After lockdown, we were all just a bit touch-starved. While being single can be sound, when you can’t embrace its freedoms, it’s all a bit lonely. When you’re on your 8th box set, it’s only human to want to have a little cuddle with someone who isn’t your dog (no offence, Digby).
Sure, there were a lot of perks about lockdown ending. Seeing the extended fam, my mates, returning to cafes. But what really surprised me was how exciting it was to see men that I’m not related to. Even male friends, disturbingly, started to look appealing.
Going out and about after lockdown was fab, but there was a disappointing lack of male attention. I thought everyone would be absolutely GAGGING for a bit of tired banter. Has tinder stopped men trying to chat girls up on a night out? Or am I actually just a bit of a munter?
My friends, all in relationships (love being last on the shelf!!), had success on tinder. So it was time, I decided, to see what the island was saying. I organised some dates, and turned the IOM into my own flabbier, less attractive love island.
Dear reader, when I say that it was a disaster, that’s a bit of an understatement. While some people were nice, the spark just wasn’t there. One lad, well into his twenties, implied that, should he be so lucky to copulate with me, it’d have to be in his mum’s car. Vehicular intercourse did not appeal to me, so I kindly declined.
After completing tinder with no romantic prospects, I decided to quit the app. It had become boring, with surprisingly few men being wowed by my charm and good looks. No accounting for taste, eh?
It was while drinking over skype with my best mate (closed borders are hard when your number one confidant lives on the other side) when she made me download hinge, the less slutty tinder. I was reluctant- I’d tried it before, but I didn’t rate it. Hinge asks you to answer a range of questions on your profile, to try and inspire answers. Being a few glasses of wine deep, having a penchant for irreverence and utterly not caring about the results, I threw in some answers for banter. If they can’t get on with my humour, they can’t get in my pants. That’s the rules, lads.
Well ladies, I cleaned up on Hinge. Delightfully, the lads seemed fitter than tinder- and the conversations flowed nicely. Maybe it was my wit and charm, maybe it was my double-f cups. Many of the men were accountants (or trainees)- it really seems you’re either an accountant on this island, or you marry one. Some men were overly keen, but it was nice to be reminded that I am objectively perfect. Some men even recognised my name from my work as the best journo on the island. It’s hard being a celeb, but someone has to do it x
Six months since getting back on the dating scene, and it appears that I am no closer to getting married by the time I’m 30. Between working, Christmas and spending time with loved ones, the appeal of amusing someone with telling them my life story and listening to theirs has weaned a bit. And while a great romance might not be on my cards this year, I’ve come to accept that the dog will cuddle me and not argue with me about what boxset we’re watching. Maybe I just need to wait for open borders.
So what have I learned about dating on the island?
My biggest turn off is someone suggesting shagging in their mum’s car on the first date. Hugh Grant would never.
There are a lot of accountants on the island- and I am absolutely their catnip. I’m batting them away with sh*tty sticks.
If you’re struggling to get matches, whack your baps out and make some Peep Show references. Men will crawl at your feet.