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“I didn’t know how to start those kind of conversations,” he says. He tells me that his only experience with dating apps came around five or six years ago. I can’t even order pizza over the phone.”
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“I always wonder,” says Otto, a 24-year-old video editor from Munich, “how people are able to turn an online chat into a one night stand, or a series of dates, or a stable relationship. One of the lesser mentioned aspects of existing in a Tinderfied world is the anxiety that such platforms can instill – even for those of us who don’t have a portal of potentiality tucked away somewhere in our pockets. People want the perfect relationship, the Instagrammable life, without realising that keeping a relationship alive is hard work. “and that’s how this mass dating culture has developed. “I think some people are utterly afraid of being alone,” she says. She tells me she thinks there’s something “desperate” about “going on 100 dates with 100 strangers,” adding that, “if you want to bang 100 people you’re probably in the right place.” There is, of course, nothing wrong with that: even relative dinosaurs like Hannah and I have to accept that the sexual marketplace has changed at an alarming rate since we last took our wicker baskets out. For people like Hannah and I, mingled in with the fear of rejection, and the comfort that comes with telling yourself that there is a solid, definable, and undeniable reason as to why you’re single, there is something distinctly uneasy about the mechanical, binary aspect of the swipe experience.
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“The last time I was single it was still considered super weird and creepy to meet people online and I think that’s where my brain is still stuck,” she tells me when I ask why she’s reticent to download an app and swipe her way to coupledom.Ī friend showed her how Tinder worked, which Hannah found “pretty gross”. In dating terms, this marks her out as an almost prehistoric relic of the analogue dating age. Her previous relationship began in a salon nearly a decade ago. She lives in London, works in PR, and has been single for the past six months. To be an unswiping singleton in 2018 is to accept voluntary excommunication from the world of dating. Which means, effectively, every day on Earth is an extension on an act of supreme self-sabotage.
The reason for that, I think, is simple: I have never used a dating app. I haven’t sat patiently smiling as a potential partner takes a photo of their josperised sea bass at Palomar. There have been no afternoons in galleries, or evenings at the cinema. Since then I have not been on a date, met anyone for a drink or sat in the giddy near-silence that often falls over the back seats of Ubers as Toyota Prius’ hurtle through the Rotherhithe tunnel on early Sunday mornings.
My last relationship came into being in April 2014, and ended in January of last year. The reason why even my fantasies – if we can apply a word that implies a level of lust and illicitness to something so sappingly suburban – are boring failures is simple: I am single, and have been for a relatively long time, considering I am a city-dwelling 28-year-old. This is where I down tools and accept that reality always lurks around the corner of any dream, that sleep’s cocoon is built to shatter. I want to let them know that I have seen their advert and that it touched me and that I too read, cook, sing, garden, walk, laugh and that I don’t just do those things but am actively seeking a partner who also laughs and walks and gardens and sings and cooks and reads. I realise I want to speak to this person. Politically engaged professor, of relatively sound mind and body. Warm, witty literate feminist, 51, seeks companionable single male, lefty with London ties.
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