I arrived on the singles scene in with an aching heart and a lot to learn. Seemingly overnight, dating apps had shifted from the desperate domain of the overs to the new normal. Every man and his dog were on Tinder — or every man and his sedated tiger, all dumb grins and flexed muscles bulging out of Bintang singlets. Initially hesitant, I got into the swing of it soon enough; window-shopping for boys from the comfort of your couch sure has its benefits, and amongst the beefed-up bodybuilders and BDSM buffs, there seemed to be a few potential suitors.
After all, I have a clean record, wide smile and impeccable hygiene. The reality was rife with rejection. I met men who seemed keen but never texted again; men who only wanted sex; men who were rude to waiters red flag ; men who flirted with waiters double red flag.
It was perhaps the most profound two words ever uttered to me online: app fatigue. My editor has challenged me to delete the apps and look for love offline. Goodbye, Hinge. Ta-ta, Tinder. Happn, I never really liked you anyway. My colleagues are more excited about the experiment than I am, eagerly spurting out ideas and advice. Cycling clubs, one tells me, are a breeding ground for men — fit and virile types who care about the planet too. Instead, in the name of group activities, I sign up for a salsa class.
In a moment of panic, I gather the girls for a night out. The pub in Bondi is swarming with polo-shirted guys and pretty girls in snake-print skirts. Because really, why would a man put himself out there and approach a woman IRL when he could do it from behind the safety of a screen? I awake the next morning to a heavy head and a pinging phone. We grab hot drinks then sit on the sand, chatting and laughing under grey-streaked skies.
Coffee rolls into drinks at a local bar, then dinner at my favourite Mexican restaurant. Bondi Boy walks me home and gives me his jumper when the chill sets in. And then, as fat raindrops start to fall, he grabs my face and kisses me. I have three main fears in life: ending up alone, elevator doors closing in on me, and speed dating. I like to win — yet after a series of failed online dates, you do start to wonder if you really suck at it. I feel dejected, but also determined not to let it derail my experiment.
