AHOY SEXY: My Experience On Tinder

So some of you may remember that a few months back, I wrote a pretty scathing review of Tinder. But, alas, I bumped into a friend on the train on my way back to Exeter and he persuaded me to get it. I ummed and aahed for an extended period of time, but finally gave in. I handed over my phone (reluctantly I might add), and he carefully went through my Facebook pictures to choose the "perfect assortment." To the untrained eye, I was the ultimate catch.  Well, that was the plan anyway. He came up with a couple goofy lines for my bio, but I thought I'd best leave it blank. After all, it's not like I was taking any of it seriously...or was I?

My goodness is Tinder addictive. There's something so unforgivably titillating about it that I found myself losing sleep over it. Literally. I could stay up on it for hours, just mindlessly swiping pictures of men. Gosh that makes me sound perverted. But there's no point denying it - it's just so compulsive that you don't even need to flick your brain in gear before you use it. Just one more, you tell yourself, just one more. If you have managed to escape Tinder up until now, I urge you to keep it that way...particularly if you are in the middle of revising for exams or writing essays. It was quickly becoming my number one procrastination method....no more listening to remixes of Let It Go from Frozen...it's Tinder time.

So far the conversations have been pretty PG, well, relatively. I haven't started any conversations (apart from a joke one with my friend on the train), so I've let the men do the talking. There have been a lot of "hey! how are you?" type things - no awkward chat up lines thank goodness. One guy discussed his love of "McBusted" and how excited he was to be going to their concert. One guy took it a little far with the euphemisms. I stopped responding when he insisted on discussing his "wood." I told him I wasn't a very good carpenter, and left it at that. Another one told me he'd drive all the way over to see my "gorgeous ass." Where he got that from, I do not know. (Note to readers: I'm not posting pics of my "ass" on Tinder.)

But after having Tinder for less than 2 days, I decided it was time to hop off the band wagon. I realised that it was the worst waste of my time, ever. I'd racked up 51 matches in approximately 30 hours, but still didn't feel satisfied in any way, partly because I know some guys just "like" everyone for the hell of it, plus...it seems so insincere basing someone's worth on a few pictures. I won't deny however that it was pretty entertaining, and that was my main reason for using it. I was certainly not looking for love, or a quick hook-up. Basically, I wasn't treating it as a "dating app", and any guy that asked for my number received a resounding "no." I was treating it as an "I'm bored, let's do something fun" app, with a "this could be good material for my blog" mentality. Consequently, I spent quite a lot of time staring in disbelief at my iPhone. Most of the men reminded me of really poor quality advertising campaigns. I'm not expecting every guy to be an Orlando Bloom lookalike, but don't post really cringeworthy pictures of yourself looking like a douche. Let me elaborate:

What is it with the iPhone mirror selfies? I mean seriously. They make me want to tear my eyes out of my sockets. I genuinely have an acute aversion to this sort of picture, particularly when guys do it, and particularly when every single Tinder picture is an iPhone mirror selfie. Maybe that sounds sexist, but it really grates on me. And what is with the creepy under the sheets ones of you lying in bed? NO. JUST NO. Stop making love to the camera, it's creeping me out. And stop posting multiple pictures of just a third of your face, or only choosing pictures of you and a bunch of ten other guys. This should be your dating passport, and it gives me a headache trying to work out which one you are. Make it SIMPLE. It's not rocket science. Oh, and it's cute that you like your dog, but does it really have to appear in every single picture? How many angles of the dog's face are there? And why do you insist on hiding behind your dog in every single picture?

OK, so you may have good abs, or biceps, or whatever part of your body. But goodness gracious: put them away. The odd shot of you on the beach with your swimming trunks on is fine, but mirror selfies of you tensing is not a good look. Frankly, it makes you looks arrogant. Like I said earlier, anything involving a phone and a mirror is an immediate me no likey, left swipey.

Men with babies and children: ?!?!?!?!. In EVERY photo. Maybe it's your niece, or godson, or whoever...but when every picture is of you snuggling up to a bunch of kids like they're your own (maybe they are, maybe they aren't), I'm running a mile. Who are you trying to find? Playmates for your kids? Probably best to crop out the kids, or get the hell off Tinder. Moron. Hang on a sec, that was a bit harsh. If you're a single Dad, looking for luurve, please put it in your bio. I'm not ready to be a Step Mother just yet, so I'd like a little pre-warning.

