I’m not sure how I feel about online dating. I really can’t make up my mind.
I’ve friends who are engaged to, are living with and are in perfectly contented relationships with people they met on the world wide web. I have others who are currently going on four online dates a week, often to realise that the guy over the table actually was the inspiration for The Hunchback of Notre Dame and isn’t the Ryan Gosling look a like they’d be swooning over in the kitchen at work. Or in some stranger cases, they do look like Ryan Gosling, but when they speak they sound like Sloth from the Goonies.
On the surface, online dating seems pretty damn harsh if I’m honest. The likes of Tinder allowing you to merely swipe the prospective man of your dreams out of your life purely based on one crappy picture of him posing in the gym and his first name all seems very final and cruel to me. Granted, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever end up with someone called Elvis (really?!) or somebody that genuinely deems it acceptable to remove all clothing in the ‘Free Weights Zone’ and take a selfie, but these could be genuinely nice blokes that aren’t going to get a look in because we’re all a bit nameist.
I understand that the game has changed quite considerably of late and many singletons agree that ‘pulling’ or ‘getting chatted up’ or even worse ‘chirpsing’ on nights out seems to be something that’s dwindling. Mainly due to the fact that every time an opportunity arises to make eye contact with somebody you find attractive in a bar, you realise they are looking down, down at their phone….more than likely “swiping” the living shit out of you and everyone in a 5km radius leaving minimal opportunity to chat.
I also have issues with the fact that you can say pretty much anything you want about yourself on an online dating profile and lead someone into a false sense of belief that they are about to embark on a romantic journey with a 5’7″ leggy blonde with an incredible sense of humour, a cultural range of hobbies and an appreciation for fine art when, in fact, they are about to meet 6’8″ Doris from Merton who literally goes to the Whoops! section in Asda for entertainment.
It got me thinking that maybe this whole online game would be better if participants were forced into being completely honest. I understand this is completely unachievable and there is no way of policing it, but it my head I think it would be good to launch a new app.
Goodbye Tinder, Grindr, Happn & OK Cupid!
Hello, Honestr – The Ugly Truth
Want to see what I mean in real terms? Using myself as a willing example, see the difference between the two profiles. I can really see this catching on.
Standard Dating Website Profile (also written as if I am the dullest of dull females)
Height: 5’8″ (no short guys need apply)
Body Type: Curvy
Hobbies: Nights out with my girls, gyming it, cinema, nice restaurants.
From: South East.
Dislikes: Carbs, scary movies, dishonesty
Anything else: Just ask *winky face emoticon*
Name: Jo. I’m not putting my surname on here in case you are a nutter and I come home tomorrow to find you hiding in my bin.
Age: 25. Nearly 26. Had a mild meltdown on my last birthday because I would now be classed in the ‘Overs’ category on the X Factor. That stung.
Admin. All of the admin. Yes, I work for a fashion company, but I spend a large portion of my day sending emails. I see the actual clothes about once a week. At most.
No, you can’t use my discount.
5’8″ – but don’t sweat it too much. I wear heels, on average, 4 times a year and even then they stay on my feet for about 3 hours maximum before I burst into tears because I either have blisters or have taken a tumble down a flight of stairs.
This is probably the only time I really cry. Except when I watch Home Alone. That bit when the mum finally comes home just ends me.
Hair: Red. Completely unnatural. It’s completely red for one week in every 6. Then I get a really fetching mousy brown strip down my parting that stays there until I can face the arm ache attached to an at home hair dye kit. That coupled with the bleach fest that has to happen on the bathroom afterwards to stop it looking like a murder scene.
Eyes: Blue. Unless I have a hangover, or have been working like a dog. Then they are kind of reddy/pink. A bit like those you’d find on an albino rabbit. Oh, and you’ll rarely get to see them properly as they are often barricaded behind a rather fetching pair of specs, that I have to wear all the time to stop me getting on the wrong number bus. Fitty.
Body Type: I use curvy as a loose term. Let’s put it this way, I have hips that people of a certain age would refer to as ‘child bearing’ and an arse/thigh combo that seems to only attract comments from 70 year old, Jamaican drunk men on the street. Also, I sometimes look pregnant for about an hour after I eat pasta.
I go out a fair bit. Less than I used to but still more than I should. And when I’ve had that final glass of wine/bottle of beer/double gin, I do tend to start to believe I am Beyoncé. I then begin to two step around whichever establishment has welcomed me and more often than not give myself whiplash trying to teach people how to do the Dutty Wine.
Yes, you read correctly I like beer.
No, no I’m not a lesbian.
However I do spend a LOT of time in gay bars with my mate Ben. He pulls and I get drinks for £1.50. Problem?
I do go to the gym, but then go home and eat the fridge. I don’t run, I don’t do pilates, I lift. I like lifting weights. So the food may make it all worthless but rest safe in the knowledge that I have some strength on me so I would bust your arse in a pillow fight.
Cinema? I personally prefer an illegally downloaded film and a pizza. Just easier init really. Oh and Netflix. If Netflix was a drug, I’d literally be in a squat somewhere.
I grew up in Brixton and now live in Croydon. Which means a few things. Firstly, I don’t always (read ‘never’) speak the Queen’s English and if you’re from ‘good stock’ your mother probably will think you’re too good for me. Secondly it means that my music tastes centre solely around ‘Smooth R&B’ and ‘Garage’ and ‘Rap’. I sadly know all the words to most Boyz II Men & Ja Rule songs. Thirdly, I think gangs are funny because most members went to my school.
And finally, it means that I’m hard. Well ‘ard.
Oh and an absolute pisstaker.
Likes: Trainers. I love trainers probably more than I’ll ever love you. Soz. And toast. And tea. And knitting. And watching films I’ve seen 20 times over and over again, mainly because I’ll know I’ll enjoy them. Secondly, because my attention span is similar to a 5 year old. Thirdly, because complex story lines take me a few goes to get hold of. I’m not thick, I’ve just got a lot going on in my head.
‘The Game’. I have zero ‘game’ and have a near incomplete ability to ever tell if someone fancies me. So if you do, I’d advise painting a sign or maybe taking an ad out on ITV because subtle hints don’t really work for Mrs ‘Ah we’re all just mates’. I don’t get the texting game that people who are flirting play….I reply in a timely fashion because, well, I was born with manners.
And mushrooms. I really dislike mushrooms.
I wear unmatching pyjamas and on Sunday’s I don’t really like to leave the house. I can cook, but only if the meal contains chicken. Other than that I’m lost. The word ‘Brunch’ freaks me out (just make a bloody decision) and I have a mild phobia of whispering (don’t ask).
I sing in the shower and whilst in my head, I am the female Sam Smith, in reality I sound like the noise a balloon makes when it’s deflating.
My mates are like a small army and as such will probably terrify you on sight.
Oh yeah, and my Dad won’t let me go out with you if you support Arsenal. Sorry.
And just to put the final nail in the coffin, here is a a picture of what I really look like. Hashtag no filter.
In the back of a cab, being an absolute fag hag. And incase you were wondering that’s Ben on the left, he’s an absolute piece.
So, yeah. How about meeting up sometime?