One of the most interesting things about dating in San Francisco (from a straight female perspective) is how often women get into mishaps misreading the sexuality of men. Living on the SF peninsula is akin to living on the LOST island — regular measuring systems and devices cease to work. A guy wearing nicer shoes than mine doesn’t mean anything here. Nor does a chatty demeanor, a love of Britney Spears (though ironic), form fitting clothes, or conversations about cooking and wine. Your gaydar won’t work on these guys, they could swing either way.

A number of times I have found myself hanging out with a guy that I thought was 100% gay and then he says something about sleeping with women. (What?!) An accidental date is what I call that — and it usually ends awkwardly.

Of course the reverse has happened as well. A couple of times I have been out with guys that I thought were straight and then they started talking about cute guys at the bar. Oops. Well, at least a “date” turning into a “non-date” is better than the former (it’s much easier to navigate those waters mid-trip).

I’m not complaining though, I like the challenge (and the entertainment value that these mishaps provide — for all parties involved). What I love about this city is that gender roles (and sexuality) are fluid. There are no hard and fast rules (pun intended) and, generally speaking, people don’t fit into stereotypes (unless you live in that one neighborhood).

And I like that men are more creative here. They know how to dress themselves, use hair products, host a dinner party and choose good wine. I couldn’t hope for that dangerously attractive combination in any other bro-ed out city. (Smile)

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