In San Francisco, there’s a new dating phenomena called “Date My Friend” — a by-invite Friendster-like happy hour party. It started out with 50 people and has since grown to a mailing list of over 5000. Just goes to show that people like to have some assurance the person they go on a date with is not a creep.

I wish there was something local like this for gay men — not because I’m afraid of dating a creep, but because I’d like my friends to vouch for me to others. I’m not a creep — I’m just painfully shy. There’s a certain self-confidence necessary for hitting the dating scene that I lack. It’s all about projecting who you are. The problem is, I don’t really know who I am anymore.

There’s something comforting in seeing an old photo of yourself with friends and knowing who you were at that point and how you stood in your relationships to others. Moving to NYC has probably been the single biggest change in my life, marking the before and after periods of my life. But now, in those unguarded moments when I catch a glimpse of myself in a window on the subway, I don’t know who that guy staring back at me is.

I honestly have no idea how the people I’ve met recently would describe me to others. Am I as much a cipher to them as I am to myself now?

While editing my online personal ad, I look at the picture and see a guy who wonders if 29 is too old to be learning how to date, who feels like he isn’t as good looking, buff, funny, or intelligent as any of the men he’s met recently, and who doesn’t even have a clue who he wants to be. And no amount of trick photography is going to fix that.