Some men don’t introduce themselves. They launch a promotional campaign.
Within three conversations, he’s telling you how different he is. He’s a provider. A protector. A leader. A businessman. A future husband. He has three businesses, two investment properties, a podcast coming soon, and a clothing line nobody can find online.
According to him, he’s about to change your life.
Meanwhile, he still owes Xfinity $83.
He sounds good, though. That’s the problem. He talks with the confidence of a man who has already accomplished everything he’s describing. Listen long enough, and you’ll start packing for the vacation he hasn’t booked, decorating the house he hasn’t bought, and preparing to meet the family he has no intention of introducing you to.
This is how dating potential gets you. You stop evaluating what’s happening in front of you and start emotionally investing in the life somebody keeps promising is right around the corner.
He is a walking DJ Khaled intro.
Loud. Exciting. Full of announcements.
And then the song never starts.
You asked when he was taking you on a date.
He responded with his five-year plan.
You asked why he disappeared for four days.
He said he’s been “moving strategically.”
You asked if he was single.
Now he wants to know why women are always rushing things.
Sir, this is not a job interview. Nobody asked where you see yourself in five years. We’re trying to figure out where you were Wednesday night.
Men like this survive on manufactured potential. They build an entire personality around who they swear they’re about to become.
About to start therapy.
About to get serious about his health.
About to finalize that divorce.
About to launch his business.
About to take you somewhere nice.
He has been “about to” for six years.
At some point, “coming soon” becomes “never happened,” like Detox, the most famous unreleased album in hip-hop history.
The problem with dating potential is that promises can start feeling like proof. You hear enough about what he plans to do, where he plans to go, and who he plans to become, and eventually, your imagination starts treating the future like it already happened.
The most dangerous thing about an all-hype man is that he may believe his own commercials. In his mind, thinking about doing something deserves the same credit as doing it.
He considered planning a date, so he believes he’s romantic. He thought about buying flowers, so he doesn’t understand why you feel unappreciated. He meant to call, planned to apologize, intended to communicate, and almost took accountability.
That imaginary effort has him exhausted.
Now you’re ungrateful because you failed to appreciate everything he almost did.
Please stop awarding trophies for intentions.
You cannot build a relationship with somebody’s rough draft. You cannot cuddle with potential. Potential won’t pick you up from the airport, keep its word, communicate through conflict, or show up when life gets ugly.
And that is why dating potential can become so disappointing. You’re not necessarily falling in love with the relationship you have. You’re falling in love with the relationship you believe is eventually coming.
Potential is cute at twenty-two.
At forty, we need supporting documents.
This doesn’t mean a man has to be rich, perfect, healed, and arriving in a luxury car with a therapist in the passenger seat. Real people are works in progress. Everybody has flaws, unfinished goals, and something in life held together by hope and an extension cord.
But honesty matters.
There’s something attractive about a man who can say, “I’m not where I want to be yet, but this is where I am.” No inflated résumé. No fake lifestyle. No selling you a future because his present cannot pass inspection.
Give me the man whose words are smaller than his actions.
Truly good men usually aren’t standing on furniture yelling about it. They’re too busy being good men.
If you keep finding yourself attracted to all-hype men, examine what the hype is doing for you.
Sometimes we fall for the fantasy because reality has been disappointing. We hear a man describe the life we want, and our imagination starts helping him lie. We fill in the blanks, turn crumbs into clues, and treat every promise like a preview instead of waiting to see if the movie is ever released.
That’s another danger of dating potential: you can become so invested in who someone could be that you repeatedly excuse who they are showing you they are.
Then his actions fail to match his words, but we hold on because we don’t want to lose the future he sold us.
But that future was never yours.
It was a commercial.
So, the next time a man arrives with a speech about who he is, what he owns, how he loves, and everything he plans to give you, enjoy the introduction.
Then wait.
Don’t start dancing yet.
Make sure there’s actually a song.
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