The Gab of the Gift

My best friend-come-housemate Emily sauntered downstairs last week with a big grin on her face, exclaiming she’d finally decided what she is giving up for Lent.

“What it is, then?” I asked.

“Chocolate,” she replied, far too smugly.

“NO!”

“Yes!”

“Whyyyyyyyy?” I moaned in a very stroppy voice (who knew!).

“Because it’ll be a challenge.”

“But that’s so selfish of you, Em. I won’t be able to bake anything with chocolate in for six weeks! And if I do, I’ll have to eat it all on my own and I’ll get FAT.”

“Well, do it with me, then!”

“Never. The last year’s been testing enough,” I replied through mouthfuls of a double-chocolate cookie.

“Haha. What’re you giving up?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. Probably nothing…”

To tell you the truth, I don’t normally ‘do’ Lent. I thought about giving up chocolate for all of a micro-second but I need Ben and Jerry there for me at the end of the day. I’ve also already done dry Jan (had I mentioned that?!) – why would I deprive myself of my other true love? I’ve considered giving up social media (but then my fandom wouldn’t know what I’m baking at the weekends) and feel that life has already given up anything else remotely fun or naughty (the pub, the pub, the pub).

I’m the queen of downloading and deleting dating apps – I’ve spent far too long trying to construct profiles that are borderline just the slightest bit enticing to the opposite sex, before having a quick swipe, feeling on edge, and deleting the whole thing. Then repeating the process a week later. I was in a re-download phase this month, and that’s when I sauntered downstairs to tell Emily what I was giving up for Lent. Unlike her, I wasn’t feeling smug about it – rather, more ‘meh’.

My name is Gabrielle and I’m giving up dating apps. And I’ve already given myself a two day head-start.

*****

It’s a world I’d never really wanted to get into but it’s a world I ended up in. Some people are good at it; some people are bad at it. Some people are swipe-happy; some people are swipe-sad. Some people find it works for them; some people don’t. I’m one of the latter. And I’m residing to accept the fact that dating apps just aren’t the one for me – pun fully intended. 

The irk to write this came at the weekend just gone – how incredibly coincidental that it was Valentine’s weekend! I’d been chatting to a guy on Bumble since mid-January who seemed to tick every box. It’s important for me to point out here that I don’t actually have a tick-box – I’m not that girl. He just liked things I liked, the chat had a funny but serious balance, and he could use their/they’re/there correctly in a sentence. Winning. We had a loose arrangement to meet up on Saturday 13th (the thirteenth, I should’ve known) and I was excited. After all, we’d been chatting for long enough. I’d even planned my outfit for the walk-date (welcome to 2021!), a tricky ordeal in itself. With temperatures hovering around freezing, I didn’t want to be cold. I wanted to look nice – after all, you never know when you’re going on your last first date! – without looking bulky, which is often the result of layering a coat on jumper two on jumper one on your thermals on a vest. See my problem? Alas, the minutes I spent staring in the mirror wondering which woolly hat – cream or black – made my nose look smaller were an absolute waste of time. (Neither, by the way, I’ve just got a big nose). I got jilted with a very poor excuse. It was the second time he ‘couldn’t’ meet (even though he really wanted to, he really did!!!) and he was giving off very flaky vibes. At least he was thoughtful enough to text me saying ‘I’m free on the 27th/28th if that’s any consolation!’. Let’s just think about that for a moment – free in a pandemic? When everything is closed? I told him that no, that wasn’t any consolation. I reminded him that I wasn’t looking for a pen-pal and swiftly hit unmatch. Then I deleted my account. 

