I
was talking to a young person fresh from another
break-up this week. She’d met her latest squeeze
(“Don’t say squeeze, no one says squeeze any
more”) on Fumblr or Snogr or Groupon and then,
having established that she liked hot chocolate and
classic sitcoms and he liked feminism and world
peace, they met in actual person. It turned out he
preferred sex and Wagamama to feminism and
world peace, but he was quite charming in the way
he could have a whole WhatsApp conversation
without once sending a picture of his genitalia,
so they had a second date and three more and then it
emerged that he’d also been on Flange or Ticklr or
Dinked-in and had several other “prospects” on the go.
“You’ve got to hedge your bets,” he had told her in
mitigation.
And she understood this because no one goes steady
(“Don’t say go steady”) in the first three months. Way
too early to invest in anything as archaic as monogamy.
So they had two more dates and then he stopped
hedging his bets and went with Flange. And it was
back to the drawing app.
What needs to happen, young lady, I said and then
apologised for saying, is you need to do romance
like we did it in the 20th century. You need to go
to dinners with friends or parties with friends or
the café with friends. And then meet someone
in person and then exchange phone numbers.
No one, she explained as if she was from the
23rd century and I was a miniature schnauzer,
exchanges phone numbers any more. And no one
meets “in the wild” either. It’s all done on the
apps and on the socials. Now excuse me, I have
to prepare for my Zoom speed date with
EthicalFlexitarian947.
And I know this isn’t new or particularly
astonishing but just think what it all actually means.
People have decided that an algorithm devised by
someone who dreams of being Mark Zuckerberg
when they grow up is capable of finding them
true love. Off they go, night after random night, to
meet the latest swipe, a blind date arranged not by
friends or mums but by binary code, geotags and
what someone typed when the app asked for “a fact
about me that surprises people”.CHARLIE CLIFT FOR THE SUNDAY TIMES MAGAZINE
MATT RUDD
Apps won’t bring you love.
Dating like it’s 41BC will
How would Romeo have answered that? (“I’m good
with heights.”) Or Cleopatra? (“I sometimes bathe in
Oatly.”) Would Napoleon have fallen for Joséphine in
the age of Tinder? And if he had, would she have gone
for Pascal instead because she’d set her preferences to
“tall” and “not a megalomaniac”?
Here, then, young lady, sorry, is a short guide to
falling in love the old-fashioned way ...1 Find someone you like. No, not on your phone.
Your phone doesn’t exist. It hasn’t been invented.
Think of all the free time you’ll have to meet friends.
No, they don’t have phones either. You have to
arrange to meet them before you leave home. And
you’ll need a map. I know. Fast-forward to somehow,
can’t remember exactly how, finding a suitable date.
A friend of a friend of a friend, perhaps. Someone you
got chatting to in the library (a library is a place where
you can borrow books. A book is a physical version of
the thing you read on your phone). Exchange landline
numbers (a landline is like a phone but you can’t leave
the house with it. “Stop!”)
2 Call the number and leave a convoluted, nervous
message suggesting it might be nice to meet up. Try
to delete the message and start again. Fail and end up
leaving three messages.
3 Wait two days and finally speak. Sorry, I was out.
No sorry, I was out. Chat for hours about things that
don’t include Netflix, dating apps or spin classes
because none of those things exists.
4 Dinner. Don’t be late because you can’t text. Have
a wonderful evening without phones.
5 Kiss or whatever, say goodnight or whatever, skip
home and then wait by the landline (see above) for
two unbearable days. Or, and this will really blow
your mind, write them a letter. On paper. With a pen.
And post it (the post is etc etc).
6-20 More phone calls, more letters, lots and lots of
letters. More waiting by the letterbox for the postman.
Ahh, I remember the excitement. And the despondency.
I can’t believe she uses a second-class stamp. What is
wrong with the world?
21 Break up and, after spending three weeks staring out
of a rain-drenched window, go back to step one. Easy.Sounds horrific, she says distractedly as her phone
beeps. Flexitarian947 loved their chat. He’s
suggesting Wagamama n
@mattrudd
Man Down: Why Men Are Unhappy and What
We Can Do About It by Matt Rudd is published
in paperback by Piatkus at £9.Would Napoleon have
fallen for Joséphine
in the age of Tinder?
Cleopatra
Likes: Asses’ milk
Dislikes: AspsThe Sunday Times Magazine • 5