You'd also think that in this age of super technology, offensively blurry photos would be something of the past. Apparently not on Tinder. Look, I'm not expecting microscopic HD quality where every pore on your skin is visible (that would probably be pretty unflattering for anyone), but when all your photos are as blurry as my vision is when I'm not wearing contact lenses...we got a problem. Get yourself a decent camera, or find a better picture. When the entirety of your face is pixellated, what is the point? And don't pretend you're going for the "artsy" look - this is Tinder, not Instagram. Sort it aaht.

When you say you're 22, but look 50....ummm, yea. Maybe you're one of those unlucky souls who is aging prematurely, but unlikely. Go find someone your own age. Perve.

Tinder has apparently become the platform to showcase peoples' extreme sporting capabilities - from skiing, snowboarding, skateboarding, motor racing...As a skier myself it's nice to see someone else that also skies - I feel a connection. But if every pic is of you going down the mountain clad head-to-toe in bulky ski stuff, a balaclava and a helmet, I'm not digging it. Likewise with the scuba diving pictures. I also scuba dive, but if every photo is of you wearing Jupiter sized goggles, a wetsuit, and a massive tank on your back....hey, maybe I'm just being shallow.

One last thing. Dude, don't write in your bio: I like golf swimming climbing music gym biking etc. Ever heard of a comma? Apparently not...It's that little thing located on your keyboard and it looks like this "," <--- do us a favour, and use it. Love from the Grammar Nazi.

So there you have it - my experience with Tinder. It's safe to say that I will never, ever, return.

NB: This article is supposed to be OTT and ridiculous...somewhat, anyway ;)

Am I The Only One Not Getting Engaged?

Engagements seem to be a daily occurrence on my Facebook newsfeed. I can't seem to wake up without being bombarded with sparkly rings, and pictures of smiling couples, kissing couples, "we're so perfect together" couples. Of course I'm happy for them (I truly am), but am I jealous? ERRR, nope. Not that engagements are a bad thing - I just can't see myself tying the knot anytime soon. So that queue of men following me around, ready to drop down on one knee: like, back off. I know you're there in your invisibility cloaks.

In the 1950s I would have been described as the "ripe old age of 22" - my Granny got married at my age, but already considered herself "on the shelf". I'm just hoping that a woman's shelf life in the 2010s is a little longer than in the 1950s, otherwise I'm screwed (any eligible bachelors out there? We have until December!) I might as well sign up to a nunnery now. Wait...would I even qualify? I'd probably be one of those "naughty nuns" people go as to fancy dress parties, with an offensively short habit. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I've been spending too long in the library...

I can't help but think that I'm way too young to be getting married. It feels like I've only just hit puberty. Nah, I'm joking. But I don't feel like I'm mature enough to think about the future yet - I'm still happy just figuring out life, and making mistakes, and living a little. I don't want to settle down with anyone before I've figured out what really matters to me. Maybe that sounds a little selfish, but isn't that part of the luxury of being in your twenties? That state of drifting, not really knowing the precision of your identity, and not really caring either. Maybe this sounds all rather silly, but that's how I feel sometimes. Responsibilities are there, but you can afford to throw your eggs in multiple baskets.

When you've got a dissertation to write and exams to revise for etc., I don't know how you're supposed to fit a fiancé into the equation anyway. And where the hell am I supposed to find him? Between a stack of library books? The only other place I tend to hang out is the gym, but I don't have a great track record (see post below). And contrary to popular belief, the TP and Arena dance floors don't tend to be ideal hotspots for blossoming love affairs. Just sayin'.

Between the all-nighters in the library eating my bodyweight in Mini Cheddars, and the sweaty gym classes, my life isn't currently cut out for romance, let alone a fiancé. Maybe I'm not the relationship type. A male friend once told me that I don't give off the "relationship vibe". I'm not quite sure what this vibe amounts to, or how I'm supposed to catch it, but I'm curious nonetheless. I have friends who are always in and out of relationships - always. My best friend and I couldn't be more opposite when it comes to dating. She's spent the majority of her tween years (teen and twenties) in long-term relationships. I genuinely don't know how she does it. And then there's me, the ultimate failure. Even Bridget Jones had two men fighting over her. Where are mine? Men: START PUNCHING EACH OTHER (it'll make me feel better).

