- Right, breakup schmakeup, let’s get back onto the dating scene
- Hmm I work in a 99% female environment
- I’ve also already dated all eligible friends-of-friends
- Ok, back to the internet we go
- Going to stick with just Bumble, I mean I’m the one who needs to make the first move here, so that’s me reclaiming my power right?
- Yay setting up a new profile, fun times
- Looks like no one’s taken a decent picture of me since 2014…
- How do I sum up myself in a couple of lines? #existentialcrisis
- Ok photos chosen, witty-yet-modest profile written, COME AT ME BOYS
- **Swipes left for half an hour
- Beginning to remember why I deleted this thing in the first place…
- Oo hello tall guy working in London with a cute dog, righty swipey for you
- WE MATCHED I AM ON FIRE
- Crap, need to come up with an opening line that is suave and funny and flirty and not at all desperate or boring
- Shit this is really hard
- Does sending an emoji count? How does Bumble qualify these things??
- ‘Hi how’s your week going?’
- Good work Charlotte, good work
- Now the guy has only 24 hours to respond?! Most of my friends take at least two days to reply to WhatsApp messages, let alone someone I’ve never even met!!
- What’s the etiquette on swiping right on someone you matched with on Tinder about a year ago?
- At least it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one trying and failing to meet someone
- Oo hello new match, let’s see who you are
- Hmm. Must have been a drunk right swipe…
- Ok chats are developing with Cute Dog Guy, I feel a date coming on
- **2 days later** Christ I’m not here for a pen pal, just ask me out for a drink dammit
- Oh hello, look at all these new matches
- Three chats going on, such a player right now
- And all three of them have asked me out for a drink! Get in
- Hmm, this week and next week are already pretty busy. Forgot how time-consuming this dating thing is
- It’s Friday night and I’m meant to be going on a date but all I want to do is get into loungewear and eat pizza and watch Netflix. Maybe I’m not so ready for this dating thing after all…
Time for a little bit of nostalgia: who remembers what it was like to be 12 years old? I can remember it pretty clearly – year 8 at school, butterfly clips were still in, S Club 7 and Hear-Say were storming the charts, and the biggest thing to worry about was what to wear to the disco with the local boys’ school. Ah innocence… Another thing I remember about being 12 is all of the doom-and-gloom warnings I received in the weeks running up to my 13th birthday. Tales of ‘terrible teens’ plagued all of us, horror stories of older siblings with horrendous mood swings were standard lunchtime topics, and we’d frequently write charming phrases such as ‘hope you don’t turn into a moody bratty spotty awful teenager’ in each others’ birthday cards. Lovely. The point is, we were sort of forewarned that our teens would bring a fair share of drama. It seemed to be a rite of passage. Some suffered more than others, but after flouncing away from a blazing row with my mother or failing to resist the urge to hurl something breakable across my bedroom, phrases like ‘it’s ok, she’s just going through the difficult teen phase’ made everything a little more acceptable.
Fast forward thirteen years, and suddenly life ain’t so easy to explain. Why is it that we were mentally prepared for being teenagers, and warned about the hardships and emotional trauma that phase of life would bring, and yet fuck all was said about our twenties??
Perhaps the first couple of years of your twenties were pretty simple. Most of my friends and I were still at university, and had a fairly uncomplicated existence made up of drinking, sleeping, more drinking, the odd lecture, and an annual panic when exam season rolled around. Up until final year, we knew exactly what we’d be doing in 12 months’ time, therefore zero forethought or planning was needed. But then, oh shit, we graduated and were chucked out into the big wide world. And THIS is what we should have been warned about.
I know I’m not the only one who spent most of their education being promised the job of their dreams, only to discover that about 1001 other people wanted that job and nope I had no way near enough ‘experience’ to get it. Nor was I the only one who had grand plans to fly the nest and move to London asap, only to find that it was pretty much impossible to do so on a graduate salary. That is, unless you were willing to continue your student habits and survive on baked beans and couscous for the next few years… Then there was the shock of not being 10 minutes’ walk from all of your closest friends. What was this forward planning shit? What do you mean, you’re not free until next month? And of course, to make it all worse, there were the unavoidable smug fuckers who for unknown reasons you were friends with on Facebook, and there they were living it large in their dream job and their dream pad with all of their besties having Instagram-perfect barbeques every bloody weekend. Not that I’m bitter or anything…
A quick note on the role of social media in all this: the very nature of social media means that we instantly have access to people’s lives in a way that previous generations have never had. And generally, we’re only going to post photos and tweet pithy one-liners that we want other people to see. I’m as guilty of this as anyone else. Posting a heavily-filtered Instagram snap of my holiday in Marbella: YES. Tweeting about the fact that I spend nearly every Saturday night in my PJs watching X-Factor: NO. Whether we actually think ‘this will make everyone else jealous’ or not, the effect is pretty much the same, which means that it’s very easy to assume that your contemporaries are leading the perfect life while you’re looking at another weekend developing your relationship with the Dominos delivery guy. Comparison is a dangerous thing.
