Mr. Self-Obsessed™

(And yes, the trademark symbol is on purpose. Read on to know why.)

When you’ve spent as much time on dating apps as I have, you encounter pretty much every kind of single man there is (and that applies across genders, I’m sure). From the shy to the outgoing, the dad joke guy to the Trump supporter, and every variant in between.

But I can tell you honestly, nothing prepared me for Mr. Self-Obsessed!

Before I get into the details of this particular little misadventure, allow me to clarify – yes, I’ve definitely crossed paths with more than one guy who had a touch of a swollen ego, and who made no attempts to hide that particular personality trait. But this story is about a man who took it to heights one can only dub astounding.

I encountered the man in question via Hinge. He was VERY good-looking — someone who would definitely turn heads in public — and that’s admittedly what caught my attention to begin with. As I read through his profile though, I could feel my brow furrow. Surely I must not be reading this right… right?!

His entire profile was an ode to himself. Well, I suppose every profile is supposed to be a representation of the individual. But this man had done all but write himself a sonnet. (Though now that I think about it, perhaps he had and he just left it off of the profile.)

His response to every single prompt included some form of self-adulation. Terms like “record-breaking”, “the best <insert material possession here> of your life”, and more were generously ladled into the mix, alongside a fistful of not-so-subtle references to just how wealthy he was.

You’d think that with all these bright, glow-in-the-dark red flags, I would have swiped past his profile. But ah, dear reader, I was still early in my dating journey and had nary any semblance of self-respect. 

And so, I matched with him. Lucky me (as he would soon begin to tell me).

The text exchange was… odd. He was a decent conversationalist, but somehow never missed an opportunity to talk about himself and how absolutely wonderful he considered himself. And, by association, how fortunate I ought to consider myself that he liked my profile because he was “very picky about whom he would like to date”.

Yes, lucky me.

Anyhow, since my force field was still in its infancy, the conversation did end up graduating from the Hinge inbox and moving to an IRL plan. I picked a quiet cafe in Bandra, which I figured would allow us some sort of breathing room for a nice conversation.

And it might have, had he not sucked all the air out of it. 

He arrived 10 minutes late, with absolutely no apology. After all, I ought to have been grateful for his company at all, no? He sat across from me, immediately scrunching his nose as he looked around the cafe while mumbling something about it being “so small”. He then launched into an “explanation” of why he was late, citing his utter disgust at how the cafe didn’t have valet parking and he had to park his beautiful, very expensive car on the street. The horror!

Eager to get some caffeine into me so I could survive the rest of the encounter, I suggested we look at the menu. I had been to this particular cafe before, so I suggested we get a slice of their cheesecake too.

“Oh, I don’t eat sugar. I don’t put anything sub-optimal in my body, it wouldn’t look like this if I did.”

Right. Okay. Guess we’ll just do coffee, then. I started browsing their moderately extensive coffee menu. 

“Just an Americano for me. Coffee should be had in its purest form, adding milk and sugar and flavour to it is heresy.” (Yes, dear reader, he used the word “heresy”!)

Well, our coffees arrived, and I said words that I would soon live to regret.

“So, tell me about yourself!”

Dear reader, I don’t think I spoke (or rather, got a chance to) for the next 15-20 minutes. From telling me about how he was a child prodigy in his field, to how he lived alone in a sprawling large apartment, to how he had a grand piano that “could probably hold your weight” (I know, subtle!), to how he spent hours each day working out so he could continue to wear the title of God’s Greatest Gift to Womankind.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for celebrating one’s own achievements and feeling a sense of pride in them. And had this guy added even a singular grain of humility to his ramblings, perhaps my skin might have crawled less. The irksome part was how he spoke with the absolute conviction that he was, indeed, better than everyone else. 

If it weren’t for the coffee, Lord, I would have yawned!

Once he got to the end (?) of his spiel, he asked me what I did. Lucky me.

I started telling him about how I work in the brand & marketing space. I say “started”, because I had scarcely begun when I was interrupted.

Him: “Oh yeah, I think branding is so important. Especially personal branding.”

Me: “That’s very true –”

Him (interrupting): “That’s why I’ve trademarked my name.”

Me: “Oh. Was that on your PR firm’s advice, or…”

Him (interrupting again): “No no, I don’t need a PR firm to tell me I’m unique and valuable. I’m a global phenomenon, and my name has value. So I got it trademarked.”

Me: “I see.”

Dear reader, allow me to let you in on a few points here. Firstly, the man had a fairly unique name. Trademarking might have been unnecessary, in my opinion. But oh well, each to their own. If he was creating under that name, I suppose there’s value in “owning” it for purposes of copyright, domain purchase, and the like.

The whole “global phenomenon” thing, though? Good sir, you are in the music industry. So is my neighbour. And I can bet cash money that people recognise his name a great deal more than they do yours. In fact, I’d double that wager and bet that literally not one of my numerous friends in the industry knows your name. Kripya baitth jaiye. 🙄

While all these thoughts played in my head, our man was still talking. I was snapped out of my reverie by his mentioning Instagram (Occupational hazard, I’m like a sleeper agent being activated anytime someone mentions a social media channel).

Me: “Sorry, what was that you were saying about Instagram?”

Him: “Yeah, I threatened to sue them.”

Me: “Sue them?! Why?”

Him (visibly annoyed that I hadn’t heard him the first time around): “Because someone else was using my name!”

Me: “Using your name how?”

Him: “I wanted a handle that was my full name, and it was taken!” 

Right. Guess it wasn’t that unique a name after all.

Him (with barely-concealed annoyance and entitlement): “My name is trademarked, and they can’t just let someone else use it as their handle! So my lawyers and I went to them, demanding they give me the handle. They finally got it assigned to me.”

My coffee and patience had both run out at this point. 

Me: “You know, I think I’ll head now. This honestly hasn’t felt like a very good date.”

Him (looking genuinely puzzled): “Date? Oh, this wasn’t a date, I wanted your advice as a marketer.”

Me: “Errr. What?”

Him: “Yeah, I’m too busy doing things that will change the world of music. I don’t have time to date.”

Me: “So why are you on a dating app?”

Him: “I figure I’ll find someone who could possibly work for me, and maybe a fun hookup or something. You seemed like a good option for both.”

Lucky me. 

Me: “Right. I’ll be leaving now.”

Him: “Normally I’d drop you home, but I can’t put my car through driving to Andheri!”

Me: “Oh I wouldn’t want to get in a car with you, thanks. Bye.”

Dear reader, that might have been among my Top 3 quickest exits from a date. I have never been more excited at the thought of hopping into an autorickshaw and heading home, having not exchanged numbers! 

I’m happy to report that my self-respect has since grown considerably, and my bulls#!t meter grown exponentially less tolerant. I imagine it’s one of those things that you’re either already programmed with, or you need to have beaten into you by years of abysmal dating experiences. Either way, I’m now far less susceptible to being swayed by sculpted shoulders & arms than my younger self was. Not entirely immune, though — I am, as Diet Sabya would put it, but a whoremonial at heart.

And well, what fun would Life be without a couple of bad decisions, eh? 😉 Plus this way, you guys get stories!

Until next time, dear reader. Remember to keep your chin, portfolio returns and standards high.

🩷,

Bellyrina