Fear not dear readers, I am not actually feeling that "man weepy" (a stunning phrase a couple of my friends have used to describe their mental state in the month of February). Contrary to my rants, I'm perfectly content being single. Because nothing feels as good as Beyoncé's Single Ladies playing in a nightclub, and actually being able to throw both hands in the air, hoping that I'll be plucked from a crowd of other desperate hopefuls....I will live in the hope that if he likes me that much, he'll put a ring on it. And then I'LL be the newly engaged gal on the block....

Finding Love On Tinder

One word: Tinder. AKA the fabulously cringeworthy and seedy dating app which has recently taken the UK by storm. And Exeter hasn't missed out on the "fun" either...Maybe I'm in the minority here but I don't really see the appeal, at all. Here are 10 bullet points which explain exactly why I think it's a waste of time and phone data...

1) It encourages people to be shallow

2) It encourages laziness

3) It'll make you paranoid

4) It's addictive

5) You suddenly become boring because all your "chat" revolves around tinder conquests

6) You forget how to act in real-life social situations because you realise you can't swipe left or right

7) Somehow it's now considered OK to use a dating app, even if you're in a relationship

8) You might get tinderitis: (n) the harmful side effect of incessant use of the smartphone app - Tinder. Often diagnosed by a flat battery, blowing your data allowance or a ruined index finger or thumb tendon.

9) Its tagline is "It's like real life, but better". Surely your life would have to suck big time for a silly dating app to be better than real life? Do I smell a whiff of arrogance, Tinder? 

10) If you do get a match, and the person responds, chances are a) they look nothing like they do in their photos, b) you confused him/her for his/her hotter friend who appears in all the pics, c) if they do initiate conversation, they'll probably call you "babe", d) how do you know it's not a prank? (which leads back to point 3 about paranoia).

Tinder encourages people to base their "worth" or "value" on the number of matches they get. It's the epitome of superficiality. Why let the world, AKA a bunch of horny students in a 3 mile radius of you, define your potential? So limiting. 

I read an article recently on businessinsider.com which spoke about how Tinder was thinking of introducing a "trending tool..that highlighted the most popular users on the app at any given time." Imagine how awkward that would be? This algorithm takes into account how active you are on tinder in terms of matches, messages sent etc. So while you're telling all your friends that you hardly use tinder and that it's "just for bants", they may not believe you when you're heading up the leader board on the "trending users" page. Not so subtle now, are we? As one person said: "Ordering a date is pretty much as mundane as ordering food"…But then again, maybe you're quite picky when it comes to ordering food. Maybe Tinder is your opportunity to pick out the caviar from the baked beans in life. Your Sainsbury's Taste the Difference from your Basics. 

"But it's just a bit of fun" you say, or "I do it for shiggles because it's hilaaaarious". My response to that? The majority of us already waste enough of our precious time on Facebook connecting with semi-real friends, that wasting more of it on a site like Tinder with non-friends seems absurd. It's like "Take Me Out" for smartphones. You can't share anything about your life with the other person until you've decided that you "like" what you see. And the likelihood is, you'll just end up being disappointed when their picture-perfect face doesn't have a personality. And all that time spent getting excited about your match could have been better spent investing in more worthwhile activities. Like getting out of your room and meeting people in real-life circumstances.

I'm not for a second trying to undermine the importance of physical attraction - hell, you've GOT to be attracted to someone for a stab at a relationship. If all you're thinking about is putting a paper bag over your significant other's face, then something's not quite right. Maybe swiping someone's face on Tinder is a method of filtering out, of selecting the best gene pool for your future sprog - but how would you feel if someone came up to you in the street and slapped you across the face because they didn't like what they saw? I guess the "beauty" of Tinder is that you can do all that from the comfort of a screen, without knowingly hurting anyone's feelings. But still - it encourages people to stare at someone else's face for a long amount of time and decide whether this person is "good enough" for them. The next time I hear someone say "I'm SOOOO out of his/her league", I'm going to roll my eyes. Did people never learn that there's no such thing as leagues? If there's going to be a league of any sort, there should be a league to distinguish the nice people from the arse holes, not the aesthetically pleasing from the less beautiful.

