Gen X Ruminations: Before We Swiped Left
O.K., a warning in advance for Millennials and Gen Z’ers: The following story depicts a time when efforts to meet romantic partners were not facilitated by mobile apps, heavily photoshopped images or social media. It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it? Merely imagining a time when a person might arrange to meet another person without advanced confirmation of their aesthetic virtues is enough to make some double down on their anti-anxiety meds. It must make younger generations ponder how many of us ever hooked up at all. But, we did.
In my case, I was new to the big city. I mean, sure, it was the city I grew up in, but I had never before lived in St. Louis as an independent adult with my own job, apartment and slightly used car. (Alright, it was a heavily used car but that’s not the point.) So, as a newly liberated single I turned to The Riverfront Times, a local, independent, weekly publication. (By that, I mean “print” — paper and ink.) Like others of its kind in other cities, it was half business and half rock-n-roll. The RFT covered serious issues facing the region with legitimate journalistic efforts, but also devoted a significant number of pages to local nightlife, new bar and restaurant openings, music, the arts and — wait for it — classifieds.
The classified ad: That wonderful platform that could find a new home for your late model VW van with well-worn shag carpeting, a small blood stain and “low miles” (defined as under 160,000). Perhaps it could find you a new job in as a tattoo artist or liquor rep. Or, just maybe, it could find you love waiting in The Personals.
That’s right, in the 1990s it was not at all uncommon for people to solicit new friends or potential romantic partners by writing. You began by offering a general description of yourself which could consist of your age, ethnicity and body type and then went to great efforts to write something clever that would ideally attract the attention of someone compatible. Those of us who grew up listening to a parent singing Escape (The Pina Colada Song) were familiar with the concept, “I’m not much into health food, I am into champagne.” There were generally accepted terms and acronyms, such as “fit”, “HWP, or “curvy” and commonly used disclaimers like “looking for friendship, possibly more”. Beyond that, it was all about crafting the most intriguing message possible in fifty words or less. (If it helps, think of it as a “tweet to meet”.)
Looking back, it’s an amusing challenge. How do you describe yourself, your interests and who you might be looking for in such a compact format? Sadly, I don’t have any copies of the ads I used. I can’t imagine why I would have kept them but I kind of wished I had. Now, these ads were available in both print and recorded versions and were accompanied by a voicemail box number where interested parties could leave a response. That’s where you had to be strong. Sometimes, after a long day at work, you’d find that there were just no messages waiting. How could that be? After all, I’m clearly a very charming individual and my ad was undeniably witty. Perhaps Monday just isn’t a good day for self-marketing. Other times, you’d get messages that made your blood run cold and compelled you to close the window shades regardless of the fact that nothing in your ad revealed your full name or location. Thankfully, those responses were rare.
In most cases, one or two seemingly reasonable people would leave a message by mid-week and offer a phone number where they could be reached. In that way, they were the ones who were really taking a chance, but the risk was half the fun. You’d call them back and, based on a lighthearted conversation, decide whether or not to suggest meeting over the upcoming weekend. That’s when the tingles could start. Who were you meeting? What the hell were you getting yourself into? …Should I expect to pay? (The answer to that last one was always no. Neither party wanted to set that kind of precedent too early.) All I would really know is that I would be arriving at an agreed location at 7:00 Friday evening and meeting a 5’ 6” brunette with glasses who would be wearing a blue blouse. That was pretty much it.
But, what might amaze younger generations far more than the fact that no pics were exchanged is that these meetings generally resulted in enjoyable, fun encounters. The women I met were honest about their appearance, had pleasant personalities and, like myself, were up for “something new”. Most of these meetings didn’t result in love at first sight, but more than a couple did result in sex by the second date, or sooner (insert sly grin here) . The common ground was easy to discern: We were in the same place in our lives. We were working, busy and dislocated from our previous social circles. A few of the women I met had moved to St. Louis to take a job, so they didn’t have an extensive network of friends and, like me coming back from college, were largely starting over. In some cases, they were bored and willing to take a manageable risk to change that. I was too.
It was a great exercise. You walked into the restaurant, looked around, caught the eye of the person fitting the right description and breathed a sigh of relief that they appeared to be a normal human being. After that, it was a matter of conversation. Real, direct, in-person conversation with all the trimmings. Not an alienated string of messages, devoid of tone or context, but actual adult conversation that wasn’t preceded by a Facebook or Instagram investigation. You would start this flight blind and every laugh was a win and any provocation walked a fine line between sexy or disconcerting. But what was there to lose? Another night drinking with the guys? It was certainly worth it. At worst, you shook hands and parted ways. At best, you downed an unwise number of shots and made your way back to your apartment for standing sex in the bathroom. (Wow! That escalated quickly!)
Were there a few awkward moments? Sure. But there was a great deal of charm in the nights that just the right words could inspire. Words that you cast out into the world like a message in a bottle and waited to see who found them amusing. I can’t say that the personals resulted in finding the love of my life, but I still look at the whole experience as a wonderful social experiment. Is the brain the sexiest organ? Yeah…well, let’s save that for another time. But, my last personal ad experience didn’t involve meeting a woman but rather a group. I replied to an ad placed by “a group of young professionals seeking to form a weekly dinner club”. Something about my response won my entry and, seemingly overnight, I had nine new friends — men and women. Over the course of the life of “the club” we hit gallery openings and baseball games and concerts. And, in my case, a couple of us have even managed to stay in touch and remain friends over the many years. For a single friendship like that, I’m glad I wasn’t afforded the technological ability to dismiss it all after a momentary consideration. I’m glad I couldn’t swipe left.
