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Millionaire Matchmaker Does Bi Woman Wrong

Millionaire Matchmaker

Image by freeloosedirt via Flickr

Watching Millionaire Matchmaker is my most guilty pleasure. Though Patti Stanger abuses her clients and makes off-the-wall mismatches, it’s great fun, and once in awhile she does hit one out of the park. She did it last night, matching a Christian farmer millionaire from Indiana with a wholesome former 4-H girl — and in the heart of LA–who’da thunk it?! These two seem headed for the aisle. Her other project this week, though, wasn’t just a bust — it was, IMO, a crime.

An adorable millionaire named Tricia who recently left her cheating husband told Patti with conviction that she wanted to check out her “bi-curious” nature. After sending the girl to a shrink to be sure she wasn’t just temporarily angry at men (groan!), Patti actually did a fantastic job of inviting  a bunch of A-list bi and lesbian women, and a few men, to Tricia’s mixer. She ended up choosing to date Tyler, a smokin’ hot  butch who claimed she’d “flipped” many a straight girl. When Tricia didn’t feel sparks on their date, though, she and Patti both decided in a New York minute that she was unequivocally straight.

Hello? When a hetero couple doesn’t hit it off right away, Patti doesn’t send them to the nearest gay bar; she finds them more hets to choose from. Plus, the reason Tricia didn’t drool over Tyler the way I (and no doubt every femme in SF) did is because she’d unwittingly screwed up the date by taking Tyler roller-skating; Tyler could handle it, but barely. Skating was something she was obviously not very competent or confident doing. Thus, on their first date Tyler was effectively emasculated .

This butch was the type who’d show a femme a great time, but here she had to spend most of her energy keeping herself vertical without appearing spastic. Meanwhile, Tricia showed off her repertoire of roller-skating tricks. What a sad waste of butch energy! If Patti knew the least little thing about butch/femme dynamics she would have seen what the problem was and sent these two off to climb a short hill with a picnic at the peak. Tyler, unthreatened, would have easily swept Tricia off her feet, something she couldn’t do with the babe on roller skates! I can envision her assisting Tricia up the rocky terrain with a chivalrous hand, the way a super butch once helped me, then putting down a blanket in a clearing and pouring the wine.

Tricia deserves another shot or three at women — unless the whole point was to reassure herself she’s not bi or gay. Straight girls do that. Ask any heartbroken butch who was a straight girl’s first and was later dumped for “the real thing.”

If I were a millionaire, I’d save Tyler’s butch ego by calling Patti about a date with her. I would only do it, of course, for that reason, to save Tyler’s ego.  As everyone knows, I’m straight.

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Millionaire Matchmaker

I’ve been working on a list of books, movies, tv, and podcasts that I ingested in 2010, but it’s gotten to be quite exhausting, and I might not finish. I see I was being overly ambitious to think I could review or even briefly comment on every single piece of cultural flotsam and jetsam that came my way in the course of a year, and I’m probably going to omit many of them, and list some without any commentary. In the meantime, I offer this teaser, a fluffy commentary on my favorite fluffy reality show.

Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo. Patti Stanger, a “third generation matchmaker,” or yenta as they were known in the shtetl, takes on millionaires (of either gender) and finds their soul mates for them. Patti’s m.o. is to hold a “mixer” to which she invites a pre-screened select group of potential mates to mingle with “her” millionaires, as she calls them; at the end of the evening the clients select one person for a “master date” (which she articulates utterly poker-faced).

Not only are many of her clients out of their minds, so is Patti. Disobey one of her numerous rules and you’re “out of my club! Now! Out, out!” The show’s teaser says matchmaking takes “a lot of patience,” but this gal’s a fuse that blows whenever a client makes a misstep – which they frequently do. And yet, Patti turns out to be right every time: when a client disobeys her, he or she suffers consequences far beyond exile from the club: whatever they did, Patti triumphantly declares, is to blame for their miserable state of singlehood.

Patti’s punky assistants are a young man with a huge black mohawk and his wife, who, not to be outdone in the hair department, sports a hot-dog shaped roll of bright purple bangs upon her forehead. When these two started out with Patti they were somewhat shy, but by now they’ve adopted the boss’s bold style and attitude, to the point where they can blithely tell someone he’s “creepy” without mussing a spike or a curl.

The whole gang recently moved their headquarters from LA to Manhattan, where they freely toss out observations about the differences between the cities. Briefly, LA women are blonder, better dressed and physically maintained, but a little ditzy; New York women are quick and sharp, but dismal dressers and too aggressive with men. New York, in contrast to LA, is teeming with acceptable-plus single men, but unfortunately their response to female aggression has been to lie down and take it. Thus, confusion reigns on the New York dating scene – but not to fear: Patti’s on the case. After persuading a few women to change their dress style, she proclaimed her conquest over the City of New York. Yes, Patti is certifiable —  but it’s all very entertaining.