The fact is, your twenties are the crucial years in which you really shape your identity. Released from the cliques and unwritten rules of school and university, suddenly you can be whoever you want to be, which in itself is pretty terrifying. Life is simpler when you’re being told what to wear and where to go and who to be friends with. This new-found independence is daunting and often overwhelming, as well as exhilarating and liberating. Living in a big city can give you a degree of anonymity: if a girl on the tube stares at your outfit in horror and mutters some catty comment to her friend, you can give precisely zero fucks because they don’t know you, you don’t know them, and the likelihood of you ever bumping into each other again is about one in three-million. You can compartmentalize your life: work vs personal. Just don’t go into overshare mode at the company drinks party… You can also make grown-up decisions like getting health insurance and going to the dentist regularly. Look at me, I’m an adult now!
And yet, underneath all this, there is that feeling that you’re madly treading water and actually don’t have a clue what you’re doing. Much has been written about how we ‘Gen-Y’-ers have a disproportionate sense of entitlement. We’ve all been told that we’re going to be CEOs by the time we’re 30, and we’re all looking at taking early retirement and living comfortably in our country residences with a pied à terre in London. Oh and chuck marriage and kids in there for good measure. Well, I turn 30 in 42 months (shit) and I can guarantee that I will not be a CEO by then (unless it’s of Charlotte Rottenburg Inc., net value £50). All of those career seminars and internships suddenly mean sod-all, and unless you’re in one of those really structured industries (law, military, accountancy, medical etc.) you have to become pretty nifty at beating off fellow Gen Y-ers with a professionally barbed stick to get the jobs and promotions you want. It doesn’t help that we’re constantly being confronted with slogans such as ‘love the job you do and never work again’. Whoever came up with that deserves a slap in the face and a wedgie for good measure. You know that little ‘People You May Know’ tab on LinkedIn? Don’t click on it. All that will happen is 20 minutes of self-flagellation whilst you scroll through profiles of people that you sort-of know who seem to have the perfect job. I can guarantee that they too will be working long hours, will have moments of self-doubt, will have had days where they feel like chucking their keyboard at their boss’s head, and will have had a small cry in the loo. It’s just that no one will ever admit it.
And there lies the root of the problem. We’re so busy presenting a glossy and photo-ready front, teamed with an innate sense of competitiveness and overuse of the word ‘fine’ that most of us are left with the feeling that we’re the only ones who are groping through the dark years of our twenties. Of course, our closest friends and family will know the truth, but these truths are generally only disclosed behind closed doors and after the best part of a bottle of wine has been consumed. We feel embarrassed to admit that we feel like we’re struggling, and it goes against the social grain to admit to feelings of petty jealousy brought on by someone’s engagement photo on Facebook. I get the feeling that if we were all a little more honest with each other, and spent less time poring over the details of other people’s lives on social media, we’d be much more content with the hand life has dealt us thus far.
I could spout all sorts of touchy-feely nonsense about what doesn’t kill you make you stronger and how Rome wasn’t built in a day, but that would be incredibly patronising and not wholly relatable. I’m not in an elevated position to give life advice, but having been through a shitty couple of years where the highs only made the lows seem that much lower, I feel that I can speak with a certain degree of experience. So the next time you find yourself alone at home at the weekend convinced that everyone else is at some giant ice-skating party that you haven’t been invited to, or when you’re staring at your work emails wondering what your life has come to, just remember that you are far from being the only person who feels that way. Your twenties are rough, no one prepared you for it, and it can all feel terribly unfair (especially when that snotty brat who you played hockey with seems to have it all and can’t stop shouting about it on Instagram). But it will get easier. And when in doubt, drink wine and whack on some Taylor Swift.
