Why Dating Party Girls Is Hard | Renegade Dating

So I was sitting in the main station in Warsaw awaiting my train back to Berlin, and also awaiting the arrival of a certain Malwina, a Polish girl I’d met in London a few weeks back.

Malwina wasn’t the only reason I’d travelled to Warsaw. But she was certainly ‘a’ reason. Since I’d met her via a daygame stop in Oxford Street we’d been pinging back and forth on WhatsApp and she’d seemed pretty keen on a date soon, either in the Polish capital or elsewhere.

So I was slightly disappointed—although not entirely surprised—when Malwina failed to materialise on either the Friday or the Saturday night of my trip.

I say not entirely surprised, because as I’ve observed before, it is an immutable law of the dating dance that if you travel for a girl it WILL fuck up.

I’m an old hand at this game now, and I can’t even recall the number of times I’ve bought an air ticket to a foreign city only to have the girl flake, or not show up at all.

The good thing these days is that, as I mentioned in a previous article, I NEVER travel solely just for an individual girl. There are always multiple reasons for any overseas trips that I take. Often I meet up with friends, make new contacts, or simply use the new location as inspiration (and I can work from anywhere in the world with WIFI, remember).

And then of course I can daygame anywhere on the planet too.

So on the one hand it was unfortunate that Malwina bailed. But on the other hand it gave me extra time to do other things, which was cool.

So when the apology-ridden texts from Malwina started to flood in, I was somewhat indifferent. She wanted to meet me for lunch on the Sunday. And then, presumably because she couldn’t get herself out of bed in time, the proposed lunch was abrogated in favour of a coffee.

And even that was cut massively fine, with me hanging out in the main hall of the Centrum station with less than 30 minutes until my departure time.

Finally, full of remorse, a scruffy Malwina finally turned up in a baseball cap, shades, jeans and an oversized coat.

On Instagram, Malva shows up like a glossy model.

But clearly she has her off days like all of us.

And to be fair, I wasn’t exactly looking like George Clooney myself.

Anyway, we grabbed a coffee.

Turned out Malva had gone partying on the Friday to a Solomon rave somewhere in the city. She had also, I surmised, done some MDMA and possibly K too.

She giggled and didn’t try to deny it.

Well, there you go. Another crazy fashionista babe into drugs. And at 25, a couple of decades younger than me, too.

But I liked her nonetheless. She was feisty, funny, and full of joie de vivre.

And it occurred to me later that, since these are precisely the sorts of girls I go for, I court the kind of bad behaviour that I then complain about.

Because the truth is that I like party girls. I like chaotic girls who are a little bit all-over-the-place. I like girls who are a bit like I was at that age—on drugs most of the time and crazy, but aspirational too.

These girls are the antipode of the ‘high quality girls’ the the trad cons bang on about. And yet how much more sexy and full of life are they? How much more beguiling?

The point of all of this is that you can, and will, meet the kinds of girls you really like from time to time if you approach assiduously.

But whether you will enjoy the outcome is an entirely different matter.

Unfortunately for me—or perhaps fortunately—I like girls who are a little bit crazy.

(Well, it suits my own nature, I suppose).

And with that being the case, I simply can’t expect everything to be plain-sailing.

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