Let's be honest: our profile pics on Facebook tend to be our best. If you're picking 4 gorgeous pics of yourself where you've gone crazy with photoshop and removed pimples etc., just think about the pressure you're putting yourself under if you do finally meet your date. And if you're treating Tinder purely as an "online only" adventure without physically meeting up, any matches you get are probably because the guy likes the 4 best pics you've ever taken of yourself. He's liking a construction of you. That feeling might make you flutter or make you happy. But when you look at yourself at 7am in the morning with no makeup on, greasy hair and bags under your eyes, you want to be with someone who can see all this, and still want to be with you, no matter what. (Tip: If you haven't quite got the hang of photoshop - see photo on left - there's an iPhone app called Pixtr which is designed to make pictures of yourself more beautiful. Say what??)

If you're single, and this thought is depressing you, please do NOT resort to Tinder. It is attention-inducing and utterly repulsive. Fair enough if you're age 30 - online dating might be your thing. But please don't be sucked into this completely irrelevant and annoying app which only promises awkward confrontations and deception. If that's your thing - by all means, lap it up. But I'll only say "I told you so" when things don't go quite the way you planned….

NB: Maybe you just want to use it for hooking up with buff people, in which case, by all means, the platform is yours. 

NBB: For all the overly-sensitive readers out there, this is supposed to be a slight exaggeration on my real feelings.

A Phoney's Survival Guide to Dating

Him or the idea of him?

Whenever I fancied someone in the past and had my heart torn in two, I tormented myself with the following question: Do I really like a) him or b) the idea of him? Both can result in tears of frustration; the former results in genuine tears because you are pining after a man who can't be yours/ broke your heart/ doesn't know how ardently you adore him, while the latter tears are because you loved the fact that you had a shoulder to cry on, someone to hang out with when you had nothing better to do, someone to tell you you're beautiful even when you look like you've been pulled through a bush backwards...and now this has been shattered. You're so desperate to be in a relationship that you find yourself loving the idea of the happy couple more than loving your significant other. Essentially, you might have loved the way he made you feel, but you didn't actually love him.

 

Some women have a habit of falling for people who are just no good for them; too old, too young, too much of a bachelor, too noncommittal, too arse-hole-ish, too wannabe John Mayer or Tiger Woods. I know full well when he's all wrong for me, when I'm treading in deep waters, when I'm only throwing myself into a messy war of runny noses and hysterical comments like "I just feel so empty". You ask yourself how he ever managed to imprison and capture you in what can only be described as a vicious circle of mental turmoil. Him wanting you is the best feeling in the world but sometimes you ask yourself what it is or was about him that made you fall so hard.  Do you love him or the idea of him?

I'm reminded of one of my favourite novels: The Great Gatsby.  If you've only ever seen the film starring Leonardo DiCaprio, I urge you to go pick F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterpiece off the bookshelf this second. The question we forever ask ourselves throughout the novel (fuelled by narrator Nick Carraway) is the following: does Gatsby actually love Daisy, or does he merely want to recapture the idea of himself which went into loving Daisy? There's no denying (in my opinion) that he did truly love Daisy at one point or another, but over time this love turned into nothing more than a concept.

Are you falling for someone for what they represent rather than for who they are? Do you love their soul (as cliched as it sounds) or merely the fact that they fulfill a part of your life which needs fulfilling?

The time-bomb of ticking boxes

It's funny - I've been on dates where guys have asked me what I look for in a man. The awkward question which results in you lying slyly because a) you don't want to hurt his feelings by describing the polar opposite of him, and b) you don't want to accidentally describe him in case he thinks you're making a move on him. I usually say something along the line of "great sense of humour", "confident but not too full of himself", "down to earth"...I try to steer away from describing looks because while a certain appearance may appeal to me more than others, I'd much rather fall for a man in his entirety than only because he had piercing blue eyes, blonde curls and a strong jaw. I personally wouldn't want to be with someone who was that picky because it's a far cry from the "down to earth" nature which so appeals to me. I'd only be a hypocrite.

And as the subheading suggests, ticking boxes really grates on me. I know we can all dream up our perfect guy - how he'd look, his personality, his talents, his hobbies - and of course I'm not denying that certain traits may be important, if not intrinsic for a happy relationship, but that doesn't automatically mean that a man who ticks all the right boxes is going to be right for you, nor does it mean that you'll fall in love with him.

