My Hipster Dream Date With Tom Hardy

by Emily Cheever

Film and TV Editor
On Feb 09, 2012

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I kind of have a thing for Tom Hardy. You know this. At least you probably do, if you read this site. Hello all twelve of you! Anyway, he showed up at the This Means War premiere sporting a beard. And the Brooklyn hipster inside of me basically ovulated eight times. [Side note: Why is that a thing people say now?] Anyway, here's what I would do if Tom Hardy and I went out on a hipster date. Or rather, a guy that just looks like Tom Hardy. Either way, I'll let you know that I'm completely aware of how creepy this is.

5 PM: We meet at some mixology place. He obviously rides up on his fixie, whereas I took the subway. He's wearing a very vintage tee with some paint stained jeans and Clarks. I'm wearing mostly black, slightly chunky heels, tights, you know, the outfit. But I'm also wearing a pretty rockable red lipstick that isn't overwhelming.
5:30 PM: After dealing with the grumpy bartender who may or may not have track marks on her arm (might be a tattoo?) I get something with gin and limes (effervescent) and he gets something with whiskey. I can't do brown liquor since the great vomit-gate of freshman year.
7 PM: After several drinks we're feeling a little too buzzed, things are slightly affectionate but not overwhelming. I attempt to make several jokes that my mother would be appalled by ("A lady never says those things!") but he seems to either not hear me or care. We decide to go get dinner at a nearby restaurant that specializes in organic everything. Seriously, even the plates are organic.
7:45 PM: We both agree that the restaurant has probably the best kale salad that has ever existed. Our colons will be singing.
8:15 PM: To prove how adventurous I am, I order the bone marrow off the menu. It's surprisingly delicious. I think he's into it considering I show him that I have a dark side. He gets the trout but I try not to tell him that fish in the United States comes from fish farms (is that still organic?). He's got a piece of arugula in his beard and I pick it out affectionately. 
9:30 PM: We get in a heated discussion about Lars Von Trier versus Werner Herzog. We both love the conversation and will eventually mark it down as a high point of intelligence in the night but most likely we are very drunk and not making any sense.
9:35 PM: Conversational lull, but I use this time to explore phsyical intimacy under the table. Within restraint of course, I'm not a slut. He seems pleased, we get the check.
10:00 PM: We walk back to my place with his fixie, chain smoking all the way. In my apartment I put on a really great Gil Scott Heron record and roll a spliff. We talk about the merits of Bon Iver (Legitimate? Hack?).
10:15 PM: Now we're both high and drunk, but not enough to be embarrassing. We do that stupid game where you put your hands on the other persons hands and try to hit them. 
10:45 PM: Half an hour of that f*cking game and I'm basically about to give up. I hate it when guys don't make a move.
10:46 PM: I just give him that "Come on, seriously" look that I'm never sure works, especially when drunk and/or high. 
10:47 PM: SUCCESS! Voracious making out/heavy petting for about an hour. Old school, baby.
11:52 PM: We hear someone start to rough up his bike locked up outside. He becomes paranoid, quickly kissing me and running downstairs to apprehend the culprit. I walk out to the stoop and light a cigarette
Midnight: He says goodbye, he has work in the morning but promises to call me.

He never does. Later, I find out that he's decided to get back together with his girlfriend, a chick with a full sleeve and fluent in German.

I regret nothing.

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