Since becoming single in October last year, I’ve uninstalled and reinstalled dating apps four times, and not because I’ve met someone. I can really only deal with the nonsense for a couple of months before I’m exhausted by it – the endless swiping, the drudgery of small talk, the stupid profile cliches. Carly Sophia recently went on Hinge and had no matches, and then got a flood once she’d paid for a subscription.
Credit: Nikki Short At this point, any mention of wombat poo, pineapple on a pizza, a partner in crime, not my kid, banter, ketchup in the fridge versus pantry, the university of life, getting your hoodie back, being fluent in sarcasm or loving clean sheets, coffee, and the ocean is getting a quick left swipe from me. Then there’s the Hinge “most compatible” – by far the murkiest corner of the dating pool. I swear, no one else does me as dirty.
It takes every ounce of mental strength not to start believing I really am destined to end up with a man who takes photos next to cars that don’t belong to him and thinks “doing” countries is a personality trait. I frequently find myself wondering if this is the collective experience, or if it has something to do with my age. My theory is that by our mid to late 30s, most people have already done the milestone thing society scams us into in our 20s.
We felt the pressure to couple up, settle down, have some kids. But thanks to the folly of societal expectations and the failure rate of marriage, now we�.