And searching for the ticking-all-the-right-boxes sorta fella may take forever. In fact, maybe the guy doesn't even exist. So quit worrying about how he's brunette rather than blond, 5'11" instead of 6'2" or doesn't have a stomach so chiseled that he could make chocolate bars melt on it. You can't pull up a list of pros and cons for someone - they're not objects. I mean, imagine a world where human beings were rated, just like products on Amazon. In fact, don't!

Call to Action

So stop your wasting time in a relationship where you feel miserable or serial dating losers who only want to pop your cherry.  And for Pete's sake: Don't date someone just because they're nice and possess all the qualities of a perfect boyfriend. His "perfection" will only end up getting on your nerves. If you can't find someone right for you right now, enjoy being single and relish your ability to be a little bit selfish. I know I am.
 

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love... I love... I love you." (Darcy, Pride and Prejudice). Now that, ladies, is true love.

 

So there you have it. A phoney's survival guide to dating. Or maybe, a phoney's survival guide to singledom?

Bridal Fever and Marrying Animals

The last thing on my mind right now should be marriage and children.  I'm 21, sans potential husband, and I still haven't reached the perfect pre-baby figure.  But this doesn't stop me endlessly pinning wedding dresses onto a board I've called "My style".  Don't ask.

Furthermore, when I hear wedding bells ringing on my Facebook timeline, coupled with my colleagues sending me pictures of their dream wedding dresses and sparkling white Jimmy Choos over the office IM, it's hard to ignore the matter altogether.  I think I can therefore be forgiven for occasionally daydreaming about ivory, lace, fruit cake and fondant icing shaped like doves.  And dropping into conversation the fact that I want aquamarines and diamonds in my engagement ring too.  I mean, I'm obviously not going to accept a freebie from a cereal box so I might as well state the real deal before it's too late and my husband to be buys me a sickly Canary diamond ring à la Kelly Clarkson.  I kid you not when I say that poor taste in engagement rings could make it or break it for a potential suitor of mine.  And that includes buying it online.  Apart from that, I'm not too fussy.  Although I might as well mention that I also want a horse-drawn carriage on my way to the church and a reception of 2,000 and four dozen white roses in crystal vases for every square metre.  That's all.

Even if I have to dress up my dog as the groom in the process, I am determined at some point in my life to walk down the aisle.  You know, marrying your pet isn't actually frowned upon in all cultures.  I'm kidding.  Human-animal marriage, as my source acutely puts it, is not recognised in law by any country.  Sadly this doesn't include men with animalistic tendencies.  Sigh.

Interestingly enough however, in 2003 a 9 year old tribal girl in eastern India married a dog because she believed it would ward off bad omens. Fact.  And this wasn't some beloved pet she'd been caring for - it was a stray dog.  According to the BBC article, the girl had a tooth rooted to her upper gum (a sign of bad things to come), hence her tribe's insistence that she either marry a dog, or face the bad omen.  Luckily for the girl, the tribal elders confirmed that this marriage would not affect her ability to marry again, and neither would she have to go through divorce proceedings.  I wouldn't be surprised however if she was found citing "irreconcilable differences".

And then in 2006, a Sudanese man was forced to marry a goat after being caught having sex with it. The culprit, Mr Tombe, was ordered by a council of elders to pay 15,000 Sudanese dinars (£37) to the goat's owner before taking it home to be his wife.  The goat, who was later nicknamed Rose, became the best-known goat in Sudan.  Sadly for Mr. Tombe however, Rose died a few months following the wedding after choking.  On a plastic bag, I hasten to add.  Gone, but not forgoaten.  (And she left a 'kid' in her legacy too. I'm thinking someone wasn't a very faithful wife!)

2006 was a popular year in terms of human-animal weddings after an Indian woman supposedly, and I quote, 'fell in love with a snake' - yes, that is right.  She married the reptile in a traditional Hindu ceremony with 2,000 guests in attendance.  The Press Trust of India exaplined how Priests chanted mantras to 'seal' the union, but the cobra failed to come out of a nearby ant hill where it lived.  Instead, a brass replica of the snake stood in for the hesitant groom.  Sneaky.  Or should I say snakey?

