Before any smart-arses tell me I’ve got that saying wrong, I did it on purpose. Dating is a game for a reason – you win some, you lose some, and you spend far too much time partaking in some. ‘Players’ are commonly annoyingly fine bits of ass with really good teeth and nice, shiny hair. They make us swoon. We all like to think we know the warning signs, and we’ve all got that friend that reckons they can spot one a mile off. And then, before you know it…
You’re driving yourself mental pulling apart every conversation, you’re reading and rereading every text, you’re reciting all points of physical contact to your friends for the 37th time. All in a desperate effort to try and decipher some kind of hidden meaning. After all, when they told you your body looked great (though you knew you were definitely showing the half a cake meant to serve 18 you’d drunkenly eaten that Sunday) or that they found your repetitive alarm-checking endearing (even though everyone else tells you they’re fed up of it), you believed them. You didn’t expect them just to disappear. As the wise Slughorn once said, “But that’s life, I suppose. You go along and then suddenly, poof.” (Figuratively speaking, of course. No-one has died.)
I can’t pretend I’m one of those millennials that’s all free-spirited and la-de-da when it comes to dating. Snogging a guy, then a girl, then another guy at the same time as another girl, then waking up one of those guys’ or girls’ sofas surrounded by all the bloody guys and girls isn’t my vibe. Hey, I’m all for it if it’s yours, but I’ll stick with monogamy, thank you very much. I’m going to determine that doesn’t make me any less fun – fun people always have to assert they’re fun, by the way. Simply, when it comes to dating and relationships, I think just the one partner is enough. Christ, one bout of ladmin a day will suffice. So will just the one round of ladmania when he just HASN’T TEXT BACK SINCE YESTERDAY.
You’d reckon that makes the dating life a bit more straight-forward then, eh? Ha. If only. Dating apps seem to have been around for as long as it’s been since the last good series of The X Factor. By that, I mean the series that produced the likes of Leona Lewis, invented ‘Chico Time’, and almost threatened any chance of Peter Andre getting any further royalties for Mysterious Girl… If you don’t get that last reference, STOP what you are doing and thank me later. Besides dating guys I already know, or more dangerously, ones I classed as friends (note the use of past tense), I don’t think I’ve ever gone out with a guy that I’ve not met through a dating app.
At least with people you already know – even if ‘knowing’ extends to them being your best mate’s cousin’s wife’s ex-husband’s colleague – there’s a bit of common ground. You assume they’re relatively normal, and chances are high that they’ll actually show up. Honesty’s a bit more common too, as is being able to dig into their background without fear of accidentally liking their photo with an ex in Bali from 2017…
Dating a total stranger is a whole other ball game, pardon the pun. I’ve personally never been lucky (or unlucky?) enough to date two people at once. I’m quite happy with putting my eggs in one basket, pardon that pun, too. It’s probably not a surprise that I even find talking to multiple guys on Hinge stressful.
Firstly, the chat function on that platform is awkward. I’ve been doing my last-minute re-read of the conversation en route to a date before (because I hadn’t really been paying much attention to the chat) and goodness me it is DIFFICULT to scroll through.
Secondly, there’s always one guy whose profile is so damn good that on the one hand, you’ve already convinced yourself they were drunk when they connected with you. And on the other, you can’t help lying in bed trying out your first name against their surname. Wondering if you’ll get introduced as The God and Gabs or Gabs and The God. Oh, and there comes the punch to the stomach when they don’t reply… Must’ve been drunk. Then up pops the average-looking fella you did exactly the same thing to.
I’ll say I’ve been part of the problem here. There’s always a few guys you let slip through your net – it’s especially full of holes on Fridays and Saturdays. But I’m not the only one. Mr Lockdown 2.0 (makes a mental note to make this his last mention) messaged me the night before our first date to say he hoped I looked like my photos. Like, he was genuinely worried I wouldn’t. And it was a deadpan text, too. Course, we all think it, but we don’t usually say it. It’s up there with one of the most backhanded compliments I’ve ever received.
