It turns out, dating in New York isn’t exactly what Tessa Parker was led to believe. The 25-year-old Kiwi – who you may remember from her gig as a TV reporter on TVNZ’s Breakfast – left our shores last year to start up a new life in New York. An avid fan of Sex and the City, she figured dates would be as easy to come by as yellow taxis….
I, like countless other women, grew up watching the iconic tv show Sex and the City. During high school, uni, and my early twenties, I carefully observed the main characters navigate New York – and a multitude of men – providing me with a basis for sex, dating and relationships.
In SATC, Carrie practically walks out the door, sneezes and catches a date. She meets a range of men in a range of places. There are artists, writers, musicians, a man with a dog and a cabin and even a finance bro (is it okay to call Mr Big this?).
So, call me a fool, but when I left behind Auckland’s stale dating scene and the season regulars of Ponsonby Road for NYC, I thought my dating life was about to explode.
Dear readers, this is not the case. Time Out magazine recently labeled New York the worst city in the United States for dating. From what I’ve seen so far, that’s true. Despite all my best efforts, “No Sex and the City” is the only show I’m starring in.
Is it the apps, me, the men, or the fact I’m from New Zealand?
My first date here was one off Hinge, I was already familiar with the app and thought it an easy launching pad into the new pool of men.
I was admittedly overwhelmed by just how big that pool is (and how many voice notes there are calling me baby….icky). After a lot of dedicated swiping I found someone. He was a comedy writer and sported a hello kitty sequinned football top – already very different to the average kiwi bloke.
I met him in a cool bar called Carousel in Williamsburg, Brooklyn on a Tuesday night, the same sparkling top from his profile standing out amongst the low lit leather booths. Five minutes into sitting down I learnt he wasn’t any old comedy writer, but in fact a famous sketch comedy Tiktokker, who got popular through viral tweets during the pandemic. I guess my first date being a social media star shouldn’t have been surprising considering the amount of fame in the city, and I was excited to rub up against some notoriety.
That was until he told me the story of his career. An interesting tale, but during which he asked me, a 25-year-old woman in 2025, who had worked as a journalist, if I knew what Twitter was.
I quickly realised, he didn’t know what New Zealand was.
Despite my genuine enjoyment of his Tiktoks, the date ended with a semi-awkward kiss goodbye and I never heard from him again.
Tiktokker Guy didn’t dissuade me, but all my future dates had similar aromas of failure. Instead of questions regarding Twitter knowledge, there were questions about Lord of The Rings, sheep, Thor Ragnarok and on one date, a constant repetition of words that he thought sounded funny in my kiwi accent.
I had been on more first dates in a matter of months than in my whole life, pushing myself outside of my comfort zone with great optimism. Yet instead of finding romance, I found myself searching for a camera so I could break the fourth wall and say “what the fuck?”. My vibes were far more Jim from The Office than Carrie Bradshaw.
The bad dates diminished me further when I clicked not only did I not like them, they didn’t like me. I didn’t hear back from a single one.
What it’s like in the wild
Based on my personal surveying in bars across the city, New York men are more likely to come up and talk to you IRL than New Zealanders. Kiwi men I think prefer to observe you from afar before strategically sending you a message, typically around 1am containing the words “up” and “to”.
This cultural difference meant I had to leave the apps behind and head into the wild.
There’s an Irish bar in Lower Manhattan which is filled to the brim with different pub-esque games (pool, darts, shuffleboard etc), and many representatives from the New York male diaspora. One Friday night when I was there with a group of girl friends, there were a couple of finance guys, some fraternity brothers, and arty NYU students. It’s the type of place Carrie would have thrived, and actually, I thrived. It could have been the setting of Season 1 Episode 1 of my new show.
I had interesting, flirty conversations with guys over many pretend-competitive games. I should have written my number on the wall because I handed it out like I was running a lolly scramble.
On the subway home from the pub, I remember feeling so proud of myself. I didn’t need an app. I lived in NEW YORK and was meeting MEN. I was pretty much Carrie fucking Bradshaw herself, just double the height and (I hope) a better friend.
Yet, the next day, the next week, the next weekend, my phone maintained its usual pattern of news related push notifications and messages from my mum. I never heard from any of the lolly scramble attendees. It deflated me. I couldn’t help but wonder… why ask for the number, if you’re never going to txt? It’s like the weather app showing sun emojis only for it to rain the whole time. I would almost prefer the up2.
My time was like my teenage self after four vodka cruisers: wasted.
Why even try if life isn’t a tv show?
It could be the permanent scars left on the city by SATC (plus the two movies and the spinoff), but dating, men, and conversations about dating men: it all just seems like a bigger deal in New York.
In both my female friendships here and in the wider American culture, there seems to be a greater emphasis on meeting people and pursuing relationships. The topic of dating holds more space in my conversations than ever before and now it can be the driving factor in going out and doing things. Before I just went out to get drunk, talk shit and have a boogie. I’m dating in New York I’m not only trying to impersonate a character from one of my favorite shows, I’m also just trying to fit in.
A previous version of myself would have judged me for this. I’ve always wanted to be a fiercely independent, ‘I don’t need a man nor care what people think’ type. I thought myself a bit of a Samantha Jones without any good regular one night stands (they were always irregular and bad).
It’s not that I currently believe men and relationships are the driving purpose in a straight woman’s life, and I don’t think they should be treated as such, but, living against the backdrop of where Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Sam all experienced sex, romance and love in all its forms – I finally understand why so much of one’s life can center around these things. Despite the failures, here in New York I want to date more than I ever have before.
Green flags among the reds:
I returned to Hinge after I had waited just long enough to forget how many random men had my number, and I found a software engineer who enjoyed hosting dinner parties (a green flag for me). On our first date we went for drinks and I was struck by how attractive he was and our shared interests. He pulled out my chair for me and paid for the bill.
Afterwards we walked all the way across the Williamsburg bridge recounting stories from our past and sharing our dreams for the future. You couldn’t see the stars but the Manhattan skyline shone bright. I was in my tv show once again.
Dating in New York is hard, tiring, scary, annoying, risky and more, but sometimes it’s worth it.
After we had walked all the way to Brooklyn, the guy told me he’s teaching himself to be a DJ. (red flag).
I’m teaching myself to keep trying.
Or maybe Carrie taught me that?