So, dear readers, if you had to marry any animal, which would you choose?  A dog, a goat, a snake?  Or maybe you'd go a little closer to home and wed an orangutan?  The possibilities are endless...

P.s. I'd just like to point out that contrary to popular belief, I am in no desperate rush to get married.  Quite the opposite.  I am almost determined not to tie the knot until I'm at least 27.  So in the meantime, I'll satisfy myself by Googling wedding venues instead.. ;)

English Boys vs French Boys

Usually the first question I get asked is "so have you found yourself a French boyfriend yet?"  I respond with that awkward smile and shake of the head as I furrow my eyebrows and say something like "meh, not really a fan of French men.  I prefer English ones!"

French men too seem to be startled when I explain that I'm single (I'd like to take that as a compliment, but in reality that's not what they're aiming for!)  It's like I'm a new sort of species, like there must be something really wrong with me for being 'single' and they always seem to respond with "but why?", as if I need to justify myself.  The phrase "I just haven't met anyone I want to date yet" apparently isn't a good enough excuse.  As far as they're concerned, I should have a boyfriend, period.

I always thought having a boyfriend meant that you were 'exclusive'.  Anything 'extra' was considered grossly inappropriate and you would quite easily get the reputation of being a 'whore' or 'slag' if you were caught cheating, or in some cases flirting, with another man.  That was until I came to France.  "Married, you say?  Makes no difference to me!"

In the UK, girls are persuading men to make things 'official' or as I like to say - 'o-fish' - whereas here I've noticed that men are usually the ones desperate to tie the dating knot after a matter of seconds.  In my experience thus far, a simple drink in a bar for a Frenchman means "you need to meet my Mother".  OK, maybe that's a slight exaggeration but there's something very forward about French men when it comes to dating.  And lest you absentmindedly forget to reply to a Frenchman's text within about 3 hours...you better start coming up with some fabulous excuses because your little games of "playing hard to get", "the chase", and "play 'em mean, keep 'em keen" don't go down so well with the French.  It's all, or nothing.

British journalist Samantha Brick, who is married to a Frenchman, has this to say:

"If you are normally laid back about dating, prepare to change your ways. There is a reason that a 'crime of passion' was recognised as a legitimate form of defence in France's courts. The French thrive on jealously, passionate arguments, bold attestations of love. Even if that's not your style - you'd better get used to it. Sulking has zero impact and neither does 'the silent treatment' - if you have a point to make about a problem in your relationship then make it as loudly and as passionately as you can. Your French lover will worship you even more for it."

Duly noted.

I realise I’ve been rather critical of French men thus far.  I’m sure they’re not all so bad, but I enjoy telling tales so I will enlighten you:

An interesting encounter with a Frenchman on the night bus (first and last time I've ever taken it), resulted in him putting his slimey arm around me and 'accidentally' touching my breasts.  He then asked if I'd be his girlfriend.  Naturally, I said "no".  He said "is it because I'm Muslim?"  Actually, frog, it has something to do with the fact that you're perving on me in a night bus at 3am.  And accusing me of bigotry is hardly going to make me declare my undying love for you.

A few months later I was proposed marriage by another Frenchman after getting off the metro.  Let's just say that the conversation ended in him asking me when he'd be meeting my parents.  My response: Never.

Another encounter was with a French guy at an office party who didn't actually work with me so I have no idea how and why he was there.  He told me he was 25, that his mother was a French teacher and that he could help me with my French.  Of course I jumped at the opportunity because I’d been speaking literally zero French.  We met up a week later, and I noticed his hair was rather on the grey side.  After some coaxing, he admitted he was in fact 35 but he’d lied to me before because he was worried I’d refuse him if I knew his real age.  You bet your bottom dollar!

Anyway, he insisted on buying me lunch in a Thai restaurant which of course I accepted given that I was pissed off at him for lying about his age, and I never say no to free food.  Before long he was proposing trips to New York, taking me to film launches and entertaining me on the red carpet.  He kept trying to hold my arm and I kept pushing him away and gave him light slaps to ward him off.  He just wanted to cling to me and be intimate and I told him it was offensive and we didn't do that in England with strange men.  He was definitely strange.  

