That night, a dude on Tinder says that I "look chill." I show him just how chill I can be by showing up to our date in full waffle weave.
Over the course of the night, I find a weird sense of empowerment in my get-up. I think it's because I'm not "trying" at all; unlike most of my dates, I haven't spent an hour or more changing outfits in front of my mirror. I'm not presenting myself as someone who's trying to impress people. I'm just being the authentic me: home alone in my bathrobe, dancing to Motown.
The date goes pretty well until the boy makes a bad joke about never having seen me in clothes before (zing!), so I bounce. But before I leave, a man in a Santa outfit accidentally spills his drink all over me. Luckily, the material is so absorbent that I don't feel a thing.
