The dating app asked me to fill in the blank in ‘Prove me wrong about…’ I thought about it for a while then typed: ‘dating in 2023.’
I’m no stranger to online dating. In 2009, when in my early twenties, a friend who was tired of my moaning that it was “impossible” to meet anyone in London, signed me up for this new-fangled concept ‘My Single Friend Dot Com’. At first I was unconvinced - internet dating was for “losers” back then - but after a quick scroll on her laptop, I quickly changed my mind.
I was excited by the seemingly inexhaustible rolodex of eligible bachelors that were just a click away. And, at that time, the offers to meet up came pretty thick and fast. I set myself the challenge to meet as many of the people who asked me out as possible, often dating every other night of the week. I had a lot of fun, met some really interesting (and some not so interesting) people and spent more money than my disposable income allowed in the bars of London. Was I successful in finding the love of my life? Well, fast forward to 2023 and I’m a solo parent to a donor-conceived three year old, living in East Anglia…so I think you can guess the answer to that.
Many people assume, because I chose to conceive my child by sperm-donor, I’ve reached a point where I am ‘done’ with dating. But the truth is, I’m a romantic; I still hold out hope that there is yet time for a great love in my life.
This March, 15 years since I first dabbled with online dating, I found myself in my early 40s and downloading the apps and telling myself that though the chances of finding love online might be slim, they were undoubtedly better than bumping into a potential life partner whilst sitting on my sofa re-watching Schitt’s Creek.
I last used online apps around 2015, just before I made the decision and committed to the fertility treatment that would eventually lead to conceiving my daughter. So I was keen to see if things had changed. From the moment I opened the first app, it was clear that they had.
Yes, lots of things remain the same: many men are still looking for women who ‘don’t take themselves too seriously’ or like ‘banter’ and there’s still a suspicious number of men who all measure up at 6ft 2. But there are a few differences too, most of them physical; we’re all a bit older, bit curvier, bit hairier and - let’s be honest - jaded.
Though most people wear their baggage with pride, or at least lightly, there’s more honesty about recent splits or divorces and, there are kids on the scene - their faces often concealed by smiling bear and cat emojis.
That said, there are still a surprising number of men in their late forties and early fifties who have answered the question: ‘Kids?’ with ‘Don’t know yet’. Lucky boys, eh? Still able to ponder the pros and cons of fatherhood well into their 6th decade.
I’ve noticed too that far more people are honest about their ‘open-relationships’ or the fact they are ENM (ethically non-monogamous). But probably the most remarkable change I’ve noted is just how far away many of my matches live. Of course, the last time I was dating I was living in South East London and so if I set a 10-mile radius there I’d start seeing matches from the edges of Essex and Kent. Set a radius 10 miles around my new home in Suffolk, I’d only be swiping for a couple of seconds; these days I have to set my radius to at least 30 miles in order to include the bustling metropolises of Ipswich and Newmarket. So any date would involve not only paying for babysitting, but travel costs too. I took a moment to do the maths as my finger hovered over ‘delete app?’. But I didn’t press the button, because just as I was about to, I got my first match.
For my first match came “Alan” – swiped on after a couple of glasses of wine and under the duress of a friend.
After several evenings of back and forth messaging he floated the idea of getting coffee and I was about ready to accept when he became oddly curious about the conception of my child. Now, I know that using a sperm donor is relatively unusual and so it is natural that people express a certain curiosity. I’m always happy to answer questions but there is no avoiding the fact it is deeply personal. And so it was a bit of a surprise, having fielded his queries, that when I asked him why he’d moved from London to East Anglia, he told me, without any hint that he recognised the discrepancy, that it was ‘too personal’ to discuss. We never did get that coffee.
I did, however, get a coffee with "Mark”, my second match. A chef who was into yoga and growing his own produce. Mark also had a daughter just a year older than mine and the promise of a northern accent. So when he asked me if I fancied a double date (with our kids) in our local National Trust, I immediately agreed.
It was my first date in about five years and I was quite nervous, but it was lovely: coffees in the gate house cafe as our children took the lead on the conversation; walking around the servants’ quarters of the big house and sharing small details of our lives and personalities whilst trying to shepherd our kids away from expensive looking crockery. Then in the playground, while the children were playing, we had a proper chat: lovely, good first-date stuff.
We messaged when we got home to say we’d both had a nice time. But then, there was a family funeral, my daughter was sick, I went on holiday for a week and when I got back I was run off my feet catching up with work and before I knew it, it had been two weeks and I hadn’t sent him a message. But then, he hadn’t messaged me either. I guess neither of us had had that much fun after all.
It was lack of time that scuppered match number three, too. “Garrick” was a teacher based near Cambridge. We had some funny chats about theatre, books and films and after a few of those he asked me if I fancied meeting up. ‘Sure’, I said. ‘Let me know when’s a good time’, he said. But that was the issue. When was a good time? Like any working parent, my weeks are pretty hectic and organising childcare without a fellow parent relies rather heavily on my mum’s goodwill and availability - much of which needs to be used up for work. And so a week passed in a blur before he messaged me again to ask about ‘that drink’. I apologised, looked at my diary and told him the only time I had spare that week was on the Sunday but - I realised my parents were on a rare weekend away - I’d have to bring my daughter. He sent a teary-eyed emoji and suggested we wait until I was less busy.
That less-busy time, unsurprisingly, didn’t materialise, and so a week later, well past my bedtime, I received another message: “I guess meeting me isn’t a priority. Have a nice life.’
Though his late night passive aggression riled me, the fact is maybe he’s right – I just don’t have much free time to prioritise anyone other than my daughter. I really wanted to give this dating thing a shot, but the juggle of solo-parenthood and my career means I’m not sure I have the energy or the time to do the actual dates.
I tried to convey this in my responding message to him, and at just past midnight I was woken up again, this time by a surprisingly cheery and somewhat patronising reply telling me he was “proud of me”. An answer which made me absolutely sure that a coffee with this person would likely not have been a good use of my time (or money!)
But that late-night text exchange did make me re-evaluate things. Could I honestly say that I had the time to date anyone? Did I even have time to field the messages involved in setting up a date? I do my best to be responsive to the constant stream of messages I receive daily. Professionally, I nearly always achieve this and personally, I try, but it can sometimes be several days before I manage to formulate replies to the WhatsApps of the family and friends, people that I love.
I had to conclude that making time to reply or ‘prioritise’ someone with whom I’d shared a few online chats and was essentially a stranger was a struggle. Plus, it had become clear that there was a financial burden to dating too: the babysitting, the coffees and glasses of wine and dinners and, in this new rural dating landscape, the travel costs! So what was the answer? After all, a month or so of almost-dating hadn’t completely extinguished that pesky but persistent romantic flame of mine – the one I always try to keep alive in my books. But I had to admit that even those few matches had felt pressured. It was too much admin, too much digital small talk, too much staring at my phone for what I want in my life right now: quality, in-person time with my daughter.
And so I’ve decided that I’m putting dating, or at least dating on the apps, to the side for now and just get on with living. For years I’ve been told by well-meaning people that I’ll ‘meet someone when I least expect it’ and so, I’m hoping, that if I don’t expect it in the slightest, someone might just turn up.