Mr. Unavailable #89: Safari Guy

This is a Mr. Unavailable flashback circa summer 2006.

Vital Stats: 42. 6'2". Fashion guy/photographer. Divorced. Aesthetic: When I met him, he was going through a pretty serious khaki phase. Demeanor: Even though I thought he was incredibly handsome, he seemed relatively approachable.

First Impression: I met him tangentially through mutual friends in the summer of 2006. He was ruggedly handsome (think the chiseling of JFK Jr.) and, whenever I would see him, was often outfitted completely in khaki, the combination of which made it seem as if he were about to go on safari. And if he wasn't about to go on safari, then--as I and others thought--there was a good chance he was gay.

The first time we had any quality time was at dinner with him and another guy at a friend's apartment in the East Village. It became quickly apparent that he wasn't gay at all and I developed a hopeless crush. The friend who had us for dinner called me a few days later to find out if I might be interested--in the other guy who came to dinner.

Signs of Hope: I started running into him more and more. Each time, my hopes went up more and more. One time he complimented me on my watch and the hope meter shot from a three to a five (sometimes hope comes too easily). Another time, he invited me to go for ice cream and the hope meter struck seven (I tried to play it cool but completely blew it when I insisted on buying his ice cream--for his birthday a few weeks before, I claimed).

But the biggest rise on the hope meter came the time he called from a rooftop BBQ in Hell's Kitchen and asked if I wanted to meet him there. It felt like I'd just been summoned to the Kennedy compound--for, it would seem, a safari-themed party. I threw on the nicest outfit I could conjure at the time--knee-length jeans shorts and a decolletage-friendly tank top (hey, it was 2006)--and jumped in a cab. On the ride over, the hope meter hit an andrenaline-fueled nine. But, on the roof, it quickly sank to a two. He made a backhanded compliment about my outfit and was only vaguely friendly for the rest of the afternoon.

Red Flags: The good old hot-and-cold. Plus, he never did actually ever asked me out on a date.

Turning Point: I eventually lost hope (that would be a zero on the hope meter) and started dating #90. A few months after that, #89 began dating a woman who, flatteringly, seemed to hate it when I was around. They've now been together for years.

Diagnosis: For him: He was simply unavailable to me.
For me: There's a strong chance he simply wanted to be my friend and I, misled by hope, misread his intentions.