Surviving First Dates

Surviving First Dates

By Ollie.

I went on a first date last night. I hadn’t been on one in ages, so the whole thing felt like an event. I rushed home, made tomorrow’s lunch, threw my tea on, and hopped in the shower. Suddenly, it was all about being my most “palatable” self. I scrubbed like I was about to enter a chemical lab, brushed until I was mintier than toothpaste ads allow, and sprayed on enough cologne to suggest even my sweat had a designer label.

Part of me loved the ritual—choosing an outfit, tweaking my look, editing myself into a polished little avatar. But another part was terrified. I couldn’t stop fussing with my hair, straightening my jacket, or sneaking glances in every reflective surface. Looking back, it feels silly—no one’s keeping score based on a stray hair. But vanity is universal, and on first dates it’s practically a sport.

The real nerves hit on the way there. As the train pulled in, a knot tightened in my stomach. No more hiding behind messages carefully typed, edited, and sprinkled with emojis. No more quick Googles for clever references mid-chat. This was it—just me, unfiltered. Despite the polished appearance and rehearsed facts, the conversation had to flow in real time, eye to eye.

I know, it sounds dramatic. But for someone with social anxiety, dating can feel like a high-stakes chess game—one wrong move and the whole thing collapses.

And yet… the date wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was nice. Conversation, laughter, a drink or two to loosen the nerves. At one point I caught myself looking around the bar, realising: this is going well. Just two people, like so many others around us, navigating the small unknowns of connection.

It didn’t lead to anything more, but I left feeling proud. Proud that I stepped out of my comfort zone, dropped the façade, and let myself be seen—awkward moments, clumsy words, and all. Because really, that’s what makes us human. Perfection is boring; fumbles are endearing.

Dating still scares me. It always has, from teenage years to now. But I’ll keep doing it, because the voice that says I’m “not good enough” doesn’t get to win. We crave connection—it’s human. And even if nothing comes of it, putting yourself out there is still growth.

If we’re not trying, failing, and learning, we’re standing still. So why not go on a million first dates?

Looking back now, I realise how naïve I was to think the whole world was watching. I’m sure my date was just as nervous. The bartender was focused on pouring pints, the bus driver on finishing their shift, and the couple at the next table wrapped up in their own world. And me? I didn’t die. I survived.

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