How do we get into a relationship when we know way, way too much about men?
Dating for years in London is basically surviving a zombie apocalypse. My congratulations to the survivors
The “man-hating single woman” is such a horrible trope, isn’t it? When I was several years into dating, I used to find myself eye-rolling about “men” as a monolith. I was exasperated by their lack of consistency and poor communication. I found their style of dating uniformly clumsy and hurtful. I thought about starting a podcast called Why Are Men?, so often would I send friends a screenshot of bad online dating behaviour with that short caption.
Women are often derided as “crazy” when they’ve been dating a long time, but during my generous eight-year sample, I found men to be far more erratic than I ever was. One low point was the doctor I had a great first date with in Soho, laughing, leaning in closer, swapping numbers and going in for a kiss. That Sunday, we followed up by text and agreed a second date the following Thursday; we decided a time and place. I put it in my diary, and was excited.
On Thursday morning, as I put on a nice dress to wear from the office to the date, the guy texted me: “I guess tonight is off. Nice meeting you.” I was confused, quickly replying to say I was looking forward to it - we’d had a great time, no? He pouted that I hadn’t messaged him since Sunday, when we’d made plans. I obviously wasn’t that into him. (I’d had a busy week and also… he hadn’t contacted me!) My sweet friend Tom met me for a drink instead, and we racked up the biggest bar bill I’d ever seen. Why are men? (But obviously #notallmen, because Tom.)
RIP Matthew Perry. His book is well worth reading.
Now I’m out of the game, I feel more empathy for young men dating, especially in London. It’s a real candy store of a city, with actual models on the apps and influencers on the tube, far more women than men in the mix and the thrilling possibility of daily right-swipes and one night stands.
But when you’re a woman who is attracted to straight men, it can feel like you’ve lost the lottery of life. Boys are not, in general, socialised to look for a compatible partner and treat the women they meet along the way with respect. They’re socialised to play the field, take their time, see what’s out there; meanwhile, girls are socialised to “find the one” as quickly as possible, and feel horribly flawed when they can’t.
The result is the distinct feeling that men are the consumers and women are the product - I certainly had more than one love interest tell me they’d love to keep hooking up, but I wasn’t the sort of person they ultimately saw themselves with. Not wife material. That would have to be somebody world-stopping. All of this is multiplied by 10 in a big city, where every spilling-over pub whispers that there are more flirtations out there, more dopamine highs to chase.
“When you’re a woman who is attracted to straight men, it can feel like you’ve lost the lottery of life”
While some men I dated were just clumsy and immature (and others well within their rights to simply not fancy me), there were also some stone cold rogues along the way. I still feel a deep shame writing this, but I had a fling with a married man when I was 26, for the best part of a year. In my hollow defence, he was very convincing and portrayed himself as separated, despite still living with his partner. But I swallowed that version of events way too easily, and it all imploded pretty devastatingly around the one-year mark. Having seen how much time and energy this person put into deceiving both myself and his wife (only to end up with neither of us) almost killed romantic love for me entirely. It was a genuine crisis of faith: why would you ever trust someone again when these men exist - the ones who tell you they love you so effortlessly, who give their time and support so freely, but are still, at the core, lying to you?
‘Once guys start screwing you over all the time… you gotta switch to non-fat"‘
I’d love to say that the next few years of dating healed that paranoia, but frankly, it only got worse. Not as bad as the married guy, but a real smorgasbord of dickheads. The guy who went nuts after I didn’t want to seem him again after the third date, and had to be blocked on all messaging and social media platforms. The Trump supporter who lectured me on how I’d been brainwashed by liberals and truly believed that people in poverty just need to try harder (I did a runner from his private members’s club when he went to the loo).
The tall, charming estate agent I had a fireworks-sparky first date with who then ghosted me completely. (He got back in touch three months later full of apologies and a desire to meet up. When we did, I pleaded with him to not to that to any other women, to just tell the truth and say something instead of disappearing. I told him how painful it was to sit and ponder what you had done wrong. He nodded sombrely - then ghosted me a second time. Saw that coming, didn’t you?) A lot of these men were 38, incidentally. That used to be my cursed age. I’d warn other women: “If he’s good-looking, charming, still single and 38… be careful.”
“We stare spinsterdom in the eye and ask: might it actually be an improvement on *gestures around* all this?”
The best-case scenario for long-term singles, I think, is that we reach a point where we consider giving up romantic relationships altogether. We stare spinsterdom in the eye and ask: might it actually be an improvement on *gestures around* all this? In my case, I pictured buying a tiny flat in a seaside town, getting a King Charles cavalier spaniel, learning to knit, and manning the local charity shop. Taking sea swims all year round and reading all the books I’d yet to read in my window seat overlooking the waves. In the thick of those dates, it didn’t look like a bad option. Reading this back, it still doesn’t.
As is life’s wicked way, though, shortly after that I met someone great. And it took me a long time to trust him - I prodded him, tested him and stayed as prickly as a balled-up hedgehog until I knew for sure he wasn’t going to repeat any of the above behaviour. But trust, after all that, is a hard, hard thing. I’d watch serially monogamous friends get into relationships one after the other, always optimistic, always uncomplicated, and think: I know too much. You can’t un-know what you know, but you can trust that there are good people out there, and the timing can be right. I’ll still never be 100% carefree in a relationship - I’ll always protect myself just a little, just in case - but maybe that’s no bad thing. Learning how rely on yourself alone is a hell of a skill.
I still hear dispiriting stories almost weekly about acquaintances’ husbands, boyfriends or dates, the sort that still shake my faith in love. You can’t think too much about it, or you’d forever be on your guard. And of course, women, nonbinary people (and everything in between) make awful, clumsy mistakes in love, too - but there does seem to be something about men. I hope if I produce any, I’ll be able to make them kind, empathetic, strong communicators who don’t head out into romantic life like bulls in a china shop. We have to hope for better.
Culture fixes for women who’ve Been Through It:
The Woman in Me, Britney Spears: I’m currently reading Britney’s long-awaited memoir, and while I don’t expect either her or her ghostwriter to win a Pulitzer, her life is objectively fascinating. The fire under her was clearly lit by a childhood of unstable parenting; even at six or seven you see a focused, steely Britney that you never knew. She’s scrappy, hard-working and loves to create. Britney is free at last!
Pamela, A Love Story, Netflix: Now here is a woman who’s dabbled in some of the world’s worst men, and ultimately found true love in a peaceful home on a Canadian island. We get the Tommy years, the Hef years, the Kid Rock years - but really it’s all about this country-bred softie of a blonde, who still (in a slightly bittersweet way) believes in love.
Salt, Lizz Wright: “One thing that life cannot do/ It can't take your song from you,” sings jazz and blues vocalist Wright on this anthem to self. A great, timeless song for grounding yourself and remembering that you are not your circumstances. Life doesn’t happen to you, you make life happen. And you can change direction.