As much as I like to think I’m a modern girl, I do have a fair few old-fashioned values that might not sit well with your average 21st century forward-thinking mid-twenties Londoner. I wouldn’t consider having children unless I was married, I firmly believe in the importance of good manners, and I feel that certain rules of social etiquette should be adhered to at all times.
Social etiquette – what’s that? Well, to me at least, it’s the standards by which we should behave in public so as not to unduly offend others. This might seem a rather alien concept to people who claim to not care about what other people think, but if you spend as much time as I do on the Tube, on buses, in bars, at restaurants, and any number of places where you have to be in close proximity with other members of the general public, the complete lack of social etiquette is fairly gobsmacking.
The London Underground is perhaps where this is most prevalent. There we all are, poor sods having to commute every day, none of us enjoy it, but we all have to do it. Quite often there’s a sense of camaraderie about the whole thing: a shared rolling-of-eyes at delays, a collective tutting at the idiot who’s got his leg stuck in the door… So WHY are there people who completely disregard this and act as if they’re not stuffed into a tin can with hundreds of other humans? Case in point: The Hair Brusher. This wasn’t just a quick taming of unruly locks that took about 3 seconds. Oh no. This girl was going to town with a Tangle Teezer on her abundantly scruffy thick wet hair. She was standing up, meaning that those of us sitting down near her got showered with a lovely mix of water and split ends. And of course after this 5-minute grooming session was over, she picked all the hair from her brush and dropped it on the floor. Nice.
Then there are the nose-pickers, the fingernail biters, the hot smelly food eaters, and the let-me-adjust-my-belt-and-general-crotch-area-right-in-front-of-your-face-ers. I’ve seen girls squeezing their spots in a packed carriage at 8am, and a suited and booted man floss his teeth whilst using the window as a mirror. Ok, if you really don’t give a damn about what other people think of you, then you’re probably not the type to be jealously poring over Facebook and Instagram and wishing you had aspects of other people’s lives, and maybe you’re a happier person overall. Yay for you. But for crying out loud why can’t these people see that their habits are truly disgusting and make other people feel quite ill? I certainly wasn’t the only one giving the Hair Brusher death glares by the end of the battle with her bed head.
I can predict a response to this: ‘it’s a free country, I can do what I like’. Fine. In which case, you won’t mind if I gather up all the hair you’ve just shed all over my lap and pop it in your handbag, or attack your fingertips with a bottle of Stop N’ Grow. After all, it’s a free country. I can do what I like…
The old adage ‘good manners don’t cost a thing’ has never been more pertinent. I can’t be the only one whose mother issued edicts such as ‘never eat whilst walking’ and ‘always cover your mouth when yawning’. Perhaps my attitude towards social etiquette is a little dated, but that doesn’t make it wrong. Why should advances in technology and social mobility reduce the need for good manners and personal hygiene? Aren’t politeness and consideration of others two of the things that make us a civilised nation? I’m well aware that I sound like the Dowager Countess, but I’d much rather that comparison than that of, say, Josie Cunningham or Dappy. Being aware of your surroundings and those who are in it isn’t old-fashioned: it should be second nature.
No doubt about it, dating has been an education in all sorts of ways, and one particular lesson that comes to light again and again is how to tell someone that you’re no longer interested. This will come about because of one of two reasons:
- You’ve been on one or two dates, there’s nothing particularly wrong with the guy (at least, most of the time…), but there’s a bit of a chemistry fail and you don’t find yourself wanting to see him again.
- He, for unknown reasons, decides that seeing you again isn’t the best way to spend his time.
Either way, fair enough. But how to communicate this lack of interest to the other person?
In my experience, the age-old just-stop-replying-to-messages-and-hope-they-get-the-hint tactic has been pretty effective, if not a rather annoying one. And yes I’ve been on both the receiving and giving end. I’ll admit it’s a rather cowardly way out of a tricky situation, and can leave you or the guy wondering for weeks about what happened, what did I do wrong etc. Perhaps it depends on how many dates you’ve been on…
- One date: not really much to worry about there and if he thinks it wasn’t great then the girl almost definitely thinks the same.
- Two dates: a slight kick in the teeth but hey at least you haven’t wasted too much time/energy/money.
- Anything beyond that: heellooooo a little explanation wouldn’t go amiss here!
