I didn’t write about them, but just before Christmas 2020 I went on 2 dates with a man I’ll call Gavin. Gavin in his early 30’s, and sweet in a shy, derpy way. He was slightly goofy and looked a little bit like a cross between a Quentin Blake drawing and The Fast Show and Harry Potter actor Mark Williams. He was very softly spoken. When he was answering a question, he would roll his eyes upward and flutter his eyelashes rapidly. I waited for him outside of the coffee shop we had arranged to meet on a chilly Saturday afternoon, and the minute he loped round the corner, I knew this wasn’t going to be a thing.
There was
nothing wrong with Gavin. He just wasn’t what I am looking for at this stage of
my life. Since being made redundant from a large shopping chain the previous
Christmas, (just a few short months before the pandemic hit) he had been
working a casual job with odd, ad-hoc hours. He wasn’t too worried about
finding something more permanent – he lived with his parents, so he didn’t have
rent /mortgage or bills to worry about. He said he’d never had a serious
girlfriend, and it occurred to me that he might have never had any type of
girlfriend at all.
It’s been 8
months since I deleted my profile and the apps. We are not on a break. This
toxic relationship is over for good. I
agree that they work for some people, who manage to find each other in the
haunted cesspit. I think most of this is down to luck rather than the apps
doing what they are supposed to and find a good matches for their users. It
would be a bad business model if the apps actually worked, because they rely on
people returning to them again and again, getting desperate and paying for gold
services to increase their chances of matches.
I know this because of my very brief time on Match. I had set up an account - hoping that like everyone said - a paid site would have more potential. More men that seriously wanted to meet someone. I quickly learned that men will pay if there’s a smidgeon of a chance it will get them laid.
Here they
all were again – a line-up of the same men that had been using Tinder, Bumble
OKC and Hinge, using the same profiles. After I’d filtered those out, I was
left about 7 matches in my age and area preferences. I wasn’t interested in
contacting any of these men, and I am sure they felt the same way about me.
Still, I had paid for this, so I struck up a conversation with one man. After a
while I had a niggling feeling he was unhappily married because he’d message me
at odd times and say nothing remotely interesting at all. The chat soon fizzled
out, and I wasn’t bothered.
After about
2 weeks, I asked Match for my money back – they took the first month and
refunded me the remaining two. As soon as I had closed my account, I was
bombarded with emails saying that messages were waiting for me, and thumbnail
photos showed the kinds of men that 100% aren’t using the app, because if you
look like Richard Madden or Margot Robbie you probably don’t need to.
I thought this sudden influx of attractive men who wanted to meet me was a bit weird, so I did what anyone else would do in the same situation and Googled it. Sure enough, this is Match’s scammy way of getting you to sign back up so you can see those ‘messages’.
To add to this shadiness, Match (who also own Tinder and OKCupid) keep dead profiles on the site so it looks as though they have a much bigger user base than they actually do. Another quick search and you’ll find the testimonies of users who left the site and later found out their profiles hadn’t been deleted and they were still coming up as active users.
It was
knowing people that the apps worked for that kept me going back. I tried to
change my attitude towards them, treating them as all the men seemed to do,
like a virtual game of Snap!. When matches sent me crude or low-effort messages
I’d reply with Peep Show or The Office quotes (still, deep down,
a Pickmeisha desperate for attention). I’d tell my funniest stories. I’d
persist with trying to keep conversations going. I got ruthless and unmatched
anyone that didn’t reply within 48 hours. I’d immediately un-match if their
opening message was a single emoji or a single word. Heart-eye face, ‘gorgeous’
‘hi’.
I’d also immediately un-match if they sent me a copy n paste: Hi you profile looks interesting, would you like to meet one evening for dinner and drinks?
