Holidate . Yes, it sounds like a website that sets lonely singles up on dates for the holidays. But if that’s what you assumed you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. Holidate is actually a REAL reality show that sets lonely singles up on dates in other parts of the country. So maybe not dead wrong. But like coma wrong. The basic premise for this revolutionary new show, brought to us by the Imagineers at The Soap Network is that every rich successful woman who lives in a big city, need only to travel to another big city to find “The One”. She has panned the creeks of her own backyard, and will only strike guy gold by moving further down stream. And in the War on Singledom, waged by the happily married media, we viewers will not feel victorious until we see the Vaseline smile of yet another champagne toting “market analyst” who put her career first for too long. The success of a Holidate swap relies heavily on the blanket fact that every woman who lives in a big city, knows tons of eligible bachelors to set up their sister from another city. That there are bunch of guys who fell through the cracks of romance, into the “friend zone”, but would be a catch for someone who knows nothing about them. Basically one mans trash… Once in her adopted city, each woman goes on 3 dates with the men of her predecessors choosing. “Oh, Jim, yeah, he and I didn’t work out, I’m not into halitosis. But you should try him! He’s a lawyer.” If this show were called “Dude Swap” it would be a more accurate description especially since nobody in America refers to a vacation as a “Holiday”.
Once in their new cities the ladies pamper themselves with yoga, baths, and other things women do wearing a full face of makeup preparing for the dating deluge to follow. In order to appropriately match her replacement with the bevy of single alternatives she has in mind, the girls Skype and dish about what they’re “looking for”. Which is never anything important like religion, politics, finances or skin color. No. Smart, successful women of the millennium are blind to the shallowness that keeps us peasants lonesome. The gentry of the major metropolis seek only honesty, kindness, and spontaneity from a potential partner. Bring on the spontaneous trolls.
But of course when the fairy tale dates take place, these men are not trolls. Rather, they are smart, funny and usually look like Ralph Lauren models (in khaki cargo shorts). Graphic t’s and flip-flops aside, these guys are pretty incredible. Maybe not for snobby self-loathing chicks, like me and my friends, who solely date dirt wizards. But for the baby hungry, career women of holidate, these guys are Disney princes. (Prince Eric, oh god).
When Jacky from LA trades place with Cynthia from Houston, sparks refuse to fly as she discovers that Ryan (a Jim from the Office-a-like) is a Pisces. Yeah, I know, ew the fish!
But Ryan takes her retardation in stride, offering instead to change her mind about the ides of March that she’s so wary of. And he does. When Ryan (the producers) “pulls out all the stops” and shuts down the zoo so they can feed a giraffe, Jacky apologizes for misjudging him based on his sign, especially since he was born premature so is technically a Taurus.
After three dates in their new cities, the ladies choose the “winner” and reward him with an open-ended ticket to visit them in their respective hometowns. And in the magical Soap network bubble, the men ALWAYS accept. Though, many of the follow-ups reveal, “Nate has yet to visit, Mellissa but plans to, as soon as work mellows out”. Dreamy as these men may be, all poised and ready for commitment and family, as they state on their dinner dates, maybe traipsing all the way across the country for a woman they just met is too much output to ask even from Prince Charming. Or maybe the reasons these guys AND gals are still single, is on the editing room floor cause commitmentphobes, and nitpicky harpies don’t make romantic fantasy reality. HOLLERDATE.
No Sex And The City.
I’m like Carrie Bradshaw in every way except most. We are both losers at dating, we both live in large cities, and both are somewhat Jewish (for me it’s my dad, for Carrie, the nose). I guess mostly its the losers at dating thing. Manolo Blahniks are an absolute obsession at 700 dollars a pop, where I tend to covet old LL Bean loafers to accentuate my “I Don’t Need a Man” vibe, on ebay for 5.99 plus shipping. If Carrie and the girls have a decadent brunch laughing about Samantha’s recent sexploits, my pals and I on the opposite coast are comparing breakup texts over Starbucks pastries because I have a gift card. None of these parallels make me feel as though I have the right to share my personal insights on dating or life, and yet, being unqualified has never stopped me from doing anything before. So lookout! I am catwalking my way into your homes and hearts…because I need somewhere to do my laundry.