Confessional, Personal

Algorithm

Welcome to LoveApp! Log in with Facebook?

Sign in, upload a profile photo, set the parameters. Is 25 too young? Is 35 too old? You’re now of an age where marriage and kids don’t seem like such a terrifying prospect. You’re still not sure about the big, white wedding thing, but you doubt anyone younger will want that any time soon either, and your fertility has already begun its decline. Don’t waste your time on 25. 27 to 34. That seems reasonable. Dan Stevens is 34, and if he wasn’t already married, you’d be trying to meet him at a press night to get his number.

Distance is trickier. What if the love of your life lives in Staines-upon-Thames? That’s nearly 30 miles away! You think about how you lived two miles from Staines for three years of your life and never found true love at the Wetherspoons on the high street, so it’s probably unlikely now. You decide 12 miles sounds reasonable. About as far away from your house as Highgate. Lovely Highgate.

What are your interests? You don’t want to come across as being too much at this early stage. Maybe don’t mention the novel you’ve half written in your biography. He can find out about that later. You decide to include the bit about being a PR and a singer; those are relatively vague, non-threatening, feminine traits. You include a quote from a Netflix original you love. If they pick up on that, you at least know they enjoy that one show. It’s such a good show, you think, remembering how the comedian said he probably won’t write another series. End on a high.

Additional photos. Men are dreadful at uploading pictures of themselves in huge groups of other men, which means you can never tell who this ‘Jeff’ is. You don’t think you have any group photos anyway. Just plenty of individual shots taken by a patient friend before a night out, and classic, only-child holiday photos taken by your Mum. Do you look too unfriendly here? You like the way your cheekbones look, so it stays. Better have a full-length one, too, just because… you’re not sure why. You wouldn’t date anyone who didn’t like you for being overweight, anyway. You forgot to eat dinner again. Your jeans are feeling a bit loose.

You put down your phone and exhale. What are the chances that an bit of computer code can find a partner who is in every way perfect for you? What if your ideal man is actually 24 and living in Berkshire, and so outside of your self-imposed parameters? You smile grimly and remember that one guy who was the literal embodiment of perfect. You remember how badly it hurt when he told you he was leaving you for someone else. Perfect is overrated, anyway, you think. It’s about much more than limitations and preferences.

You remind yourself that in a huge, international city like London, the chances of meeting The One on your commute are pretty minimal. Besides, nobody makes eye contact on trains, and you usually listen to a Spotify jazz playlist and plough through whatever book you’re reading that week. You can’t think of anyone you know who met their significant other on public transport, but plenty who made it to Serious Relationship Status on a dating app. This gives you hope. You pick up your phone again and open the app.

A face pops up. It’s a photo of a smiling man, who you establish by looking at the black writing underneath the face is 29, and called Tim. Hmm. You don’t really see yourself with a Tim. There’s something imperceivable about him that makes you think of a funeral undertaker, perhaps in the way his hair is parted to the side. Your finger hovers momentarily over the (X) and taps down. In less than five seconds, you made a decision that Tim was not the man for you. You blame the algorithm. Surely it would know that you would never date a Tim with a silly haircut?

But what if you met Tim in a bar, or at a wedding? His friends have no idea why he is single, because by all accounts he’s awesome. He’s been hurt by an ex-girlfriend who strung him along for months before announcing she’d been sleeping with a co-worker, but he’s over it now and ready to commit to someone deserving of him. He doesn’t want to mess about. He has gentle eyes the colour of sea glass, but you couldn’t see that because of the poor resolution of his profile photo, or maybe you were immediately put off by his undertaker hair and didn’t care to look. Tim comes from a kind, liberal family and has a sister called Genevieve who loves karaoke and walking her little dachshund, Rigby, on the Kent Downs.

You won’t ever meet Tim. He was right there, in the palm of your hand. The algorithm thought you two would have a great time! The algorithm saw two, good-looking young people who both enjoyed literature and American football and did its level best to hook them up! In five seconds that connection was broken, because you made a snap decision based on a couple of tiny bits of information about that living, breathing human being.