You can be whoever you want to be on Hinge, Tinder, Bumble etcetera. Our lives are increasingly captured in photos – the good, the bad, the ugly. These platforms tend to allow you just six to sell yourself – in my case, to show off the 24 years and 10 months that have made me, me. Sounds pretty easy – and probably is if you’re not one to overthink – but getting the right balance of damn, she’s shit hot whilst conveying you’ve got friends, you’re up for a laugh, you’re a family person (look how adorable my Granny is!) and that you don’t take yourself too seriously (cue those ugly fancy dress pictures of you as an olive that aren’t actually that ugly, actually kinda cute) is harder than it looks. I speak for myself when I say my profile gives off more of a consistent damn, she an alcoholic aura – hey, the only time I’m confident enough to have a ‘nice’ photo taken is after ten glasses of wine.

Getting the match is the hard bit unless, I suppose, you look like Blake Lively – but once you’re in, you’ve got the power. You get to steer the conversation to pretty much wherever you want it to go – guys like personality over looks, right? Ha. The chat helps to filter out the bad ones and find the good ones. But that’s the trouble with having a relationship with a stranger via a phone – you don’t actually know them, you just know the person they want to be. Or the person they think they are, but they’re not. None of it’s in real-time, so that message he sent that made you snort out loud laughing could’ve taken him hours to think of. Poor him. And when you realise that that Scrabble-loving, red wine drinking, rugby-watching, ski-enthusiastic guy you’ve fallen in love with never actually wanted to meet you in the first place, well, it’s a rough place to find yourself. Poor her (me).

I paid far too much attention to the talks in school about privacy settings on social media – you’ll still find my ‘About’ section on Facebook incredibly limited and I am that person that only accepts people I legitimately know as followers on Instagram. That’s probably got something to do with why I’ve always felt the app life a bit backwards. I’m an in-person person in all areas of my life (calls over texts any day!), so if I’ve exchanged some messages with a guy and feel we could get on well, I suggest meeting up. After all, when they select relationship in the I’m looking for section of their profile, you’d think they would actually want to try and establish one. (Have I been sarcastic yet?)

In BoJo language, there are rules with the apps but there are also no rules with the apps. There’s no instruction book as to how to do it, more society’s opinions. Which are unhelpful at the best of times. Who even decided when is too soon to meet? When you’ve chatted for too long not to meet? I’ll hold my hands up proudly as a do-er who sometimes runs the risk of appearing too keen – but then, why is that a risk? What even is keen, anyway? I think it’s far more a compliment to admit to a guy you want to go out with him than pretending you don’t, trying to play it cool (then getting cross when they actually don’t do what you wanted them to do because you’ve told them to do the opposite of what you want them to do). Spoiler alert: I’ve never played it cool. Because I’m not cool. And I choose not to be.

I text various girlfriends this morning who have met their SOs via the apps. The first app date one friend went on was her last – she’s now living with the guy. He’s very nice. Another friend that used the apps almost bailed on the first date with the guy she’s since been with for four years and counting – he’s very nice, too. It wasn’t his fault, rather the awkward first date she’d been on with another guy a few days before which really made her ‘lose hope with online dating’. That date involved four cocktails and eleven shots. And a very sore head… Three of my closest friends met their now-boyfriends last summer through Hinge and Bumble. Those guys are also very nice.

I even went on two first dates in two weeks with two guys last October from Hinge. They were nice – well, initially. The dates were actually really fun and both guys lived up to their app chat – one way more than I’d bargained for, there were no facades there. And they looked like their pictures – better, in fact – which is always a bonus. They were first dates only, though – a second date was arranged with the first guy until he ghosted me (not so nice); with the second guy, a second date was mutually left at a first date. I knew that was going to be the case when he said ‘you’re such a Tory’ half an hour in, then got pissy when I pulled away from a kiss on the cheek. That was because he was cocky and made a not-so-funny misogynistic comment. The rejection obviously hurt his ego – he got up from his seat next to me and moved to sit opposite me. Fortunately/unfortunately, I was far too many cocktails in to actually remember what the comment was. Great cocktails, though.

