Dating the “Test and Apologize” Type
The test is in earnest. The apology never is. Or is it?
It’s Sunday morning and I’m meeting an online suitor for a quick coffee before I join my daughter at the gym for an 11am “Intro to Core Conditioning” class. I’ve intentionally left a very short time window for this date.
I’m not a morning person so my 45-minute window has dwindled to 40 as I find parking and stride to the cafe. He’s texted: “There’s already a line.” But before I can reply, I round the corner and see him sitting in an Adirondack chair outside the cafe.
He’s looking down at his phone, so I notice his hand first. I have a thing for hands, and his is pretty: long, strong fingers, attached to equally appealing forearms. It’s a split second of solo aesthetic pleasure and then he looks up at me. Piercing blue eyes light up as they meet mine.
Gosh, he’s really cute.
And he seems to think I’m really cute, too.
This hasn’t happened — at least, not to me — in quite some time.
It’s exhilarating.
Mason* buys my coffee, a mushroom oat milk latte that’s earthy and weird. I offer him a taste, and he hesitates but then tries it. “That drink is made to make you feel better about yourself,” he jokes, and I agree.
He also pulls out my chair, and ever-so-slightly moves his hand toward the small of my back as he guides me to our table. We talk about everything and nothing at all, just steeping in this first buzz of attraction.
He gestures toward the lake, across the road. “It’s too bad we don’t have time to walk around,” he says.
I check my iPhone. It’s 10:32 am. I don’t want to disappoint my daughter awaiting me at the gym, and if I want to be on time, I need to go, like, now. But I hate leaving dates like this unanswered, so I continue.
“It really is,” I say, “I’d like to see you again, for a longer date.” I glance at his face to gauge his response to my boldness.
His eyes take me in intently. “We really do seem to have a thing here, don’t we?” he replies.
Do we ever.
“Yeah, I think we do,” I answer, inwardly flushing. We align our childcare schedules and agree to meet Thursday evening for a walk around the lake and dinner.
He walks me back to my car. “Can we hug?” he asks, and I enthusiastically agree. He enfolds me in his arms and…. wow. Sparks sparks sparks. We separate and he says, “Now let’s try our hands.” He takes my hand like a handshake, and holds it in both of his, holding my gaze with an intensity that this time does make me blush.
It’s 10:46am and I’m definitely going to be late for my class.
I sigh as I turn into my gym parking lot and think, God, I want this one. Let him be kind and cool enough so I can have him.
As I dash upstairs, I hear the ping of a text and check my phone expectantly. Sure enough, it’s him. “Next hug I’m going to bury my nose in your nape.”
I swoon. That was bold. But it feels just bold enough.
I can see he’s included a Spotify link with the text, and wondering what song he sent carries me through a class full of planks and crunches and other feats of core strength my body hasn’t performed in years. I feel giddy despite the muscle burns. He texted me right after I left! I marvel. That’s a good sign, right?
Class ends and I race to listen to the song. At first I grin at the silly dance beat. Then the lyrics start.
The song is “Girls” by indie-sleaze dance band the Dare. It’s electro-pop with a sardonic talk-sing vocal and… extremely vulgar lyrics. The first stanza ends with, “I like girls who make love, but I love girls who like to f*ck. That’s what’s up.”
And then it just keeps going.
My burgeoning crush slams into a disbelief wall. How does he think this is an appropriate response to coffee and a hug?
Online dating is miserable.
This past year I’ve discovered the Burned Haystack Dating Method community, which makes it (mostly) tolerable. The concept was invented by Jennie Young, a professor with a PhD in Rhetoric, who in a moment of frustration with the dating apps googled, “how do you find a needle in a haystack?”
And the answer returned: You have to burn all the hay.
Young’s method advises women not to expand their filters or give men chances, as many dating coaches do. She instructs the opposite: to “burn the hay” to limit the time and energy suck of dating. She helps her followers — now over 100k** of us on social media — identify negative rhetorical patterns frequently displayed by men on dating apps and advises them to “block to burn” these men.
Some of the rhetorical patterns are easy to recognize, like men who lead with low-value compliments (“hey beautiful”) or who want to chat endlessly but never meet. Others are more nuanced and have delightful names like the Eeyores, the Cuddle Bears, and the Opposite Impossible Woman.
