What It Really Feels Like To Only Date Guys Skinnier Than Me

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What It Really Feels Like Dating Someone Thinner Than Me
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Love

By Sara Steinfeld

Ask anyone who knows me well, and they’ll tell you I have a type: tall (or taller than me, at least), Jewish, and skinny and lanky.

Ask anyone who’s ever been fortunate enough to pass me on the street, and they’ll say that, while I am obviously Jewish, I am decidedly not skinny and/or lanky.

Some might even go so far as to say I’m a normal human lady with a normal human lady body, but I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to other body types, it’s just that there’s nothing I love more than dating someone thinner than me, especially a skinny little string bean of a man.

And honestly, it’s getting a little weird.

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Well, maybe “weird” isn’t the right word, because it’s not like anyone’s ever come up to me and expressed concern about my dating habits (well, that’s not entirely true, but it’s also not entirely relevant to the conversation we’re currently having, so bye).

And, quite frankly, ignoring the fact that dating in New York City is probably what Hell looks like, and that I seem to only date emotionally unavailable men, I’ve never really had a problem with the fact that I date thin guys.

Sure, their stomachs are always flatter than mine, but I find that the skinnier the guy, the more okay they are with dating a girl that’s bigger (ultimate jerks are obviously excluded from this discussion).

Maybe it’s because they know that if they dated someone thinner, their girlfriend would literally be invisible, but who knows?

That said, I really haven’t been dating that long. I only started when I moved to New York City a little over a year ago, and, since then, the three guys I’ve seen at any notable length (ranging from one month to eight months) have all practically been twigs. I’m talking toothpick, I-could-probably-break-them-in-half-with-my-pinky thin.

And, it was only when I first started writing this column that I actually noticed, really noticed, the physical differences between me and my apparent type.

I’ll admit that I’m almost always worried about whether or not the guy I’m dating actually finds me physically attractive. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I know I’m funny and engaging and can hold a conversation and make people comfortable, but I never know if the shirt I’m wearing makes me look fat or if my hair is too frizzy or if the guy across from me is horrified by my thighs.

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The worries have gone away a little bit as I’ve lost weight, but anyone who’s ever been a little heavier (or, you know, someone who just is a person with feelings) knows that those concerns don’t ever go away.

And it doesn’t help that these beanpole gentlemen can suck down an entire pizza without a care in the world while I actually sometimes bloat after eating a dressing-free salad.

More often than not, even if the date has, in theory, gone well, I leave feeling like this:

Dating, especially in a city where everyone is constantly looking out for number one and refusing to commit or settle down as a result of shiny ball syndrome, is hard and enough of a confidence-destroyer on its own without this almost self-imposed emotional stress of accepting the fact that I tend to be attracted to men who are easily half my size.

The obvious solution is to date outside of my prescribed “type,” but I’m the kind of person who doesn’t feel the need to change her habits simply to make things more convenient.

Maybe that’s immature, and maybe I’m torturing myself a little bit, but I’m also lazy and deeply dislike change, so it appears I’ve reached a personal impasse.

Then again, maybe the dating problem isn’t that my confidence is wearing thin due to our size discrepancies, but rather the fact that the men I date are jerks. Yeah, let’s go with that one.

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Sara Steinfeld is a NYC-based writer, editor, and social media specialist whose work has appeared on Glamour, SHEfinds, Crushable, Bustle, Allure, NYCgo, and The Gloss.