Things You Only Know If You’ve Dated Across The Class Divide

As a working-class Scouser, when I first moved to London to pursue acareerin journalism, I was warned by friends about the ‘classism’

I might find in the workplace. I wasn’t, however, ready for my accent to affect a more vulnerable aspect of my life: my romantic relationships.

Fresh in a new city, I dated a mixed bag of guys from different backgrounds but, as someone who was working in a corporate job, the typical men I met were mostly those who were middle-class and posh. Men who worked in law or finance, for instance, came from money and led a fairly swish lifestyle.

Early on, it became clear that classism would come into play; making dating even more of a minefield. My relationship of seven months with Eton-educated lawyer Matt*, for instance, ended because of our class differences. After months of dating and, in the end, falling in love, he held my hand and reeled off a class cliché. Matt told me, ‘We’re from different worlds,’ and we had ‘gone as far as we could’. Sitting on my sofa feeling quite bewildered, he went on to sheepishly explain that his upper-class family, who I’d never met, wouldn’t be on-board with our relationship. He explained that he never envisioned settling down with someone like me and he hadn’t meant to fall for me. Ouch. He not only broke my heart, but my confidence in relationships.

This made me question my identity. Was I really that common? Did I need to change my accent and mannerisms? I knew deep down I wouldn’t want to be with a person who didn’t accept my comprehensive school education background, my Scouse voice and my brilliant family – but still, it stung.

Looking back, there had been subtle day-to-day differences in our class. Matt laughed at me when I turned up to his house in Fulham with a Primark shopping bag. ‘That’s so funny,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve never met anyone who actually shops in Primark – it’s just... endearing.’ He looked at me like I was some mystical creature he’d only read about in fairy tales.

We would go to fancy Michelin-starred restaurants on a weekly basis, and when I would get excited and dress up, he would tell me he wished I just wore jeans and jumper and wouldn’t make ‘such a big deal out of it’. He thought it was strange that I spent each morning doing a curly blow-dry and would encourage me to be more natural with my ‘look’. In hindsight, I think he wanted to ‘Londonise’ me, so I did find myself un-Scousing: less make-up, more bedhead. When I was meeting his friends for the first time, he told me to tone down my accent.

I felt like he was embarrassed of my roots. Another time, I went on a Tinder date with a guy called Pete*. The two of us turned out to have mutual friends. On my bio, I hadn’t mentioned that I was originally from Liverpool – why would I? I thought we had a great time on the date, but I received radio silence the day after.

After a week eyeballing my phone, mutual friend Anna* told me that Pete had fancied me (he said I had a nice bum and good chat), but didn’t want to pursue anything serious with me. He told her he simply ‘couldn’t bring a Scouser home to meet the parents’, but that I was ‘good for casually dating’. Later that week he texted. I didn’t follow up.

It seems I’m not alone. A friend from Leeds, who also lived in London, told me about one of her Tinder dates. ‘Tom* said he thought Northern girls were more promiscuous than Southerners. He said he loves going for “common girls like me from the North”, because we’re “easier to impress and get into bed than middle-class Southern girls”. We’re “a different breed”.

I found his comments so degrading.’ I’ve heard other Northern women talk about being ‘fetishised’ – it’s very much the feeling that men are into you, but only up to a point. ‘I’ve definitely got the vibe from guys I’ve dated that they’re looking for “a bit of rough”,’ a fellow Scouser told me. ‘I thought I was imagining it at first, but it’s happened a few times. I found out there are even special accent sub-categories on places like PornHub. It makes me feel like, when I meet a guy, I have to second-guess whether they’re actually interested in anything long-term.’

In a country more divided than ever, it’s apparent that class is very much at the forefront of all of our minds. But, when it comes to matters of the heart, sometimes 21st-century Britain can feel more like the plot of a Jane Austen novel.

Have you dated across the class divide? Let us know at feedback@graziamagazine.co.uk

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