I think you’ve got to be pretty tough to put yourself out there on an app. I think a face-to-face rejection is far easier to handle than being ghosted. It’s savage. I won’t pretend I’ve been angelic and replied to every message I’ve ever received, but I’ve never ghosted anyone. I definitely judge people from their profiles because, after all, that’s basically what’s happening. We shouldn’t be shamed for it. It’s like when a recruiter receives a CV – they have a glance through and see if that person meets what they’re looking for. Then swipe accordingly.

I can’t help myself to write directly to the guys here, and I’m going to have a little rant. Remember, these are my judgements. You probably wouldn’t like what I’ve written on my profile, either. And that’s fine – we can all like what we like and dislike what we dislike. If you’re reading this wondering how your profile compares to other dudes’, the honest answer is… They’re all much of a muchness. The word ‘gym’ – just the word ‘gym’, that is – features on at least 80% of profiles. Nice to know you gym, mate, but I’d already figured that out from the six selfies you took in the actual gym mirrors, tensed up like you’re giving birth to a melon out your arse. Phrases like ‘I don’t know what to write here haha’ (don’t write anything, then) and ‘chivalry isn’t dead’ (usually on the profiles of the guys where chivalry looks, well, dead!) are common. YES, I’m judging someone on their photos, but that’s how these things work – shoot me! Another classic is the self-promotive ‘I don’t check this much so add me on insta imsovain1234‘ – I don’t know babe, something gives me the impression you’re wanting to grow your social media following more than get into a relationship. That’s almost as annoying as the guys that use the prompt ‘I’m overly competitive about’ and respond with ‘everything [insert three crying-with-laughter emojis]’. Hun, NO-ONE finds everything competitive. Your imagination certainly isn’t! Lastly, I don’t know when it became a thing to write ‘homeowner [insert keys emoji here]’ at the top of your bio, but apparently it is – I wasn’t aware of the correlation between you buying a house and being the love of my life, but thanks for pointing this out. I rent, by the way.

As I approach 25, I feel 35. For many reasons, I know who I am now and I’m happy with that. If I’m going on a date with you, it’s because I’m bothered to be going on a date with you. I’ve learnt to actually enjoy dating, something my friends were telling me for ages is possible (it is!) but the pieces only fit the puzzle in the last year. I actually think I’m the truest version of myself on a date. I’m excited, so I’m smiling. I’m a little nervous, but I mask it with laughter. I’m generally very daft so can guarantee no awkward silences (well, almost none). I’m honest and I wear my heart on my sleeve (no matter how much I previously thought I didn’t). I’ll tell you that I want to see you again and I’ll tell you politely if I don’t, though you’ll probably have figured that out. I’m an awful liar.

I don’t like texting boys I’ve never met. I don’t like being let down by boys I’ve never met. I’m done with being disappointed with boys I’ve never met (or those that I have – see below, ha!). I want that Carrie Bradshaw real love: ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love. I want to talk, really talk, and tell stories the way stories should be told. I don’t want to reply all ‘haha’ to that joke you just made about your boss being an absolute tit today – I want to laugh, really laugh, with you at it. 

My thumbs have swiped left, swiped right, super-swiped and GOD I DIDN’T MEAN TO SWIPE swiped and they deserve a break. My dabbling with the dating apps is well and truly done for now. My dabbling with the dating stories, however… That remains to be seen.

PS: I am free this weekend if anyone wants to take me out.

*****

I couldn’t not include this last bit, but it didn’t really fit in anywhere above. Three of my dearest girlfriends and I have a rule surrounding dates: one must always follow a date with a voicenote (or five) covering who, what, where, when, how and why. The drunker, the better. Bonus points if it lands in the chat at 10am the following day. To say they’re hilarious to listen back to is an understatement. Even funnier to play them to the guy they were about (if you end up actually dating). Maybe I’ll compile them one day, but for now, I’ll leave you the anecdote that has absolutely killed me:

I went on a 45 minute date in Bath. He was really miserable and all he talked about was himself. I made an excuse that I had something in the oven at home and left.

Something in the oven. Amazing. You’re welcome.