I know I’m not the only girl who needs some sort of closure, and being a practical type of person I would rather know what went wrong so I can make appropriate efforts to not repeat the same mistake in the future.
Then there’s the honesty tactic, otherwise known as the ‘it was great to meet you but I think it’s best if we call it a day/just stay friends’ approach. I’ve only ever been on the giving end of this, and it’s been met with varied reactions. On the whole, most of the replies I’ve received have been along the lines of ‘ok no worries it was nice to talk to you best of luck’. After all, what can you really say to someone who just isn’t interested in seeing you again? Then there have been the slightly bitter ones: ‘so glad I wasted a Friday night with you’ or similar. I get it, the male ego is a fragile thing. Admittedly, there might be slightly more diplomatic ways of getting one’s message across, but overall you’re still saying the same thing, no matter how much you sugar-coat it.
Ultimately, there isn’t really a way of winning here. Silence is met with confusion, honesty is met with resentment. Personally, I lean towards Option B. I can understand that telling someone outright that you’re not keen on the idea of a second date can be a tad brutal, but at the end of the day isn’t it saving everyone an awful lot of time and emotional energy?
Last autumn I was dating a guy for a couple of months and all seemed to be going well until he suddenly just stopped replying to text messages. Whilst I wasn’t particularly upset by this, it did leaving me questioning my words and actions for a few weeks afterwards. Was it something I said or did? Was it the fact that I was a fair bit younger? Did he meet someone else? I guess I’ll never know. What I do know is that I would have appreciated some sort of explanation behind his abrupt disappearance, no matter how hurtful it might have been. In the long run, aren’t we better off knowing these things and learning and growing as people as a result?
Guys, you should all know by know that nearly every girl goes in for a bit of self-flagellation in these kinds of situations. So do us all a favour: grow some cojones, and just be honest. Seriously, it will reduce the rate of drunk texts and tearful phone calls by a huge proportion.
Ahh, the tube. That miracle of engineering. That transporter of industrious souls off to bring home the proverbial bacon. That inspiration for poetry, art and music. Sound familiar? Thought not.
It is a fact of life that if you live and/or work in London, you will have to take the tube at some point. If you visit London as a tourist, you will feel that you have to take the tube at some point. And even if you claim to hate the tube and try to avoid it at all costs (cycling, bus, taxi, walking), you will still have to use it at some point. The tube is omnipresent (except when you want to buy an affordable house with good transport links which is when there suddenly seems to be an unhealthy lack of tube stations in desirable parts of south London), and you only need to look at the state of near-panic we’re all experiencing ahead of the strikes this week to realise how much we’ve come to depend on that noisy, smelly, overcrowded network of underground passages that are essentially glorified cattle carts.
So without further ado, here are My Top Ten Most Hated Things About The London Underground:
1: PDA Couples
We’ve all encountered them, generally when you’ve just been through a break-up. WHY do they need to kiss so noisily at 7:30am on a Wednesday??
2: The Antisocial Backpack
Generally takes up at least one person’s standing room, and pokes you uncomfortably hard in the boobs with weird buckles and attachments.
3: The Lone Salmon
That guy who wants to get on the platform when everyone else wants to get off, or hasn’t sorted out his tube strategy and finds himself at the opposite end of the platform from where he needs to be
4: The Northern Line
Overcrowded, hot, smelly, never works properly, high chance of bumping into someone you don’t want to, confusing for first-timers with that whole ‘Bank Branch’ thing, and a veritable death trap if you want to get on at Clapham Common or Clapham North – why more people haven’t fallen onto the tracks at rush hour defeats me.
5:The Pole Hogger
That’s where my hand is meant to go! Shame on you, Patrick Stewart…
6: Over-efficient Heating
Clearly the bods at TFL who control the temperature of the tube have never had to travel on the tube at rush hour. Mmmm hello someone else’s sweaty armpit…
7: The Mystery Farter
Seriously people, do some squats before you leave the house or something, just get rid of it before you subject a packed carriage to the results of your inner gaseous movements.
8: The Guy Who Stares
He flouts the no-eye-contact rule, he’s looking at you every time you glance in his direction, and OH MY GOD what is he doing with his hands?!
9: Shit Earphones
Because of course everyone in the carriage wants to listen to angry metal music as well…
10: Lad Soc
Drinking cans of Fosters, doing pull-ups on the bars, trying to engage strangers in conversation, tend to be Australian…