Extreme, languishing, not-even-a-little-bit-excited, cannot-be-arsed-togo-out-on-one-more-samey-date-with-the-same-old-schnorrer ennui.
That was where I found myself last summer, as I stood once again mindlessly scrolling through Tinder while I waited in line to order my morning Pret coffee.
Now is probably as good a time as any to admit one small fact: I am a serial dater. What Joe Wicks is to shiny hair and squats, I am to dating – all boundless energy, stamina and optimism that borders on irritation to my single friends. It wasn’t that I didn’t face rejection – I did, repeatedly. But I was like a jack-in-the-box, with each knock-back propelling me further forward. After a bad break-up in January, I’d approached single life the way I did everything else: as a problem that, with a bit of elbow grease and structure, would not be a problem for much longer. It was like I was 15 again, armed with nothing but a new set of highlighters, a homework diary and a plan – un-frigging-stoppable.
Except I hadn’t reckoned on one thing. Oh dear god, the boredom.
After three months of sitting across from men who opened dates with “So… what do you want to know?” (Answer: Why am I here instead of at home in my pants eating biscuits?), who made me do all the conversational heavy lifting, I had reached my limit. The merry-go-round of just-about-funenough nights that then went nowhere had killed my buzz. Something had to change. And, as I was midway through telling this particular sob story to a colleague-turned-friend on a boozy night out, it did.
“You should come to LA.” The friend in question was quite high up at Tinder, and worked out of their West Hollywood office – so you could say she knew a thing or two about the subject.“People date differently there. I think you’ll find it refreshing. If nothing else, it might give you some perspective?” After a few more margaritas, said friend had activated Passport in my Tinder app and told me to “get swiping”. Even from the matches I made that night, I could tell she was right. The quality of guy I was “meeting” was immediately better. They messaged first, had actual adult outlooks and seemed to want more than just a pen-pal to send memes to.