Dimitri the lover versus the rest of Toronto's guys

It was Wednesday afternoon. The work day had gone by as usual, I had stayed a bit overtime, in order to catch up on my school project (yes, the same one). Before heading out, I took the time to fix up my makeup and hair. I was quite pleased with the result, and walked confidently down the street, expecting to see a couple approving looks. Sun was still up, the air was fresh, life was good.

In the corner of my eye I notice a tall, quite charming guy, looking about with what seemed a studied disoriented glare. He held my stare, with a half smile, for a few seconds. This never happens in Toronto. People do not look you in the eye - they check you out, and turn away as soon as you notice. But not this guy. It felt good. I looked away (I’m trained well by this city, can’t you tell?), and prepared to cross the street, with an incipient feeling of déjà-vu. He was already walking towards me, and hailed me before I set my foot on the crosswalk: “Excuse me...” My brain had already made the connection. I looked back and smiled, raising my eyebrows as if to say “what’s up”. “Excuse me, are you single?” I felt like laughing, but darn, wasn’t he charming. “No, no I’m not”. His stare measured me up and down: “well, you should be...” “..Thank you?” (I wasn’t sure that was a compliment). “How long have you been with this guy? You don’t seem that happy to me”...

You might think these lines are outrageous, but I knew they could have been worse. I knew exactly who he was – we had met before, three years ago. Three eons ago. Back then I was single, and, oh, so flattered to have a guy, for the first time in my Canadian experience (yes, European guys actually do this back home and it’s not such a big thing), turn their car around, get out and come to tell me how “elegant” and “exquisite” I look. I was indeed quite full of myself back then too: going home from a day at the beach, with my mom’s retro red and white mini dress, my red large sun hat, and favourite sunglasses. I told him then that I was married – a half lie meant to get me out of the embarrassing situation: people at the bus stop were already staring at us curiously. It was the coward way of dealing with it, as I always thought that rejecting someone should not be based on the “I’m already taken” excuse. What does that mean, anyways? “I’m taken, but otherwise, I might have been interested”. It’s how Dimitri interprets it. Yes, that is his name – he’s Greek, or at least, that’s what he told me (and quite a considerable number of other women, as I was to discover much later accidentally). Dimitri will not back down if you use the “I have a boyfriend/fiancée/husband” excuse. It incites him: “you know, marriages are really sad sometimes... here, I’ll give you my number and if you’re feeling lonely, we can go out for coffee sometime. I’m a very discreet guy.” And the compliments continued pouring. What had been flattering for two minutes, had quickly become painful discomfort. I couldn’t leave, the bus wasn’t coming. I had used up my best line, and did not accomplish anything. People were looking, I started doubting my choice of clothes...

Three years later, after having discovered his internet sites and workshops and disturbing voice messages for girls who were more naive than me, I decided not to entertain him again. “Come here for a second, can I talk to you?” Dimitri launched his net. “That’s ok, we’ve met before” I said. His face twitched in a few random places. “Why are you running away?” he asked, as I was moving on to my crossing of the street. Oh, Dimitri, I presume that question is the leit motif of your life.

About a year ago, when I found out he was a pick-up artist, I told the story of the beach encounter to anyone willing to listen. Yes, it’s creepy, but isn’t it still in some way, flattering? If anything, I would suggest women not to give him their contact info, although I am sure there are plenty of girls out there who are made just for Dimitri. He knows what he’s got. He knows his market. He will plant the bait, and probably get at least 40% positive response. Some of my friends have criticised me for providing Dimitri with publicity (I argued it was ‘bad publicity’, however, I’m aware that doesn’t matter to Dimitri). I realize that I am only adding to the myth that is Dimitri by writing about him. Youtube is full of clips about his infamous message to 'Olga', there are even impersonators trying to reenact the call; I presume some men actually enroll in his 'real men club'.

But still, he’s out there, with his strategy, scaring the hell out of some women, and making some others feel so much better about themselves. To all the other guys in Toronto, I say: what the heck are YOU doing? No, we don’t like to be harassed to the point that we want to yell for help, but we do like to be admired, and told once in a while how beautiful we are. And we ARE beautiful. Toronto has the most beautiful women, as my friend KE likes to say. And the most uninterested men, I would add.

Hats off to Dimitri for doing what he’s doing – his plan is far more intelligent than stuff I’ve seen other guys in this city come up with.