Thanks to my recent book, Oh, The Dudes That You’ll Date, I’ve found myself squarely in the dating-writer category. That, and being single at 33, means there is no escape from modern dating, which is like a deeply effed-up version of Groundhog Day, where you continually repeat patterns that land you back to square one with a promising assortment of twenty-somethings who claim emotional maturity, and may expect you to buy their meals. Or, your dream guy, if he hadn’t liked every girl on Instagram. It’s a bit like an escape room, except I have never actually done an escape room, so this is purely speculative.
That said, I’ve more or less reached the end of my rope with dating in America – or at least with its usefulness as creative inspiration.
Needing fresh material for my latest writing endeavor, I’ve decided to immerse myself in other cultures to see if dating might be better outside the US, or simply a different kind of bad. If I am committed to writing about dating, an international complicationship is far more compelling than just another American situationship. I mean that literally…for narrative arc purposes.
London was a natural first stop. My publisher and I were already set to be there in March for the annual London Book Fair, a fitting capstone to a year spent promoting my book. I had not realised at the time that I would also be in London to hard-launch phase one, research and development for my next project: a screenplay and third book which I am calling Single AF.
My first brush with intel on the London dating scene came rather organically. On my overnight flight from Atlanta, I pulled out my watercolour kit to pass the time until my sedatives kicked in, which caught the attention of a 27-year-old Londoner seated at the other end of the row we had somehow lucked into having all to ourselves. Naturally, we got to talking.
The first thing she wanted to know was what I would be doing in London. I explained, and she hit me with a rather predictable response: “So you’re basically Carrie Bradshaw meets… What’s that movie? How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”
My new plane friend had enough tea, as they say, to fuel this entire article about London dating, which she had no hesitation in calling “awful.” From being ghosted to discovering hidden girlfriends, she’d already lived through enough romantic disappointments to swear off dating in London altogether. In fact, she even wears a wedding ring out to avoid male attention.
But beyond her own uniquely chaotic romantic lore, she confirmed something I’d already suspected might be affecting the collective: app culture had largely taken over – complete with too many options and only the most surface-level sense of a person before a date. Of course, I’d need more source material before making any sweeping conclusions. I hadn’t even touched down at Heathrow yet, and I still had a hard time believing it could be as bad as New York or LA. Then again, I’m now very much a “bad date is still a good date if it’s for the plot” kind of person.
Early intel and the Single AF lifestyle
I rented a flat with my friend Sam in Stoke Newington in east London. Sam identifies as pansexual, but mostly dates women. When I arrived, she was amidst a breakup with her latest international complicationship. As a remote casting director, she moves fluidly between LA, New York and London, able to work from nearly anywhere.
Sam is the quintessential embodiment of being Single AF. By that I mean, relationships take a backseat to her career-driven, jet-setting lifestyle, which politely ignores the “shoulds” of being a 30-something (i.e. settling down and starting a family), in favour of a summer in Greece, a late-night hotel party or someone she could never realistically end up with. Age gaps, oceans, logistical impossibilities. Sometimes that is the appeal. Sam often preaches that the most important relationship is with yourself, another key tenet of being Single AF.
Dates, (spilled) drinks, and men who don’t approach
One of my first nights out in London, I was waiting for a friend at a corner pub and spotted a decently attractive guy drinking and smoking alone outside. I seized the opportunity, grabbed a Hugo spritz and inched my way into conversation. Even if I had looked awful that night, the dim lighting and fog might have created a “full-on Monet” effect (IYKYK), meaning, like an impressionist painting, the blur might be enough to compel your average single straight dude to exchange Instagrams or get a number. At least in another city. In this case, he didn’t. Instead he was preoccupied with nerves for a Hinge date he hadn’t yet met in person.
Later that night, I went to a lounge called Space Talk and was approached by a group of guys who quickly became my friends. For a moment, I thought perhaps British men were, in fact, forthcoming. But, lo and behold, they were French and Brazilian. London is a cultural mosaic after all, so the dating scene naturally reflects that. As for the behavioral norms of the local crop, results remained inconclusive.
On another night out, I went to meet friends at a popular spot called The Fat Badger, an intimate, selective club in Notting Hill. The space was packed with a live country band. Every guy who approached me was, again, not British. They were all some other kind of European, or Brazilian. Two local British men standing on the sidelines were shocked when I sparked up a conversation while hanging up my coat.
One, recently divorced at 42, explained that “this doesn’t happen anymore” – as in, a casual chat with women IRL. Approaching a woman, he explained, “in some cases, can even be considered rude”. The other, ornery but friendly, offered a compliment with no follow-through to get a number. This was when I began to see the pattern: Englishmen are polite, attractive and reserved, but they rarely seize small chances.
With limited time and a growing sense of urgency, I turned to swiping on Raya. This backfired a bit when I got a bad cold and could not keep up with the queue of men and invites piling up. At 33, I have to remember to pace myself. Plus, I was still recovering from feeling so unwell, which meant mapping out the day on public transport just to meet someone for a drink was just…not going to happen.
