Last year, I found myself in Paris for a few days and decided to profite bien by going on a date. I was not at that time on any dating apps, but temporarily came out of retirement to find a Frenchman. At worst, I thought, I will practise my French; at best, God willing, I’ll end up married with an EU passport.
So I matched with an actor on Hinge. The date turned into two days of us running around Paris, drinking wine and putting the world to rights. It could have been the beginning of something. A romcom. But, sadly, it culminated with him accidentally shooting cum into my eye as he shouted that he loved me. Moments later, while helping me rinse it, he told me that he wasn’t looking for anything serious because he was trying to focus on his career. I hadn’t asked.
Dating is always a minefield of mixed messages, power dynamics and situations that force you to consult your WhatsApp groups – but, in recent years, the apps have seemed to make it especially fraught. According to the Pew Research Center, almost half (46%) of those who’ve used them say their experiences have been very or somewhat negative, while one survey worryingly found that six out of 10 women under 35 had experienced someone continuing to contact them after they’d made it clear they weren’t interested.
When I first started using Hinge in 2017, I was 23. Dating apps were at their peak and so was my need for male validation, so I became addicted to their short-lived dopamine hits. I’d run out of men to sleep with in the pocket of north London where I grew up, so it was perfect that I could suddenly access men from other postcodes.
At the time, the unknown elements of dating felt stimulating. Every time I risked my life for an orgasm, I came away with a story. Fast forward seven years, however, and I’ve been through two failed relationships and many short-lived flings. I’m less excited by using an app where I will see people I have already shagged, or people my friends have shagged, while also dodging incels. Dating apps have increased the size of our pool, but also the risk of drowning.
As a stand-up comedian, I perform to largely female audiences and, in the last year, I’ve noticed that they’re either in relationships or they’re single and actively avoiding the apps. In December, I asked a girl called Lauren how she was meeting people. ‘I’ve stopped trying,’ she said. One date had gone so terribly wrong, she said, ‘that I don’t want to force it any more’.
On the plus side, years of trial and error on the apps have helped me develop healthier standards. My best friend Anna says she’s seen a real shift in me. ‘You’ve stopped putting up with the utter bullshit you used to, in those periods when you were desperate for men to like you.’ I don’t think sex is dead, then, but that the apps have made us rethink how we do it.
Last year, I was approached to host a podcast where I went on 28 dates with people I would usually overlook, ranging from a sugar daddy to a couple looking for a third. I decided it was good to get out of my comfort zone – and I was right. The producers did the work of finding my dates, both online and offline, but there was no swiping on my part. Since then, I’ve met a few people via Instagram and hooked up with an acquaintance who I bumped into at Notting Hill Carnival.
What the experience has taught me is that I want to be able to meet someone and have sex without the rigmarole of shopping for them online. As my friend Jess, 29, put it, ‘I’d go on dates from Hinge if I just had time to do all the admin.’
All that fruitless effort disappears when you meet people IRL, and there’s way less pressure. At the same time, good sex is more likely, because you’re starting with an existing attraction, rather than trying to guess whether you fancy someone on a screen, without even knowing their voice.
After years of dating apps, some people are nervous about doing things the traditional way. ‘We’ve got super-lazy about meeting people in real life,’ says Paul Brunson, Married At First Sight expert and author of new book Find Love. ‘It’s been terrifying since the beginning of time to ask someone out, but you can take small steps towards it and see how they’re received. If you do get rejected, you’ll bounce back and you’ll build resilience.’ Personally, I have no problem being direct: if the eye contact is strong, I’ll happily start a conversation. My 28 podcast dates may not have delivered regular sex, but they taught me that dating without fear of failure is the healthiest way.
If there’s one feature we can take from the apps back into parties or cafés, it might be clarity about what we want. ‘Be upfront and transparent – that’s a feature that’s very popular on Tinder, where you can state your relationship goal, but it’s important to share that information when you meet someone in real life too,’ says Brunson. If you can express it before you blind them in one eye, so much the better.
28 Dates Later is available now on all podcast platforms
https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/28-dates-later/id1714231282