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As I’ve actively tried to get back into the dating scene, I’ve come into contact with all types of men: confused artists, deadbeat dads, the broke and unemployed, and the bachelors with no intention of settling down. And that just the men I’ve met in person. Tackling online dating and DM messages is a whole other beast. The latter has presented me with a stranger species of men…like the frat brother I dated with an odd affinity for feet. 

It was like any of my self-care Sundays: filled with Netflix, snacks and spa products. I tend to advocate publicly and post about the importance of self-care days, and when I did on Twitter, I immediately received a DM asking what color I was painting my toes. I thought such a message to be comical, so I entertained the guy’s suggestion that I paint them white or pink. I know you’re thinking that’s completely random and a little weird, but since he was technically my line brother and frat, I thought he was bored and just wanted to spark up a conversation and make small talk. I figured he couldn’t be that bad.

After random Twitter conversations, liking sprees on my Instagram pictures and finally exchanging numbers, I realized I knew very little about him except his Greek info and that he lived in Maryland. I also realized that he only wanted to talk about nail polish and feet. At first, I thought, “This could be interesting and cool.” You know, the idea of having someone who wouldn’t mind giving foot massages and even volunteering to paint my toes for me. But in the process of trying to initiate conversations on other topics, we somehow always ended up back on feet.


Sexting wasn’t sexy at all….it was just weird. I could be at work, at dinner with friends or just hanging out and my phone would buzz with a picture from him of someone’s freshly polished toes that he probably picked up from a Google image search. If not that, then he would practically beg me to send him pictures of my toes painted in a color of his choice. Now, ladies, we all know good quality nail polish is expensive. Who has the time or energy to paint their toes every other day for color requests? Not me.


Since I was chartering new territories, I had to ask what turned him on and why feet. Most men are into nice butts, and a perky set of Ds physically speaking, but I had to know why feet did it for him, and if anything else factored in, like a captivating personality or tunnel vision ambition. His response made me feel like I was listening to Marcus in the movie Boomerang. To him, a woman could be the entire package, but if she had tragic feet that was a complete dealbreaker. It didn’t matter how much money she had, what her goals were in life or how much she gave back to her community. If she looked like she was kicking rocks barefoot, then she could literally kick rocks. I thought that was utterly extreme, and yet, I managed to check out on his strange list.

His Idea of a Date:

Dates couldn’t have been dates without the extras. I felt like I was a phone sex operator taking toe color requests for the sole purpose of having my toes played with and massaged under the table. He wanted to see my toes painted in every color. He wanted to see my nail polish stash. And in the back of my mind, I was wondering why we couldn’t just enjoy a nice meal and have normal conversations about things going on in the world or how the work day went?

The Color Wheel:

He had a serious obsession with white nail polish, pink nail polish and apparently red sent him through the roof. So jokingly, being my usual sarcastic self, I asked if he had some type of color chart of what each shade meant to him. Was it like a mood ring? Did certain colors trigger specific effects? I was prepared for a quick “LOL” response, but before I knew it, we were going back, with me naming colors and him telling me what they meant. Some meanings were normal, some cool, but most were too much, and this went on for hours. There were clearly levels to this fetish. 

In the end, I knew it wasn’t going to work. No matter how open-minded I tried to remain, I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that his focus was on tickling, touching, sucking, painting, removing polish and repainting my toes on a regular basis. Those were his only intentions, and it was too much. A good toe-sucking is great, but he had nothing else of substance to offer. I couldn’t date someone who could barely handle a serious conversation encompassing life issues but could tell me the difference between cotton candy pink and baby pink thoroughly–and with a serious face and boner. I barely knew much about him after all that time, nor what he did for a living despite our shared Greek affiliation. But what I did know was that he only wanted me for my body, and in this case, it was my feet.  

Have you ever dated someone with a fetish and what was that experience like for you?

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