Still, I managed to schedule a few dates with men born and raised in London – or, at least the surrounding area. One, arranged via app, took me on a thoughtfully planned tour through Victoria Park, Columbia Flower Market, Broadway Market and a walk along the canals. He was attractive, mid-thirties, polite, paid for my beers, and even showed interest in accompanying me to visit touristy spots, which is generous for a local.
Taking the opportunity to gain insight, I asked if he usually approaches women and whether he would have come up if I had been alone at the pub. He admitted he would not. He summed it up in true Larry David fashion, expressing disdain for the whole “stop-and-chat” thing. Funny, I love LD, but in this particular area, I prefer a little less restraint
Other highlights included more park walks, seeing art, members clubs, a night out at Fabrik, a (literally) underground techno club where I got a drink spilled on my head, and a last-minute cancellation from a date at Sketch, citing a family emergency but still offering to pay for dinner. I invited my friends instead, which was honestly better, because what is a night at Sketch without mirror selfies in the egg bathroom?
Thus far, my findings suggested that London, despite being the setting for some of the world’s greatest literary romances, may now function more as historical fiction. For all its cosmopolitan charm, it was not exactly filled with the most romantically proactive daters I’ve encountered. If you get approached in person, odds are he is not British, and if he is, he is likely polite, attractive, and deeply reserved, with little instinct to pursue romance outside the apps. As a heterosexual woman, your willingness to go after what you want feels less optional and more essential.
Calling in the experts…
By this point in my London adventure, I felt it was time to call in some expert opinions to support what I had been observing. I was fortunate to connect with Dr Tara Suwinyattichaiporn, a sex and relationship expert and American turned part-time Londoner thanks to her role as an expert on Channel 4’s Celebs Go Dating. Dr Suwinyattichaiporn is also a tenured Associate Professor of Sexual and Relational Communication at California State University Fullerton, a certified sexologist, an award-winning sex researcher and author of How Do You Like It: A Guide to Getting What You Want (In Bed).
Dr Suwinyattichaiporn is openly polyamorous with partners in both London and Los Angeles, so she is living a Single AF dream, enjoying international romance and fabulous experiences without the pressure of monogamy. She confirmed my observation that London men rarely approach women socially outside of apps. She also invited me to her Modern Intimacy Series 01 at Second Home Spitalfields, hosted by Emma-Louise Boynton, author of Pleasure, her memoir which explores sexual disconnect in women.
The room was mostly women with a few men, including Dr Suwinyattichaiporn’s UK boyfriend and a new gay friend I made that night. The evening included an erotic breathwork session and actionable insights into chemistry, compatibility, sexual confidence and owning your desire as a woman.
Both Dr Suwinyattichaiporn and Emma emphasised focusing on your own desires and learning how to exude confidence. Their books both explore moving from being chosen or being a pick-me girl into actually understanding and expressing what you want. This felt like a powerful takeaway for my own Single AF project: becoming empowered as a single woman and embracing your agency in dating and life.
I walked away with a new friend and won a high-end (Lelo) vibrator, which was very LOL and perfectly on brand.
Where to find the men of London IRL
From all the data I collected on finding men beyond the apps – whether Hinge, Feeld, Raya or Bumble – if you are headed to London and want the 411 on where to find the dudes…the short answer is any pub, really. Otherwise, as Dr Suwinyattichaiporn suggested, check out The Wren Tavern on a Thursday evening if you are “looking for a man in finance, 6 ‘5”, blue eyes”. Apparently, 300 of them show up in suits after work, like straight out of a social media meme. Per a guy at Celeste, members clubs are really the IRL version of London’s dating apps because they vet people and make sure someone lives nearby. But I guess the corner pub could work too if you are not a members club type.
Football socials are another option since many men here play semi-professionally. Other spots that kept coming up, aside from the now less-buzzy Chiltern Firehouse, taken out by an actual fire, include The Roof Gardens, The Fat Badger, and 22. I can’t speak from experience, but La Camionera is a cool spot that hosts a sapphic singles night on Tuesdays.
If you want something a little healthier or hobby-based, consider joining a run club or book group. Just be prepared to make the first move if you are female.
Closing thoughts / my mom doesn’t get it…
By the end of London, I called my mom to explain why London wasn’t my final stop on my international field research. Of course, she poked holes in my plans: how would I support myself, my dog and how could I possibly write about dating abroad if I don’t speak the language?
But as far as I’m concerned, dating is a language I’m fluent in. I’m not a 9-to-5 type, I haven’t settled, and I’m not bending myself to be chosen. By your thirties, in my opinion, you either grow out of that or resign yourself to being miserably inauthentic. So yes, I’m manifesting a summer of spritz in hand somewhere in the south of France, or sailing around Sardinia, ideally with a few romantic entanglements along the way. For the writing, of course. As for London, I must say it charmed me, and perhaps it could become my new home base. I may not have found my future husband, or at least that’s been revealed as of yet, but that just means I’ll continue my journey, living and writing about the tragedy of modern dating. If that results in more travel, caring less about what people think, going on scenic dates in castles with myself, winning high-end vibrators in a raffle, or maxing out credit cards on vintage fur coats and then worrying about how I’ll pay for them later, I’ll take it. Now I just have to justify to my mom why it’s not some irrational abandonment of responsibility. It’s entirely necessary for my career.