The way people meet and fall in love is undeniably changing. Perhaps your reluctance to get on board with dating apps is generational, because you can still remember very clearly being told by your teachers and parents to never, ever meet someone from ‘the internet’ in the real world, or get in an unlicensed mini-cab. In a world where one of the sweetest things your date could do is summon an unlicensed mini-cab from the internet and send you home alone and slightly hammered, it’s not surprising you’re a little overwhelmed by this seemingly rapid u-turn in expectation.

Another face pops up. Jonathan, 31. This time, you give this profile a thorough read-through, and think of a future of possibilities based on a handful of photographs, and a few lines of text. You momentarily think of Tim, and how you were too quick to dismiss him. Or was it the idea of him? Your hand moves left. (❤️).

Personal, Updates

Dating, honestly

I love feedback. Feedback is useful for knowing where you are with someone, checking in with them to make sure you aren’t falsely picking up on non-verbal cues that are giving you the wrong impression about a situation. I like to have regular meetings at work to discuss how I’m doing, what I do well, how I can improve and so on. I’ll probably never be offended by anything you say, as long as it’s constructive and delivered with a veneer of positivity. Maybe it comes from my teaching years, the whole ‘two stars and wish’ rule of feedback. You’re really funny, I like your little hat; it would be great if you could talk about something other than the plight of bees… Two positives, and a wish for future progress.

It was a strange – but not entirely unbearable – experience taking part in the Guardian Blind Date column in the weekend magazine a few weeks ago. It was a quick process, myself being apparently one of very few heterosexual female applicants to the column in a long time (probably should’ve read more into that, I’ll know for next time). As a singer, I’m used to standing on a floodlit stage or platform and letting myself be taken over by another character, another person. But this – this was me, on a real-life, ‘warts and all’ (ew) dinner date with a stranger. This person didn’t know me, and was rating me based on a couple of hours of my company. I had nowhere to hide.

I’m not going to go into the details of the evening. You can read all about it here, if you are so inclined.

Dating is horrible, and I’m never going to enjoy the process. It’s expensive, it takes up a lot of your leisure time, and thus far it has been a romantic dead end. I have close friends and family members who have met their partners on dating apps, and good luck to them. It just isn’t for me. Part of the reason I don’t think apps are a good idea is that they make finding a partner so easy. You look at a catalogue of willing participants, presumably after the same thing as you (‘DTF’ or ‘no hookups’ are the two options), and you swipe right on the people you like the look of. You go on your date, you have an okay time, and maybe you keep seeing them. One day you find them sitting on the toilet with the door open in your rented bedsit in Enfield and you wonder whether you should’ve given Mark from accounts another chance. No controversy. No long-distance. No tension. No romance.

Adding to the long list of things the media blames my generation for, perhaps we are sanitising relationships to the point where marriages can be arranged through an algorithm on a phone. I wasn’t expecting to meet the love of my life on that blind date, but I did consider it a more traditional option than Tinder. I was the one who got ghosted, despite not being remotely interested in seeing the guy again. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong, I’m too aloof. Like Chandler when he’s trying not to get back with Janice.

Problem is, I might seem nonchalant but the lack of intimacy is starting to get to me, gnawing away like woodworm. Eventually I will become hollow and my external structure will collapse, leaving behind putrid dust. I’m about to turn 27 and, other than my magazine “date”, the last time I was involved with anyone, the country was still very much in the EU. Back then, there wasn’t even the slightest suggestion of the fetid hell-scape that the last 12 months has become. When I turned 26, the future looked bright, at least for a week or two post-birthday.

I’m flying back to London in an hour or two, having spent a very pleasant three days back home on the Isle of Man. The pressure to be in a relationship here is unreal, mainly because there is nothing else to do, and being a single woman is tantamount to being one of the old-school witches they used to roll down Slieau Whallian for lols. It’s time for me to make a swift exit back to lovely, cosmopolitan London. Maybe I’ll keep Bumble on my phone just in case.