A Day in the Life of a Matchmaker

Editor’s Note: Ripe for a memoir. This is a good way to describe the life of Emily Holmes Hahn, resident contributor and founder of LastFirst Matchmaking. After a wine-fueled evening of gasping and gaping at Emily’s latest anecdotes, I cajoled her into recording a mundane Monday of her life (which constitutes of more activities than I take on in a week). Please note that the non-PG parts were left out due to matchmaker-client privileges – personally, I’m waiting for that juicy NYC tell-all! 

5:30 a.m. Wake up to the soft glow of the city outside my window. My inner peace is quickly broken by my puppy Wilfie, demanding to be released from his crate (typical male).

6:45 a.m. SoulCycle, my adult version of a nightclub. With shameless 90s music and hygge lemon-scented candles!

7:45 a.m. Home. Shower. Apply makeup. Assemble Cute Matchmaker OOTD.

8:15 a.m. Long walk to work. First meeting is with a PC (Potential Client) over breakfast at the Nomad. I bring Wilfie along, for he is my official Closer – I’m convinced that there is something about a cherubic puppy that awakens one’s yearning for domestic bliss.  

9 a.m. PC enters. Great hair, warm smile, I see potential in this Potential. We banter about summer travel – Positano for him, Hamptons for this original New Yorker. Common vacation territories are established; it is now time to SELL.

I launch into the pitch, my masterpiece monologue that I have lovingly tweaked, reassembled, and perfected over the past 5 years. “Hiring a matchmaker is like hiring a head hunter for your personal life…(Laughter! Seduction! Tears! Recovery! Passion!)…and, this way, Brian, we are going to put your dating life back into YOUR! OWN! HANDS! 

I beam and wait for applause (or an immediate 5-figure check). I get a blank stare instead. “So, is this an app…?” 

10:10 a.m. Arrive at LFHQ (the LastFirst office) and spend the morning brainstorming our company rebrand. The matchmaker community is pretty collegial, however, one agency recently copied our website design, along with our entire press strategy. After the initial shock, I’m now channeling my frustration into an opportunity to freshen up our image and highlight What Makes Us Different.   

12 a.m. Mondays are Team Lunch days. After an hour-long debate, the Matchmakers agree on Sugarfish. Lunchtime conversation centers around a “special case” of a client, who is in the habit of discussing child rearing expectations on the very first date. (He also doesn’t like his dates ordering more than one drink – because, fertility.) I resolve to have a firm chat with him about the meaning of “foreplay” and “subtlety.”  

1:30 p.m. The revolving door of Singles begins. We get a lot of write-ins asking to be included in our database (which you can do here). Also, certain clients are very particular, so we occasionally scour the dating apps for their dream-dates-slash-unicorns, who – surprise, surprise! – don’t always live up to their virtual selves. The search is currently out for an Indian doctor in her 30’s, ideally resembling a Bollywood star (i.e. physically flawless). A lawyer works as well.. Somebody? Anybody?

5:30 p.m. Today’s Happy Hour special is a juice from Naturopathica, where I escape for my weekly facial. Yes, weekly, because it turns out that you can actually purchase great skin. Try to detach my brain from work, but find myself thinking about another client. This one is convinced that her ex-husband is spying on her as they finalize their custody agreement – she keeps changing her @hotmail.com email and is certain that a PI was shadowing her last date. I wonder if I too can get in touch with this PI to commission some double agent duties. 

6:30 p.m. Uber ride home, during which I send out two dozen “Have a great date tonight!” messages, coordinating times to go over feedback the following day. My head begins to spin. Wilfie feels the pressure too, for he is furiously digging into the leather seat (and I fear, lowering my Uber rating).  

7:00 p.m. Rare weekday run-in with my husband, Ross, who arrives at our building the same time as myself. Wilfie pees on the lobby floor from excitement. This chance encounter is a perfect opportunity to play the “strangers” game, an improv attempt which our fellow elevator passengers don’t seem to find amusing. Up in our apartment, I feel it’s time to finally tell this handsome stranger how badly I want another puppy, which snaps us back to our 7-years-and-counting reality – “Are you out of your mind???”

7:30 p.m. Dreams of an extended puppy family shattered, I start to prepare for the evening, and perk up when I strike upon outfit genius. I decide that every day should include at least two Cute Matchmaker OOTDs.

8 p.m. Arrive at Rose Bar, where my one of my dearest and most exhaustively social friends, Mike, is holding court. Mike has an incredible, ever-expanding circle, and I often commission him special “research projects” based on my clients’ unique demands. My wish is granted yet again – a Priyanka Chopra lookalike is seated at the table.

I squeeze in next to her, exchange a few routine pleasantries, then begin picking her brain. I go for the standard Oprah tactic, starting with easy questions à la  “How do you know Mike?”, building up substance with “So what was it like growing up in India?”, and finally taking a turn for the heavy with “And would you say you’re someone with commitment issues?” She passes with flying colors. 

I inform Priyanka that I am not just a random snoop, but, in fact, a matchmaker! Not only that, but I have a client I would love for her to meet! Once again, I glow and expect applause – a hug – something. All I get in return is a reverse interrogation, in a British accent, to make the experience even scarier. “Is he tall?” “What’s he like, though?” “But is he cool?” “Like, where does he go out?” My honest answers pass her test – she will swing by our office tomorrow to learn more. 

9 p.m. Hair flip, manicure-check, and I flutter over to the bar where I spot my colleague, Cassandra, a magnet for the most interesting men. Indeed, we are hardly one glass in, when we are approached by two polished young dandies – think slim suits and pocket squares – bank analysts fresh out of business school, but, according to them, “not your typical finance guys.” These are prime candidates for our Diet Pitch (“Yes, matchmaking! That is an actual job, can you believe it?”) Do they need to pay? Nope, we have many female clients so they can just be added to the database. Another meeting at LFHQ is calendared.

11:30 p.m. A catch-up with Mike, a final round of bises, and I’m in a car heading home. My Uber rating is still intact, Mr. Bollywood has a maybe-match, life is temporarily under control. Then, I remember the 12 potential couples scattered around the island of Manhattan at this very moment, and the waves of stress roll back in. Breathe. Tomorrow is another lemon-scented day.