).

Hit up holiday parties. Your own company’s, friends of friends’, or just crash a few outright. Chances are, everyone will be too drunk to ask who the random is double fisting in the corner.

Stay off of social media. Why? Two words. Engagement Season.

Retail therapy. Think this is only for chicks? Think again. Also, buy yourself something nice. Scratch that – two somethings.


Sweat it out. Two-a-days, motherf**ker. They work. Also, they serve double duty: fitness therapy, and getting a jump on all those pathetic New Year’s resolution saps that’ll be invading your gym soon. And speaking of New Year’s…

Get the heck outta dodge. Even if it’ll break the bank, when the ball drops, if you have your toes in the sand you won’t even notice all the couples kissing around you. Promise.

Do something you love. Every day. Scratch that – two somethings you love. Whether it’s playing that guitar that’s been gathering dust, hitting up NHL games (shut it, hockey haters), or Face-Timing with people you care about, surround yourself with people and things that remind you why you’re pretty kickass in the first place.

Download new music. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there are few things in life that a solid playlist and singing at the top of your lungs can’t fix.  Also, hope you don’t like your neighbors.


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