The Fish Cat Dating Project

One month ago I catfished the whole concept of catfishing. I set up a Tinder profile with the photos you're not supposed to use — the ones you'd only see once you made it past date one. The ‘Reverse Catfish’ which shall now be named ‘The Fish Cat Project’.

The idea: turn up looking dramatically better than advertised. Under-promise, over-deliver, works every time.

My bio, word for word:

‘Decided to put together the most honest profile I can. You won't see me looking like these photos on a first date, but these are the reality you'd be faced with if we got beyond that. I love people who do life slightly outside the norm. I travel a lot for work, but that's not as glamorous as people think it is. I'm turned on by honest and open communicators. I'd rather someone who works on their mind than works on their body. I can't date anyone who chews gum.’

Nobody asks about the photos. Everyone asks about the gum. Fair — it's non-negotiable. Watching someone chew gum with their tongue doing laps around their own face like a cow working through its cud is a personality test, and gum-chewers fail it every time. I can fall out of love in seven seconds flat. I have to leave the room.

The results so far: in general, running hot. Matching with mostly genuinely lovely people — mostly men after something real, plus the occasional woman keeping me questioning my sexuality. But I haven't had long interactions with anyone so far.

Unfortunately, the extended results are on par with the pre-fishcat results.

Montreal: The Hand-Washing Incident

Spent the last month touring Teardrops on My Dildo through Canada, so dating took a back seat to comedy and chaos. I did manage one dinner date in Montreal, though — a fast mover, straight from ‘haha you're funny’ to ‘dinner, tonight.’ I like that energy.

Not my usual type, physically — big, built, the kind of muscly that reads less ‘I lift' and more ‘I need you to know I lift.’ But he seemed sweet, and I wanted a Canadian date on the scoreboard.

Tacos, he decided. As we sat down for dinner, he told me — three separate times — that he was going to go wash his hands. Not an announcement. An instruction. So I awkwardly announced I'd wash mine too, out of sheer social pressure. In Australia we wash our hands after the toilet and call it a day. Apparently that's not universal.

Then the bill came. I offered to go halves. He said his culture 'wouldn't let him'. Look — I love a man who offers to pay. I do not love a man who informs me it's mandatory. But sure. Fine. Fuck you. Pay then. Awkward walk, quick hug, home by 8pm. Free dinner ended up being the win.

Whistler: Red Flags at Altitude

While my travel group went off zip-lining, I took some time out and had a browse for a spontaneous beer date. Matched with a guy — young, fun, easy on the eye. Couldn't make the timing work, but the chat escalated fast enough that a date wasn't necessary to know everything I needed to know. He asked about my comedy show, so I gave him the basics......

'You never asked anything about me!' - he's up for relationship counselling after a few quick messages. Just pull the pin.

Throw in mansplaining will really help. FFS.

'You've really let yourself down here'.

I've done the opposite.

Women are trained to clock the faintest whiff of a red flag and get out. If you're the type who sees one and stays anyway — please, go talk to someone before you end up a true crime podcast episode. That's not a joke. That's reality. 

I am back in Australia now. I’ve had a browse. A few matches. Nothing to report so far. How much effort I have for the actual dating component of this project is yet to be determined - dating is hard work - but the project continues. I am committed.

Stay tuned.

Have you set up your Fish Cat Profile? Let me know how it is working for you?