I dont pay for women wrote a man (52 years old). So, I showed up on our date with no make-up and no heels.
It has been years now, yet I still remember those odd weeks of messages. Stephen that was his name was a breath of fresh air: direct, well-read, and he seemed to value humour as much as I did. There was none of that usual posturing or clumsy flirtation. Divorced, with two grown children, Stephen worked in construction and seemed, from our exchanges, rather grounded.
After a fortnight of chatting, he suggested we meet up I agreed, hardly hesitating.
Then came a message that clarified everything immediately: Look, lets agree on this from the outset I dont pay for women on dates. Its just something I believe in, and I hope thats all right with you.
Odd as it might sound, I respected his honesty. It was a relief to know his position upfront, rather than guessing who owed whom what at a restaurant later. I replied, All right, thats fine. See you Saturday.
But as Saturday drew closer, a thought brewed in my mind.
That morning, I woke before my alarm. I was already forty-six, no stranger to the time required to look presentable. From habit, I reached for my black dress, a reliable choice Id worn often before. My make-up bag beckoned: foundation, concealer, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick, all the usual suspects lined up for an evening out.
And then it struck me.
Why am I doing all this?
If were supposed to be equals splitting the bill, owing each other nothing why must I spend two hours getting ready? Why should I look like Ive just stepped out of a magazine when Stephen will probably show up in jeans and a jumper, his hair tousled, ready in fifteen minutes?
So, I decided to conduct an experiment. A fair one.
I pulled on my favourite jeans and a snug grey jumper, tied my hair into a practical ponytail as I would at home, and went without a scrap of make-up and no heels, just comfortable shoes. Me, just as I am. No filters or embellishments.
Looking at my reflection felt odd, not bad just unfamiliar. Normally, facing the world meant wearing a mask of sorts. Now I looked like I was popping out for a coffee with a friend or running errands. Well then, lets see how this goes, I thought as I left.
The café, where it all became clear
Stephen was already at a table when I walked in. He waved and smiled, and as I joined him, we exchanged a friendly hug, the sort youd give someone you half-know. The first twenty minutes passed easily enough. We spoke about the weather, a television series he’d recently enjoyed, and his last hike he was warm, with a knack for storytelling. I wondered if my worries had been misplaced.
There was a lull in the conversation, and then he looked at me, pausing, as though weighing his words.
Er, you didnt ah, really get dressed up for the occasion, did you?
I was momentarily confused.
In what way?
Well, in your photos, you looked quite glamorous you know, nice dress, make-up. Now he faltered, now its more like you just popped out for a pint of milk.
I smiled, because at that moment I knew my experiment was working exactly as intended.
Stephen, I replied evenly, do you recall what you said about the bill?
He nodded, a little tense.
Of course. Why?
You set the ground rules for equality: each person pays their way, no expectations, no obligations, just two independent people.
Yes, he said. So, whats the problem?
No problem at all. I simply thought: if were equals, why should equality begin and end with money? You came as you liked jeans, jumper, no real fuss. I did the same. Isnt that fair?
Stephen opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.
But thats its not quite the same, is it? His voice wavered.
Why isnt it? I pressed. Do explain.
The arithmetic no one ever shares
He started rambling about tradition, and how women enjoy looking their best. I listened, nodding politely.
Lets be honest beautifully styled hair, neat skin, polished nails, stylish clothes, special shoes. All that takes time, effort, and money.
Only those whove never calculated the expense of looking effortlessly put-together speak so glibly about natural beauty.
Do you see what I mean? I asked. A man says equality meaning I wont buy your dinner but expects a woman to look her most alluring and impeccable. Now, all that effort, time, and expense is simply free.
But surely women enjoy dressing up, dont they? Stephen countered.
I laughed, truly, not unkindly.
Yes, it does feel nice to look beautiful. But it also feels wonderful to just be myself: to gain a precious extra hours sleep instead of wrestling with my hair, to forget about mascara or my manicure, to wear comfortable shoes, not just the pretty ones.
He studied me as though I was something of an oddity.
The truth thats hard to pocket
We sipped coffee for another forty minutes, the air having shifted. He grew awkward; I found myself thoughtful.
When it was time to leave, we split the bill evenly, each of us paying for our own salad and cappuccino. A fair exchange, to the penny.
We parted with polite goodbyes. He wished me well; I wished him all the best. We never spoke again.
And you know, I dont regret it. The experiment revealed quite a bit not only about Stephen, but about todays world.
We live in peculiar times. Everyone clamours for equality, independence, partnership. Men say they want self-sufficient women content to shoulder their own financial burdens. Reasonable enough.
Yet the standards for women remain sky-high, if not loftier. She must look immaculate, earn her keep, climb the ladder, remain vibrant and witty and still turn heads like a model.
If she shows up for a date in comfy jeans and trainers, free of cosmetics, theres confusion: Werent you going to make an effort?
Questions each must answer alone
Ive thought a great deal about what equality truly is. Real equality isnt just splitting the cheque its both parties investing equally: with time, effort, attention, care.
If a man wishes not to pay for dinner, I respect that. But then he cannot expect a woman to squander hours preparing for his pleasure.
If we are equals, let it be across the board. No double standards. No raised eyebrows if a woman ditches the heels and lipstick for trainers and simplicity.
Ive no quarrel with equality quite the opposite. But the first principle of equality is honesty: with ourselves, and one another. To admit that looking lovely has its cost.
Even now, looking at debates on social media, I see people sniping: A man ought to provide! or Women are all about money! And perhaps both are right, and both wrong.
Its not truly about who picks up the tab. Its about the values beneath, and the honesty we build our relationships on.
Stephen wanted equality. He got it. It just wasnt what hed envisioned, thats all.
Where, do you suppose, lies the line between fairness and affection? Between independence and tenderness? Between equality on paper, and in life? I still ponder the answer, even now.