When that WhatsApp lit up my phone, I can admit to looking far from my photos. There wasn’t a scrap of makeup on my face, but a tonne of eyebrow dye (only on my eyebrows though, obviously). My hair was matted and in an accidental half-up, half-down ‘do thanks to a week’s worth of dry shampoo. And if I’d somehow given off the vibes that I was the type to wear lacy, itsy-bitsy (read, itchy and wedgie-inducing) black lingerie to bed, the joke was on him. I looked down at my oversized, once-white but definitely-not-white-anymore t-shirt that reads ‘I heart Banta Burga’ (the name of my group of best school friends), and replied “I hope so too, for your sake.” Then I questioned if I really wanted to go on the date.
My point here, though granted it’s taking me a bloody long time to make it, is this: Thanks to absolutely everything being absolutely accessible absolutely all of the time, we’re constantly seeking more. More abs. More money. More attention. Our world – especially the one my generation lives in – has never been more driven by comparison. When did anything stop becoming enough?
It’s the same with the dating game. You could go on the most perfect date with the most perfect guy, but there’s always more out there. By more, I mean that device in your pocket that’s laden with an abundance of profiles. More photos to look at. More prompts to read. More guys to have more perfect dates with.
You see, generally speaking, gone are the days that dating was ‘easy’. You’d meet someone actually out somewhere (though we all know that got left in the pre-pandemic world), swap numbers, go on a date, then another, and then a few more. It’d all be rather nice and straightforward; he likes you, you like him. Bish, bash, bosh, you’re buying a plant together. There’d be none of this ‘exclusivity’ bollocks (basically, guys, admit defeat if it gets to this point, they’re your girlfriend whether you like it or not). And there’d be none of the endless questions about how long you’ve been dating. None of the fear-invoking ‘have they deleted their profile?’ questions from friends; none of the judgement if you have or haven’t ‘put a label on it’.
I am determined not to ever be a part of that. So far, I’ve done pretty well. Is it really such a far-fetched romanticism to simply fall into a relationship without all the wishy-washy crap that comes with it?
How-ev-er. Here’s the problem. I said we crave more, don’t we? The dating game has become ever-more mysterious. Where you could be on date five with them (so you obviously like one another, right?), they could also be on date three with someone else. And chatting away to one or two in the background. Because until you get rid of that catalogue on your phone, there’s always more. When did whiling away a Sunday evening on Hinge become an actual hobbie?
Suffice to say it’s an odd one to have to navigate. I reckon it’s less risky to show someone the kind of engagement ring you’re after on a third date than to ask them if they’re ready to delete their dating profile. I mean, I really wouldn’t know. I haven’t done either. Legitimately.
Before I round this off (as we’re obviously not close to reaching any kind of conclusion), I’ll tell you this. I was recently very honest with a guy who was, in turn, very honest back. We were honest that we liked each other, and honest about not really knowing what we wanted. (It’s important to note that despite all my ramblings that suggest otherwise, I’m still relatively adverse to full-blown commitment. Like, I want the diamond but I don’t want the marriage. Anyway…) So yeah, he was honest. Then he was too honest, if there’s such thing.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been dating a guy – who you genuinely didn’t not like anything about – and had them sit across from you and say (in the midst of a ‘normal’ date), “Yeah, so I reckon I wouldn’t lose sleep if I didn’t see you again.”
Mic-drop.
Just me with my hand up?
It’s okay, people. Well, it’s not quite an okay thing to say, but then again, they say honesty is the best policy… And I’ve saved myself various outfits, a few mid-week hangovers, and some dollar otherwise used on dating towards tickets to see Kasabian in October. Everyone’s a winner.
I’ll never know if he was simultaneously still swiping through, chatting to, or dating anyone else. And I’m very happy with that. I won’t shy away from the fact that phrase knocked me for six (seven, or eight glasses of wine), or that it puts a huge question mark over what it is to date. Or, more specifically, what it means to me to date. Hang on… Do I even want to date?
I’ve truly never been more single than I am now.
(Besides from my insomnia), I’ve never slept more peacefully.
And… Guess what? Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.
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