82 ·^ COSMOPOLITAN
The floorboards are so trodden they’re shiny, and the rugs
- along with the waitresses’ skirts – are tartan. From next
door comes the boom of male laughter and, suddenly,
these men come piling in, clad in novelty jumpers, to
make their way through to the cigar terrace. One of them,
I’m told, is a right-wing politician – I didn’t look up in
time. Another, a Hollywood actor who I’m much more
upset not to spot. On our table sits a bottle of champagne,
and – every now and then – these men make their way
over to us, where Mairead Molloy, global director of
Berkeley International, the elite matchmaking agency,
pours them a glass and asks them about their lives.
It seems I’ve finally found the answer to the question
“Where are all the men hiding?” The whole place is soaked
in testosterone. Whether they’re “good” men depends on
your personal preferences (and politics), but considering
Molloy has spent the past 16 years setting up high-net-
worth individuals with each other, she’ll have the perfect
match in mind for each and every one of them.
When I moved to London, over a decade ago, I tried to
become a professional matchmaker. I printed out my CV,
wrote long covering letters detailing my “experience”
and sent them off to various agencies. But, it turns out,
setting up one couple (who split after three years) and
chatting up people in clubs on behalf of my friends
were not the qualifications they were looking for.
Even back then the idea of paying someone to find you
a prospective suitor seemed straight out of Pride And
Prejudice. Why part with your cash when you could meet
someone in a bar, get your mate to set you up or flirt with
that hot person you see in work’s communal kitchen
area? Then Tinder came along, in 2012, and made those
IRL connections seem dated. Why settle for whoever is in
your current vicinity or friendship group when sitting in
your pocket are millions of singles just waiting to speak
to you? Two years after its launch, Tinder was boasting
around a billion swipes per day. Then even more apps
came along – both Bumble and Happn launched in
2014 – and before long there was one for every preference.
Into beards? There’s an app for that. Fancy a threesome?
There’s an app for that as well. Our preference for staying
in and swiping was, according to some experts, behind
the UK’s failing nightclub scene, which has dipped in
value by an estimated £200 million in the past five
years.* (Netflix, an unstable economy and the booming
wellness scene have also undoubtedly played their part.)
But, lately, the tide appears to be turning. Cosmopolitan
research found that 70% of our readers would prefer to
meet someone in real life, dating events increased byThe walls are
blood red, with
mismatched
frames housing
black and white
pictures of
various men I
don’t recognise.