04/04/2026
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1adRYGNAbD/
“I don’t pay for women,” wrote a 52-year-old man.
I showed up to the date without makeup and wearing sneakers.
We had been talking for about two weeks. Giovanni was one of those rare people—polite, straightforward, no mind games. Divorced, two grown kids, worked in construction. He had humor, balance, culture. When he asked me out, I said yes without hesitation.
Then came that message—clear, almost sharp.
“Let’s be clear: I don’t pay for women on dates. It’s my principle. Hope that’s not a problem.”
Honestly, it wasn’t.
In fact, I appreciated the honesty. Better to know upfront what you’re getting into than to face the bill and pretend nothing happened.
I replied: “Fine, no problem. See you Saturday.”
Inside me, an idea was born.
A simple, honest experiment.
Saturday morning, I woke up early. I’m 46 and I know exactly what “getting ready” for a date means. I opened my closet, picked the right outfit. Then makeup: foundation, concealer, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick—the usual ritual.
And then I stopped.
Why?
If we’re truly equal… if everyone pays their own way… if there are no roles…
why should I spend two hours getting ready?
Why should I look flawless while Giovanni probably shows up in jeans and a T-shirt, ready in ten minutes?
So I decided.
Jeans. Gray sweater. Comfortable shoes.
Ponytail.
No makeup.
Just me.
In the mirror, I felt strange. Not worse. Just… different. Used to seeing myself “constructed,” I now looked simply normal.
“Let’s see,” I thought.
At the café, Giovanni was already seated. He greeted me, smiled, everything calm. The first few minutes were pleasant, natural. I almost thought I’d overthought it.
Then he paused, looked at me more closely, and said:
“You didn’t get ready much to see me, did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the photos, you looked more polished… the dress, the makeup… Now you look… like you ran an errand.”
I smiled. Because in that moment I knew the experiment was working.
“Giovanni,” I said calmly, “remember what you wrote about the bill?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“You talked about equality. Everyone pays their own way. No roles, no expectations. You’re independent, I’m independent.”
“Yes… and?”
“So I asked myself: why does equality only apply to money? You showed up comfortably, no special effort. I did the same. Isn’t that consistent?”
He stayed silent. Then tried to explain.
“But these are different things…”
“Why different?” I asked.
He spoke about habits, “female nature,” the fact that women like to take care of themselves.
I listened. Then I said something simple:
“Taking care of yourself costs. Time, energy, money. And it’s often taken for granted. We talk about equality when it comes to paying, but still expect a woman to be perfect… for free.”
He tried to defend himself:
“But women like it…”
I smiled.
“Yes, I like feeling beautiful. But I also like being myself. Sleeping in. Not worrying about makeup. Wearing comfortable shoes.”
He looked at me, unsure what to say.
We finished our coffee talking about something else. Then the bill arrived. Split in half.
Perfect.
We said goodbye politely.
We never contacted each other again.
No, I don’t regret it.
That date taught me something.
We live in a time when everyone talks about equality, but often only where it’s convenient.
People want an independent, autonomous woman—but also flawless, polished, perfect.
True equality isn’t splitting a bill.
It’s sharing the same effort, the same respect, the same investment.
If you don’t want to pay for dinner, that’s fine.
But then don’t expect someone to spend hours looking perfect for you.
If we are equal… we’re truly equal.
No double standards.
Giovanni wanted equality.
He got it.
Just not the kind he imagined.
