My green-black ears aren’t pointy enough, so I rub my fingers together just above the tips until they grow and sharpen. The guides say the best first date skin is an elf, so I’m elfing.
It’s my first first date in a while. The scene is pretty different. For starters, I haven’t been single since Pairable finally updated its policies to make virtual dating less risky to the physically living. Now they make you use an avatar for meetups, and it can’t be too close to your actual body because although “blah blah no liability accrues to COMPANY” and “all risks are assumed by USER blah” … they don’t want the headlines.
Oh God, a ping. User @ten_across wants to meet.
Pairable says they matched us based on specific private data, but I only see her public profile. Says she likes crossword puzzles, which I could have guessed from her handle. Good food. Reading. Movies. All our profiles have to be super-generic, so we can’t find each other in real life until we double plus opt in on each other, but I just … no, no more excuses. It’s time to get out there again.
My dark elf self is slim and graceful. With grotesquely pointed ears. High conversion rate or not, I can’t go on a date like this. I’m not looking for volume here. I want one person who will want me.
I default back to a generic human avatar and texture map black and white squares all over my skin. Maybe my match will want to peruse my clues.
Inside the coffee sim, @ten_across sits waiting for me — a kissable fire elf in a green dress. If she has a reaction to my crossword getup, she hides it well. “Fancy meeting you here,” she says, one of the highest converting opening lines, and her voice is breathy and husky and perfect. I drop the sim. I’m not ready.
The last time I was doing this, my profile was three pages long — a generous catalog of my opinions on capitalism and Cleveland and cheese. Michaela thought it’d be funny to show up to our first date skinned as me (since she could tell I really liked me). It was funny and cute and amazing (and we were together for three years) (but she moved and I didn’t go). Now my public profile says: Likes good food, good drink, and good times. Makes me sound like a boring alcoholic, which is barely even true.
I send an apology note to probably-a-bot @ten_across, and block her.
I will go on dates. Even if I can’t show myself, I can show that I want one real person who likes one real me, and I am hoping.
I am the devil in a wildflower crown, and she is an elf. Pass.
I am a balloon animal giraffe with smudged marker eyes, and he is an elf. No.
I am a lemur in a pirate hat.
I am a gryphon, and my savage beak snaps hello. He is a man, short and scruffy, and he says hello, too.
He tells me he loves mythology, and how did I get my tail like that? The feathers on my hands make drinking awkward, but then eagles don’t usually pick up oversized mugs. And I make a joke about having butterfeathers, if that even counts as a joke, and he laughs. And then it’s been three hours of talking, and would I like to meet again for a second date? I say yes, and yes, this is just a start, but it could be the start of something.
After we sign off, I block him. More firsts, first.
I am a lighthouse. She’s an elf.
I am an upright eel, flopping my way toward a chair that I will slip out of immediately. Him: elf.
I am a six-foot-tall breast, and my nipple talks meep meep meep. Elf.
In the terrifying crannies of my mind, I am matching with Michaela (she moved back) (but didn’t call). She wouldn’t come as an elf, would she? Maybe I’ve already matched with her and passed.
I am the sun, blinding, painful, my heat and light saturating every channel, obliterating conversation or even reason. No love? I thought you said you liked the outdoors, Elf. Next.
Yes, I could message her, but I won’t. We broke up, and I am on the market.
I am a majestic durian tree, and you like cooking and adventure. Pluck and eat of my fruit O Adventurous Elf. Oh, so soon? Okay, bye.
What if I messaged her and she didn’t answer?
I am a blood-wet newborn duckling, chips of eggshell still clinging to my pinfeathers. I thought you liked animals, Elf.
What if she answered, but she said no?
Another ping. Another invite. I solemnly swear that I will not elf.
What if Michaela were on the other side of that table? Forget her specifically (I have), just as an example. Would she ever re-meet with Giant Boob Muppet or Bloody Bird Baby? Would I get three years of burned steaks and our ratty blue comforter and the place on her neck that smelled like my own breath?
This one likes cute animals, the outdoors, and good food. Don’t we all.
My avatar defaults to random human features, and this time I just tweak. The hair should be lighter, and I’ll dial down the curls. A little chubbier. Switch out the nails for a set that have been nervously chewed. There. Doesn’t look like me, that wouldn’t be allowed, but this skin is in the same league. If we decide to meet in real life, they won’t be disappointed.
And if Michaela meets me like this, she’ll laugh, and she’ll know. Because now I look a lot like Michaela.
My ears get one more piercing, and they’re not even slightly pointy.
I click Join Date and enter the coffee sim. The person waiting for me is not an elf.
I’m hoping.
