Finding the quality within the quantity
Last weekend, I went on a date. Having suffered a recent heartbreak following a disastrous five-month quasi-relationship, I’ve been keeping a low profile within L.A.’s gay dating scene. Or rather, I’ve kept no profile at all, having deleted all dating apps from my phone in hopes of deflecting any form of temptation. However, regardless of my efforts, I found myself arriving at a bar downtown, close to the Walt Disney Concert Hall, preparing for what I was sure to be a casual first date.
In general, I hate dating, especially the early stages of seeing someone new. There is so much pressure to look and act a certain way, when in reality, all I long for is to find someone to stay at home with and watch the Metropolitan Opera on demand with one or four bottles of wine. And though I’ve enjoyed doing this exact activity with my cat on a semi-regular basis, I thought perhaps that a bit of socialization was exactly what I needed to bring myself out of this funk of self-deprecation.
Having gone on as many first dates as I have, I’ve noticed patterns in the series of events that arise on each date. For one, the first 10 minutes of the date are a bit uncomfortable, with both of us trying to ease the tension of first-date awkwardness with polite small talk and flirtatious body language. But regardless of the slight uneasiness present between both of us, things seemed perfectly lovely … that is, until the topic of music arose.
“So, what kind of music are you into?” my date asked.
To be frank, I hate this question. Though music is a huge part of my life, and though there is nothing I would love more than to spend an entire night discussing music, it is exponentially difficult to find another with similar music tastes. No one else seems as keen to discuss Verdi’s profound influence on Italian opera as I am. Most of the time, whenever I discuss classical music, I can see the others’ eyes glaze over, attempting to mask their apathy with forced enthusiasm. Still, I answered him honestly and told him that though I enjoy a broad range of musical genres, I primarily listen to classical music.
“Oh, okay, cool. So like Mozart and stuff?” he responded.
“Yeah … Mozart and stuff,” I said.
It usually surprises people when I tell them that my musical universe revolves around classical music, seeing as it’s not exactly the genre of choice for most millennials. At this point, you’d think that I would already have rehearsed responses pertaining to all the questions about classical music that are inevitably going to be asked. Likewise, it is usually within these moments when I decipher if the relationship will work out or not. I am the first to acknowledge that I am a complete music snob. Having grown up a classical musician, music has had such a profound influence on my life and has molded my personality to what it is today. Therefore, I take music very seriously and take slight pride in my high standards for musical taste. But I also understand that classical music is not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t expect the others to be as gung ho about it as I am, but I would like to eventually meet a guy who doesn’t acknowledge Josh Groban as his favorite opera singer.
I realize I have unrealistic standards when it comes to dating. However, I’ve never really understood the point of settling for a subpar date; though I do acknowledge that some people enjoy the meaninglessness and spontaneity of nonchalant dating, I’ve only ever accepted dates with those that I can imagine having some sort of meaningful exchange with. There is a fine line between what is deemed as accepting one’s unfavorable attributes and settling altogether. I am still trying to find this line myself, but perhaps casual dating isn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe opening myself up to a broader spectrum of tastes and interests will help melt my frigid demeanor.
Despite the musical blunders that took place early on in the evening, overall, we had a fine evening. After a slightly more eventful latter half of the date, followed by a charming though somewhat awkward goodbye the following morning, relaxing (though not eliminating) my standards is probably beneficial in the long run. What I’ve taken away from this experience is that finding quality sometimes requires weeding through quantities of men. And though I don’t necessarily see this relationship blossoming, I’m content with my ability to enjoy myself without the prospect of a relationship.
Arya Roshanian is a senior majoring in music. He is also a lifestyle editor at the Daily Trojan. His column, “From the Top,” runs on Tuesdays.