The apps
weren’t working for me in the way they’d worked for my friends. No-one else
seemed to have to give it this much time before they met someone. Why was I
struggling so much? It becomes very easy to put all the lack of success on your
own shoulders – not attractive enough, too old, profile is boring, I’m swiping
right on and messaging the wrong type of men…
With not
much else to do, I spent most of 2020 on the apps, the worst year in history to
be using them. This run had lasted 7 uninterrupted months, the longest I had
kept a live account going over the 3 years I had been using them. As 2020 wound down, I was exhausted. I
couldn’t take anymore feeling like I was ugly, or only useful as a free
sex-chat service. My soul and spirit felt dirty and tired. Really, it’s such an unnatural way to meet
someone I am sure that it’s pure, dumb luck when it does work and that’s all
there is to it.
As I am now
over forty, I thought that people would stop asking me if I’d met someone and
that I wouldn’t have to see the well-meaning, sympathetic head-tilt, sometimes
accompanied by an arm-squeeze again and hear the words: ‘ahh, I am sure it will
happen. Probably when you least expect it! You just need to stop looking!’
‘I have stopped
looking,’
‘Well, don’t
give up, join a club or something, you’re bound to meet someone doing something
you enjoy!’
This exchange is somehow more insulting when it’s with a stranger. The most recent occasion this happened was on a crowed Chiltern Line train on a Sunday afternoon.
I plonked
myself in a window seat, opposite an elderly man. He was very, very tall, and
looked like the BFG dressed for a summer afternoon tea party. He had been to
his grandchild’s Christening, which explained the dapper outfit.
He missed
his stop – the smaller doors at the end of the carriage didn’t open. Instead of
finding another now empty seat closer to the door, he came and sat right next
to me, in the space my sister had recently vacated. He saw a photo of my
9-month-old niece on my phone, and the conversation that followed went something
like this: (I have edited it because he asked the same questions a few times)
Old man: Is
that your granddaughter?
Me: No, it’s
my niece
Old man: do
you have any children of your own?
Me: Er,
nope.
Old man: why
not?
Me: I never
really wanted any
Old man: do
you have a husband?
Me: No
Old man
(looks a bit shocked) a boyfriend?
Me: No, not
one of those either.
Old man: Oh.
So what does a single girl like you do with her time?
Me: What do
you mean….like, socially…or…?
Old man:
Work, what do you do for work?
Me:
(explains my job which he didn’t understand and just looked baffled by. My dad
joined in from across the way, yelling at him what I do which isn’t what I
wanted on a packed train, because the description made me sound like one of
those bailiff guys on Can’t Pay We’ll Take It Away)
Old man: do
you want children?
Me: No.
Old man: (in
a jolly tone) Oh well! It’s not too late for you to change your mind!
A minute
ago, he had thought I was a grandmother, now he thinks I still have time to
find a husband and have some kids! This man is obviously infirm in his old age!
Anyway, he
reaches the next stop he can get off at to take the train back to the one he
missed, shakes my hand and wishes me luck.
I feel like
I often miss real-life opportunities to meet people, due to a combination of
mild social anxiety, laziness and feeling ‘fat’, so when my friend Lulu
suggested a last minute night out, I agreed (after already having a few drinks
and getting my arm twisted a bit).
He was
wearing shorts and flip-flops. I can’t remember much else about him, except
that I thought he had a nice smiley face. He may or may not have been the same
height as me or only a little bit taller. I liked that he didn’t have spaghetti
strand legs. I got his number. Goddammit, I’m still such a Pickmeisha it makes
me sick.
For 3 days I
uhmed and aaahed about messaging him. Every time I went to, I’d feel this very
strong urge not to. But I didn’t know if that was fear, or ridiculous
over-thinking. Anyway, I did message him, and he replied pretty fast for the
first few messages.
Since the
first few messages, he takes much longer to reply. Days. He hasn’t replied at
all to my message sent at the weekend. Flip-flop isn’t going to be date number
42.
If I start dressing like this, maybe people will stop asking me if I'm still single
