If you have ever been near a dating app, one thing you’ll know is you have to “chat” to at least eight people at the same time before there’s even a sniff of a date on the horizon. Yes, it’s very time consuming. It’s also a numbers game as the person you’re talking to will invariably be chatting to several other people and so on and so forth. It’s a lot like a Ponzi scheme involving resilience, courage, perseverance and a couple of bruises to the heart along the way. In fact, you’re more likely to win the Grand National at 50-1 than meet someone on a dating app and fall in love (not an official stat, before someone checks).
This week I decided to narrow my chances of going on a date further by posing the type of opening question never usually asked on dating apps: “Nice to meet you! So, how do you feel about the situation in Ukraine?”
Of the eight people I’m currently conversing with, three described how they were paying zero attention to the situation and trying to get on with their lives. Fair enough, we gotta do what we gotta to do to survive. One described the situation as “fake news”. One didn’t bother to reply (it’s a big question, so I forgave him). The remaining three reported various fundraising efforts and spoke of loading supply trucks destined for Ukraine borders. (Obviously, I pursued the man who described the war as fake news, as this year part of my new improved life plan is to date a conspiracy theorist who repeats stories pushed to them via Russian bots. No thanks, Satan.)
The truth is, I feel ridiculous going on dates – never mind writing a dating column – when the world is in such disarray. Who cares who I’ve dated this week and where we went for dinner? I don’t, so why should you? As daily reports of civilian deaths and a never-ending stream of displaced Ukrainian refugees fill the airwaves like poison, I count my daily blessings that it’s not my family and do my best to remain calm, especially when discussing current world events at home.
Nothing feels normal at the moment and my go-to props aren’t working either, by which I mean nice frocks ’n’ stuff (not booze: that still works). But I have a long-held belief that clothes have the power to provide women with an armour of confidence, an idea formed around my mid teens when I stole my stepdad’s jumper and wore it as a dress (the way I swaggered into the youth club that night is the stuff of legend). When the s— hits the proverbial, you’ll find me reaching for the war paint and I’m not ashamed to admit my that my “specialist subjects” include fashion and beauty. So what? Fashion can be as feminist as it is escapist and the clothes we wear a celebratory outward expression of who we are and how we feel. Fashion is also a reflection of the wider culture, mirroring the politics of the times we are in – we all know that sales of red lipstick rose during the Second World War. Case closed.
I’m no keyboard warrior, but the other week I decided to share my feelings of general despair at the Ukrainian situation across my social media platforms. I felt daft illustrating the post with an incongruous image of me posing in an ever-so-joyful floral suit, but it was intentional by way of illustrating a point. In my brief caption below the photograph, I explained how “talking all things frippery” feels so out of step with what’s happening in the world and braced myself for the usual mixed bag of reactions from strangers. That’s what happens on social media: a frenzy of comments from the savage to the sublime, which I’m now OK with, thanks, in part due to the rather thickish skin I’ve had no choice but to develop.
The comments beneath my post illustrated that when it comes to how we react to major world events there appears to be two camps. Broadly speaking, there are the “shove your fingers in your ears, ignore the news and go for a pint with your mates because there’s really nothing you can do about the world anyway” type and there are my people, the “worry about everything and lie awake at night wracking your brains trying to figure out how to help, which may even involve taking a flight to Moscow and pleading with Putin directly” type. It’s thanks to the comments beneath my Instagram that I decided to road test this “how people react to major world events” theory on dating apps (cut me some slack: this is a dating column – head to the front page for heavy-duty news).
I’ve been back on dating apps for a total of four weeks and have already changed my dating age preferences to include the over-60s. I travelled to LA recently, where I met a 67-year-old man who, in a nonchalant way, informed me that he only ever dates women in my age range (I’m 48 in May). He was sprightly and engaging and spending two hours with him walking and talking made me realise I should probably “up” my age preferences on Hinge – aka the app where seemingly every single person on the planet heads for online dates – in order to widen the field a little. Previously, my age preferences were set at upwards of 22, so I raised that age to 42 while simultaneously increasing my age limit to include anyone up to the age of 65 (it had previously been capped at 50). Don’t judge me for originally setting my age range so low; I hadn’t expected any man beneath the age of 25 to contact me. But au contraire, proof the world is a treasure trove of mystery, wonder and utter madness, my inbox was (and still is) full to the brim with unread messages from men young enough to be my child. Just call me Cougar Duguid from now on. (Except don’t. I’m not looking for a cub; I’m looking for someone age-appropriate with shared values.)
Shared values needn’t mean agreeing on the same political party or having the same taste in interior decoration; it’s about being on the same page when it comes to raising family and the general way in which we live our lives. The comments beneath my Instagram post made me realise that instead of losing time opening online conversations with niceties about children and locations and favourite films, I needed to cut to the chase and go straight in with: “Hi, nice to connect with you. How are you feeling about (insert title of latest world disaster)?”
It must be so relaxing conversing with me on a dating app – no wonder I’m single – but I’d rather be direct and to the point than date anyone who sticks their head in the sand, or worse, in a barrel of beer, hoping Rome will extinguish itself. I want to meet like-minded people whose eyes, minds and hearts are open. I used to rate confidence as a number one attribute in a partner, but I now value empathy over chutzpah.
And that’s the brilliant thing about dating apps: you have carte blanche to ask probing questions to men of all ages (hello, sexagenarians) and if you don’t like their answer, or someone on Hinge sounds unhinged, you can just hit delete. If only real life were that simple.
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