Rosie Price: Intergalactic Space Captain

Hello loves! It’s Valentine’s Day on Friday and I had plans to write something meaningful about connection or friendship or self-compassion to offset the slew of saccharine branded content and the fact that Gü (as in the dessert pot company) has launched a collab with Bridget Jones. However, now that I’m sitting down to write, what I feel instead like sharing is a story about a date I once went on, and which I feel must have a lesson in it somewhere, and, if it doesn’t, well. It’s a good story.

The date was in the summer, some years ago, not long after I’d got out of a relationship. My confidence was fairly low, and I’d decided to throw myself back into online dating because, well, there is no better time to deliver yourself to the meat market that is Hinge than when you are suffering from low self-esteem and the after effects of a difficult breakup. But, it was summer, and the man I’d matched with and had been chatting to, let’s call him Tony. We’d been getting on well, conversation was flowing: he liked cooking, he had a nice smile and a very cute dog. I was quietly excited about meeting Tony, and I was nervous about our date.

Anyway, I met with Tony somewhere in South London. I’d had the kind of all-day anxiety about what to wear and how I looked that can sometimes happen when you’ve built up someone in your head and now feel utterly agonised over what kind of an impression you’re going to make and what they’re going to think of you. But, arriving at our spot, in the sunshine on a quiet road in Peckham, things were looking up. I liked Tony: Tony was easy to talk to and he was handsome, intelligent, seemingly kind. But there was something missing: I wasn’t entirely sure that I was attracted to Tony, and I was fairly sure he wasn’t attracted to me either. Of course, such things happen, particularly when you are dating people you’ve met online and have only ever seen photographs of them. And, regardless of the question of attraction or chemistry, the alignment of values, the similar worldview, the capacity and willingness on both sides to make space for someone else in a full and busy life, all of that takes time to unfold. Without chemistry, or anything really in common, it’s hard to even get to the point where you can figure all of that stuff out.

Anyway. Tony and I had some drinks, and it was a beautiful sunny evening in South London, and I thought, well, maybe this will just take time. We’re both still here, maybe we just need to get to know each other a little better. Who knows, maybe romance will blossom. But then, Tony wasn’t really holding my eye contact, or flirting with me, or giving me any indication that he was interested in anything other than a friendly chat. We paid for our drinks, and we got up. Tony, to my surprise, suggested that we go on somewhere else, for another drink and maybe dinner. I thought that perhaps I had been wrong, perhaps this was going somewhere.

And then, as we stood up, Tony took hold of my wrist, and looked at me very intently. And he said, I have to ask you something. I’ve been thinking about it, the whole time we’ve been sitting together, since the moment you sat down.

This, I assumed, was a move. Inwardly, I was pleased. I needed to stop being so down on myself and start rating myself a little more highly. Tony, clearly, was into it. Go on, I told him.

Tony, still holding onto my wrist, gazing into my eyes. And he asked me if anybody had ever told me I looked like Ryan Reynolds.

Now! Now. Ryan Reynolds is a very attractive man. He’s a movie star. He’s married to Blake Lively. He’s been in Marvel movies and is generally agreed to be handsome. He has a lovely symmetrical face and a dazzling smile. There is no doubt that Ryan Reynolds is attractive. But I cannot say that I was flattered. Unfortunately, Tony kept digging. He couldn’t believe, when I told him so, that the comparison had never been made before. To my horror, he started searching for pictures of Ryan Reynolds on his phone and holding up the photo next to my face as a point of comparison. Perhaps it was the nose, he said, or maybe, he said, holding his hand up so he could get a more segmented look at my face, it’s your eyebrows and your eyes.

Safe to say, I went home alone that night. I spent several hours googling pictures of Ryan Reynolds and trying to work out whether Tony’s observation was a) accurate b) a compliment. My findings were inconclusive. I messaged Tony to tell him I’d got home safely and that I’d had a nice time, but didn’t ask him if he wanted to go on another date, and his reply was of about the same level of non-committal. I expected never to hear from Tony again, and I was quite happy about this. A few weeks later, he messaged me to ask me if I’d like to dog-sit for him, an invitation I politely declined.

When I think of Tony now, and of this story, I feel parts baffled (I will never look at Ryan Reynolds in the same way again) and many more parts amused. I also feel very deeply affectionate towards the young woman standing on a Peckham High Street expecting to be kissed, to instead be told that she resembles a man who once played Green Lantern, founding member of the Justice League and Intergalactic Space Captain. And if I ever, ever need a reminder that whether a person is considered attractive or repulsive or beautiful or indeed Ryan Reynolds has really very little to do with that person, which jeans they’ve decided to put on that day, or how good their skin or their hair is looking or their style or really whatever. What people make of you is really none of your business, and the same can be said of all kinds of rejection or disappointment. I share this story because I think it is very well worth remembering, and even more worth saving the effort of trying to engineer oneself into a mould you don’t fit and never needed to fit.

With a little extra love to you this week,

Rosie xxx