Then there’s Test and Apologize.
Test and Apologize describes a man who messages something inappropriate — usually sexual — and then apologizes when he doesn’t get the desired response. Young’s hypothesis is that while the test is always real, the apology never is. These men know exactly what they’re doing, she maintains, and they only apologize to try to maintain the connection. Jennie doesn’t think we should.
She believes Test and Apologize is a manipulation pattern that will likely persist in real life — and hence, a block-worthy offense.
I listen to the vulgar lyrics of “Girls” one more time and cringe.
If there ever were an example of “test,” this is it.
I know I should block him. But I don’t want to.
Instead, as with most moral conundrums, I phone a friend, this time Lawrence Winnerman, my best friend since high school. Asking a gay man was probably not the correct first step, as he loves the song. “I think it’s a riot,” he laughs.
But after 45 years of friendship***, Lawrence knows me better than almost anyone. And he’s a feminist, so he understands that dynamics are different when we straights date versus gay men. He also knows I’m looking for a boyfriend, not something casual. So we talk it through: the great initial connection, the egregiousness of the song — trying to sort out if it’s a disqualifying event for me. And I come to realize, I’m not just torn. I’m angry.
“You know what makes me so mad?” I finally blurt.
“Something tells me I’m about to find out.”
“I’m angry because I’m not a pearl-clutching killjoy,” I answer. “I’m fun! I get why this song is hilarious. If he were my boyfriend — or if we knew each other just a little bit better — I’d love that he sent me a song like this.”
It’s true. Exchanging songs is one of my favorite love languages.
“But when men do stuff like this — when they can’t read the room and just blurt out sexual stuff before we’ve established any basis for it — then they ruin all my fun,” I rant. “I don’t want to have to parent his response. I’m a parent all day, every day. I want to flirt and be silly and sexy too! But I’m a woman on the internet, and men can be real threats. How am I supposed to be comfortable with this level of raunch after one coffee date??”
I’m on a roll now, my words gushing as I finally process why I’m so upset.
“Why can’t men keep it in their pants for like five seconds and realize they’re literal strangers, that they need to establish some trust before they race in and thrust their metaphorical hard-ons at us?” I yell at Lawrence, but not really at Lawrence but at the indignity of it all.
“No, I see where you’re coming from,” says Lawrence. “That’s a lotta lusty lyrics after just one cup of coffee.”
“I know!” I exclaim. “Like I get it, sex is amazing. I’m super attracted to him and want to have sex with him too! But I need to get to know him first, and that part should feel fun, not defensive, you know? I was so excited to date him and now I feel deflated and angry. And also, I’m exhausted from this constant state of hyper-vigilance for men and their bad behaviors.”
“That’s what’s up,” says Lawrence, quoting the (only non-lewd) lyric back to me.
I laugh. “See, it’s funny when you quote it.”
I’m calmer now. But I’m still torn. “Do I need to block him?” I ask. Sometimes you just need your best friend to tell you what to do.
“I don’t know,” answers Lawrence calmly. “Maybe you should tell him everything you just told me, and see how he reacts.”
I consider this. The best outcome would be a sincere apology — which would still make it a classic case of Test and Apologize. Do I give him a chance to apologize? Or does that just open me up to future manipulations?
I consider past boyfriends I met online. Davis began with two tests — lies about his age and height— and when confronted, two apologies. I accepted them, and we dated for six years. Did he test me again? Of course. But was he a supportive, kind boyfriend, in spite of those tests? Again, yes.
Maxwell came on like a dream, all green flags and affection, with no overt tests — until the end. Less than six months into our relationship, he left me for his best friend’s wife. He failed the test. He never apologized.
We’re all human and therefore flawed. Hitting the right balance when relaying romantic interest is challenging in the best of circumstances. Some of us aren’t great over text. Or with music. Or with judgment, I think, as I consider those clear blue eyes and that warm, promising hug.
I decide Lawrence’s advice is sound. So I reply to Mason’s text.
“Well, the nape comment was amazing.
The song choice… was not. I’m not sure how you expect me to respond here.”
I don’t just get an apology. I get an extraordinary apology.
