I tried dating like a man — I got called toxic

I met Sam on Hinge, initially drawn to his dry British humour (Picture: Siena Hocking)

‘You’re a bit toxic, aren’t you?’ said Sam*, a man who had been slow-ghosting – gradually reducing the cadence of his replies – me over the two weeks since we’d had our first date.

I scoffed at the sheer hypocrisy as I glared at my phone, but I couldn’t help but smirk with satisfaction. His message confirmed my very real suspicion that men don’t like being played at their own game.

I met Sam on Hinge, initially drawn to his dry British humour, which can often feel lacking in my home town of Sydney. For our first date, we went for some sunset drinks at our local waterside pub. It was endearing that he seemed nervous at first, but after a few pints, the jokes were flowing. When the night ended, we initially parted ways, only for me to invite him to mine once I got home. 

Our natural chemistry was palpable, and I was glad he stayed the night (a rarity!). Of course, I barely knew the man, but I felt excited by the possibility as he kissed me goodbye the next morning. 

I told him he fitted nicely into the popular narrative of men losing interest after they’ve slept with you (Picture: Siena Hocking)

Anyone who has been ghosted knows the early signs. Before the date, you’re texting with fury and enthusiasm, only for post-date comms to be noticeably slower, more stilted. Fortunately – and quite depressingly, I suppose – my brain is wired to admit defeat in these instances. Eventually, I was met with silence: I was more disappointed by the blatant disrespect than anything. 

Eventually, one Sunday afternoon, he struck up a conversation after ignoring me for five days, asking what I was up to. I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head.

I said I’d been working, and – since I’m a writer – he asked what I would write about him.

God, the ego.

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head (Picture: Siena Hocking)

I told him he fitted nicely into the popular narrative of men losing interest after they’ve slept with you. 

Cue: a flurry of half-hearted excuses about having a busy gym schedule and other inanities.

I interrupted, essentially saying, ‘Don’t waste your breath; this isn’t my first rodeo, I’ve been ghosted before.’

He alluded to replaying the end of our night together: ‘I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about our date,’ he said.

‘Oh great,’ I thought, the realisation dawning. ‘You’re back from the dead to suss out whether I want to hook up again.’

I had initially had no intention of seeing him again; but if my peaceful sofa-session was going to be interrupted, I figured I ought to have some fun with it at least.

So, like too many men I’d dated, I flitted between saccharine flirting, offhanded negging, and indifference – alluding to wanting to see him again, only to laugh when he queried if that was truly the case. I drew him in only to then relish pushing him away.

So, like too many men I’d dated, I flitted between saccharine flirting, offhanded negging, and indifference (Picture: Siena Hocking)

And it worked.

‘What you’re doing is just confusing because I genuinely don’t know what you want,’ he said.

I felt smug, confusion was the point. 

After a while, I grew tired of this cat-and-mouse bravado and told him to move along. I questioned why he thought I’d want to see him again given the flippant way he treated me.

That’s when he called me toxic.

‘I’m not being toxic,’ I replied. ‘I’m simply meeting you at your level – and surprise surprise, you didn’t like it. Why should I treat you with respect when you failed to show me any?’ 

I’m tired of ghosting. My friends are tired of it, their friends are tired of it (Picture: Siena Hocking)

I think he enjoyed me calling him out, but in a weird sexual way as opposed to wanting to take any accountability as he continued to suggest we should hang out. 

You might consider this petty behaviour from me, but in a dating world where ghosting is commonplace, it’s safe to say that familiarity breeds contempt. 

I’m tired of ghosting. My friends are tired of it, their friends are tired of it.

Most of all, we’re tired of just letting it wash over us without saying our piece or letting the person in question know how it made us feel. 

So when Sam ghosted me, I wanted to show him how the disrespect feels.

Because this was just the latest in a string of experiences where I’d been ‘left on read’ by men.

When dating, I try to give everyone as much honesty and respect as I can. If I didn’t want to see someone again, I let that person know.

But I’ve been left hanging by the majority of dates I’ve had this year alone – and I’m done with telling myself to ‘deal with it’.

I went out a few times with another man earlier this year, and we immediately connected over our sarcastic sense of humour, interests, and experiences. There was a genuine spark for once, and it felt nice.

After seeing each other a few times, I messaged suggesting we meet up again.

But I never heard back from him; and it hurt. 

After debriefing with some girlfriends, we toyed with one of their dating app settings to find this man – changing her location to his neighbourhood and age range to 34-35. Once we’d found him, we sent the ‘like’, matched, then plotted to set up a date and stand him up.

We didn’t go through with it – after the initial thrill, our interest waned, but anticipating revenge felt sweet. 

I’m glad I called him out – it’s therapeutic to state my case (Picture: Siena Hocking)

Shortly after, I stumbled upon this guy’s Hinge profile again. I lingered, wondering whether to say something or move on with my day.

In the end, I caved to temptation.

‘Thanks for ghosting me, that was really classy. P.S., change your height, dumbass.’ (He had oversold his height by a good few inches). Unsurprisingly, he didn’t reply.

Sam is just the latest in a string of underwhelming events, and after I said my peace, I’d no further interest in entertaining the matter. Biting your tongue becomes jarring, I’m glad I called him out – it’s therapeutic to state my case.

So for any woman who needs to hear this today: Be difficult, be dramatic, be a bit of a bitch. Sometimes you need it.

*Name has been changed

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