It’s 8:30 a.m., and I’ve woken up in my best friend’s Chelsea apartment to my phone buzzing with notifications.
I’m only 24 hours into my latest New York jaunt, and already I’ve got three men hitting me up for a date.
Who is she?!
I should start by stating: this is not normal for me. Was I swiping madly on the apps, trying to lock down some fun? Nope. I met them IRL (for the boomers: in real life) one night at a bar called Do Not Disturb.
Clearly, they did not take note — and I am very much here for it. This speakeasy, nestled in the heart of the West Village, was my first stop — straight off a long flight — to meet girlfriends for a long-overdue catch-up.
I expected sordid tales of our latest dating escapades and a few laughs over delicious mac ‘n’ cheese and martinis. What I didn’t expect was for myself and three girlfriends to be surrounded by men at 10 p.m. in a dimly lit bar, perfect for those jetlagged eyes, being offered drinks left, right and center.
Now, let me be clear — I am not a supermodel. In fact, I’m not even in my 20s. So watching this all play out did wonders for my self-esteem.
But what I quickly realized over the next 10 days? New York men are absolute pros at making you feel like the hottest woman alive.
Just don’t expect them to stick around.
Yes, I had stumbled upon a city full of Peter Pans — men who refuse to grow up. They’re charming, bold and wildly confident. Unlike the hesitant, “wait-three-days-to-text” guys in Sydney or London, these men will walk right up to you in a bar, flash a dazzling smile (usually brightened by those fancy teeth-whitening strips you’re all obsessed with here), and lock in plans before you’ve even exchanged names.
Not in a sleazy, “Hey, what are you ladies drinking?” way, though: more of a confident, “I’m-here-to-shoot-my-shot” way that was, well, intoxicating.
The first guy I met was sitting at the bar alone, and I’m not going to lie — it was the beard that got me. Oh, how I love a man with a beard. I blame “Yellowstone.“
As I was pointing him out to a friend, we locked eyes, and he motioned for me to come over.
Bold. I loved it.
I sauntered over — OK, I was one martini down, so my saunter could have been interpreted a few ways — and we were off and firing. He bought me a Negroni, told me about his job, asked about mine, and within minutes, we were exchanging Instagram handles before I was pulled toward a group of finance bros chatting up my girlfriends.
Not to brag, but I laid on the Aussie accent thick. And it worked.
These men will walk right up to you in a bar, flash a dazzling smile and lock in plans before you’ve even exchanged names.
Before the night was over, I had also swapped Insta handles (the new “Can I get your number?”) with the bartender and a guy who, after a quick Google search, I discovered had a small part in the original “Gossip Girl” series.
Oh, New York, you really bring out an array of men.
The following night, I was invited to an Aussie pub launch party downtown, and I’m ashamed to say I wasted a perfectly good New York night making out with an Aussie bloke.
But never fear — I made up for it later that week.
“Gossip Girl” Guy (or 3Gs, as he shall henceforth be referred to) texted me the next night, inviting me to Soho House. But my hangover from said Aussie pub experience was so brutal, I declined a perfectly good invite.
Shame, Jana — shame!
However, I did indeed go on a fun date with Bearded Man. We decided to try a cocktail at every bar we came across in NoHo – and he gave me his finest sales pitch on why he was a “great guy” in between showing me pictures from his phone of him dancing behind the DJ’s deck at some Hamptons party and sitting in a box at a pro basketball game.
Ding a ling a ling!
What’s that sound? Oh, just the alarm bells of a Peter Pan.
Nevertheless, I didn’t mind because I was having a fun time. It ended with some frisky action toward the close of the night and a beautiful DM the next morning.
But a second date? Please. This PP has a full diary — and, no doubt, a full roster.
And then came The Fireman.
Yes, an actual fireman. While strolling through Soho, I spotted a classic New York fire station and went to take a picture. Just as I lifted my phone, a very chiseled firefighter appeared, grinned, and asked, “Want me to pose for you?”
Um. Yes, sir.
Not only did he strike a pose, but he then smoothly asked for my number and slid into my texts minutes later with a cheeky follow-up message and a picture of himself “on the job.”
I think it’s safe to assume this was not the first time he’d used that pickup line.
At this point, I started to think New York might just be the horniest city on the planet.
And I had the proof already sitting in my past. If you read my previous column, you’ll remember Mr. Big — a charismatic New Yorker with a booming voice and an even bigger ego who swept me off my feet last time I was in town.
Without giving away his identity, he’s gone viral multiple times for ranting on podcasts about what men look for in a partner, waxing lyrical about romance, and how men should properly court a woman.
His confidence was off the charts and, oh, how I fell for it. His ability to back it up? Well …
As I wrote in my previous piece, the man had me intrigued. He kept in touch between my New York trips, promising me the full fantasy – a romantic weekend at his house upstate, a fancy upscale dinner, the works.
And what did I get upon arrival this time? Ghosted.
Yes, I got New Yorked by a very cleverly disguised Peter Pan. Oh, I walked right into that trap.
But, you see, they’re not all bad guys. (OK, Mr. Big was a bit of a d – – k). They’re just Peter Pans who have no interest in growing up.
It makes sense when you think about it. New York is famous for attracting men who thrive on the thrill of the chase, whether in business or romance. And when it comes to dating, why settle when there’s a fresh rotation of women at every bar?
I spotted a classic New York fire station and went to take a picture. Just as I lifted my phone, a very chiseled firefighter appeared, grinned, and asked, ‘Want me to pose for you?’
Men are drawn to this city to make it big. They’re toiling away their working hours making that money — and they’re out-of-hours having a jolly good time spending it.
This theory was backed up the following Sunday as I was catching up with girlfriends over brunch, filling them in on my debaucherous week. They knew all too well about these Peter Pans and shared their own experiences with charmers who are fun but fleeting.
Now, not to boast, but my girlfriends are hot. They’ve got great jobs, great faces and killer attitudes. In any other city, they’d be snapped up in a heartbeat.
But in New York? Like most single women in their 30s, they’re on Struggle Street, left dealing with men who are hunters who get bored once they’ve caught their prey.
I quickly realized my friends were right. Locking in a first date? Easy. A second date? Well, where’s the fun in that?
So, would I recommend falling for a New York Peter Pan? Absolutely not.
But would I recommend letting one flirt with you at a bar, take you on a whirlwind adventure, and leave you with a cheeky text to reminisce over later?
One hundred percent.
Just make sure you’re “doing it for the plot” and not “doing it for the ring.”
Fly free, Peter Pans, fly free …