He leads with how sorry he is. He acknowledges how lewd his text was. His words tell me how he realizes it was crass to send that song to a woman he barely knows. He admits he was pumped after our date and therefore overshot with his song choice, and he asks if I can give him the benefit of the doubt.
And then… he calls me. He wants to be sure we connect in real time, he says into my ear, because he likes me and doesn’t want this slip up to mess up our budding courtship.
So I express to him all I said to Lawrence — about the pearl clutching, and the unfairness of being forced into a parental role, and how I want to enjoy flirting too, and to feel safe while doing it. I tell him how vulnerable and uneasy it feels, to be a woman dating strangers from the internet. I express how angry and surprised and disappointed I was. It’s a rant; it’s a gush; I say all of it, because for me it’s part of the apology. In order for me to believe it, I need to see he understands me.
“You’re a really good communicator,” he tells me.
“Thanks, I think we’re doing a good job here together,” I reply with a smile.
And just like that, the test ends. Apology accepted.
I know I allowed him to test and apologize. Of course he knew what he was doing when he sent that song. I can almost hear Jennie Young’s voice in my head. “You’ll see this manipulative behavior again,” she warns me. And maybe you’re right, I silently answer her. But all of us have moments when we don’t lead with our best selves. By staying too vigilant to bad behaviors, we don’t allow men to make mistakes, ever. And that’s too high a bar, especially when big emotions are involved. I can see the risk here. I think this is one worth taking.
As we said our goodbyes, he asks, “You don’t want to play the crass song game now, do you?”
“Oh, I definitely do,” I replied.
I beat him in one round, with this song.
It was so much fun. Just as dating is supposed to be.
I wish I could share how Mason and I went on to build a loving, lasting relationship. We didn’t. In the weeks that followed, he took me on two super fun dates, and cancelled two others.
In person, he shared hard truths about his life that he wanted me to know straight away. To me, his words seemed to drip with expectancy, like he hoped I’d stick around. I’m a sucker for vulnerability, and I always take admissions like his as a sign of developing intimacy.
“Did you ever consider he told you those things as a warning not to get attached?” Lawrence asked me later.
I didn’t. But maybe Mason did.
He remained awkward over text, erratic in timing and poor with consistency. His final Test and Apologize came a couple weeks later, when he texted to cancel a date for the second time. He sent a stilted but I think sincere apology. “This is a hiccup in the momentum I like to think we’re building and I wanted to acknowledge that,” he wrote. “I am sorry to break plans.”
I accepted his apology. But I guess I failed the test.
Over the next few days, he went dark. I texted to check in — he really does have some excruciating circumstances in his life — but nothing. I faced facts: Mason wasn’t kind or cool enough. I wasn’t going to get to have him.
So I sadly texted him goodbye and did what Jennie would’ve wanted weeks earlier.
I blocked Mason.
I’m still questioning my actions. Did I bring this on myself, by agreeing to date a “Test and Apologize” type in the first place? I don’t think so. If I’ve learned anything from decades of dating, it’s that I’ll extend grace to the rare man who makes my heart pound a bit faster.
Does this mean I may take a risk on a man who might not be worth it? Of course. Though it may sting — or sometimes outright ache — I’m happy my heart remains that kind of fool. I have no regrets about giving Mason a chance, even if he didn’t live up to it.
I’m sure it will face more tests as I continue the search for my so-called needle.
{This essay originally ran in the Heart Affairs publication on Medium on Oct 7, 2024.}
Hey ladies (and nonbinary folks)! You can learn more about the Burned Haystack Dating Method on Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, or right here on Substack.
And Jennie Young has a new book called Burn the Haystack! The release date is April 7th. I’ve already pre-ordered mine—I can’t wait to read it!
*Name changed for anonymity.
**This number has since increased to well over 400k as of this publishing.
***Now 47 years of friendship. 💜
Greetings!
I’m Dana DuBois, a memoirist and GenX word nerd living in the Pacific Northwest—and founder of I Write Out Loud and co-host of The Daily Whatever Show. I write across a variety of topics but parenting, music and pop culture, relationships, and feminism are my favorites. Em-dashes, Oxford commas, and well-placed semi-colons make my heart happy.
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I do admire your heart's courage to try and try again! ❤️
Ugh he seemed weird from the get go. Honestly touching the nape of your back pulling out the chair. I watch too many LMN movies.