My Horrible Date in London: Do It for the Plot

Let me set the scene: London, 2025. I’m living abroad, healing, exploring, and trying new things. Somewhere in the mix, I finally agreed to meet a man I had matched with on a dating app years ago. Back then, the timing was off, but since I was back in the city, I figured—why not? Maybe the universe was circling us back for a reason.


Well… the reason was probably so I could get a blog post out of it.


From the jump, I should’ve trusted my gut. I knew this date was not going to be good the minute he walked in. Ladies, you know that moment where you take one look at a man and immediately think, this ain’t it? That was me. I can’t even fully explain it, but at his big age, this man had no business showing up to a dinner date dressed the way he did. No effort, no style, not even the bare minimum of “I came to impress you.” To me, how a man shows up says a lot—not just about his closet, but about his respect for you and the moment. Red flag number one.


Then came the conversation. Or should I say, the commentary. You could immediately tell this man had never dated a baddie before. And instead of leaning in, learning, and appreciating my shine, he tried to dim it. Backhanded compliments, subtle digs, little comments designed to take me down a notch. Things like, “You’re a lot, aren’t you?” or “I don’t think women like you are really into relationships.” Sir, what?


It became very clear: he was intimidated, and instead of rising to the occasion, he tried to pull me down to his level. What he didn’t know is—I’ve worked too hard, healed too deeply, and grown too much to ever let a man minimize me. Not in London, not anywhere.


Now, I’d love to tell you I pulled a dramatic exit, called myself an Uber, and sashayed out before the appetizers even landed. And truthfully? I almost did. But then I remembered something I often tell myself when life hands me a messy moment: do it for the plot.
So, I stayed. I finished dinner. I smiled politely while internally rolling my eyes at every weak attempt he made to rattle me. And in between bites of overpriced food, I reminded myself that sometimes the best stories come from the worst dates.


By the time dessert rolled around, I was already drafting this blog in my head. Because here’s the thing: not every date is going to be magical. Some will be awkward, some will be disappointing, and some will be downright terrible. But each one teaches you something. That night taught me that I will never again ignore the red flags I see walking in the door. It also taught me that my light is not for everyone—and that’s perfectly okay.


As women, especially as Black women, we’re often told to make ourselves smaller so others can feel comfortable. This man tried it, and failed. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I was not built to shrink. Not for a date, not for anybody!


The Lesson: You Can’t Dim My Light


Walking out of that restaurant, I wasn’t upset. Annoyed, yes. But also amused. Because here’s the truth: when you’ve done the work to love yourself, one bad date can’t rock your world.


I learned that night that sometimes the universe sends you these little “reminder experiences.” A reminder of your standards. A reminder of your worth. And a reminder that not every man is equipped to sit across from a woman who knows she’s a baddie.


So no, that date didn’t go well. In fact, it was horrible. But it gave me a story, it gave me a laugh, and it gave me one more reason to keep my standards high. Because the right man won’t need to