French waiters are a new species altogether.  The majority of them are cold and heartless, but you get the odd one who has nothing better to do than flirt outrageously.  And when I say outrageously, I mean outrageously.  There's definitely a difference between harmless flattery and creepy idolatry.  I was in a restaurant with a male friend the other day for Easter Sunday and when it came to paying the bill, we both got out our bank cards.  The waiter looked at my friend in horror when he realised that he wasn't paying for my meal.  Of course I had to explain that we were "just friends", but the waiter remained persistent that my friend paid for me too, before I had to spell out that we were both students which meant we weren’t exactly rolling in cash.  He was still flabbergasted so I said “well, if you’re really that concerned, why don’t YOU pay for my meal?”  He took it upon himself to invite me over for a glass of champagne and dinner that same evening.  I said I had to go to church.  He then attempted to fit 'going to mass' into our plans, before I said “thanks, but no thanks”.  Oh, and I’m not catholic either.

On Easter Monday, a girlfriend and I decided to spend all afternoon sitting in a café with a particularly ‘friendly’ waiter.  When we first arrived he asked whether we wanted to have coffee, wine, food…a massage?  And now you know why the French are known for their charm.  After a few hours (we were there a long time!), the waiter came over with a pen and asked me if I have Facebook.  He put the pen next to one of our many receipts and winked at me.  I nervously giggled and looked at my phone.

Where are all the nice French men that I'm supposed to be falling madly in love with?  Where's my Mr. Darcé?

Valentine's Day Shmalentine's Day

Before you jump to conclusions, on Valentine's Day I'm not like the Grinch who stole Christmas, and I'm certainly not a Scrooge either.  However, it might as well be called Florist's day because they're the ones rolling in it, what with all the bouquets of anonymous roses which get delivered to unsuspecting doorsteps all over the world. 

Last year I spent Valentine's Day with a female friend of mine in Strada, contemplating our forlorn singledom (although we weren't too miserable) over a bowl of spaghetti and some vino, surrounded by gushing couples, couples on first dates, couples with their arms crossed and clearly not wanting to be there; but they had to be - it was Valentine's Day after all.  I remember the evening like it were yesterday.  We were trying to live vicariously through all the other couples, gaging the mood.  The couple next door to me accused the table of Asians on their left of stealing their bottle of wine.  My friend and I chinked our glasses: "to being single".  

For most girls, Valentine's Day is a pretty big deal.  You're either hopelessly in love and this day is the perfect opportunity to celebrate the perfect paradise you (think) you live in, or perhaps the very mention of Valentine's Day makes you hysterical because you know you'll be spending it alone, like all the other lonely people out there.  Although I'd just like to add that being single doesn't necessarily equate to loneliness. Being alone and being lonely are two very different states.  You choose to be alone (at least, to a certain extent); you don't choose to be lonely.  Which is why of course it's much better to open a bottle of bubbly with a friend of yours, get horrendously gazeboed (thanks Michael McIntyre for this gem!) and list 500 reasons why it's good to be single.  Reason no. 387: you don't have to do his laundry.  You get my drift.  

But if this day is supposed to be about romantic gestures, then I'd like to reconsider the word 'romantic'.  In Tesco (and the like) each year, there's usually a section dedicated to all things à la Love, i.e. a cardboard stand selling soppy mugs with two bears hugging and the words 'Be Mine' written on something resembling a heart-shaped candle.  I mean, who in their right mind would purchase a Valentine's gift from the supermarket?  It simply defies all romantic convention; the number one no-no.  At least make it look like you put some effort in.  Another thing that irritates me is cards with pre-written love notes and all you have to do is sign your name, or alternatively put a question mark. I just couldn't think of anything more impersonal; getting an absolute stranger who specialises in greeting card messages to tell your significant other how you feel about them.  Fair enough if you have a crush on the guy in your office and you want to keep it on the down low and secretively slip it in his pigeon hole (no innuendo intended!), but if you're actually "in love" I suggest you put some bloody effort in and write something soppy.  Not too soppy, mind you. I don't want to be retching over my bowl of cornflakes at 8 in the morning.

I remember when I was younger and I had a crush on a boy at school and I bought an assortment of chocolates and put them in a box I'd decorated in art class and hid them in his locker.  I don't think he ever knew they were from me.  I also sent another Valentine's card to a boy one year but got my friend to transcribe it as I didn't want him to recognise my handwriting.  I then got someone who lived far away to post it for me because I didn't want him to recognise the postmark either.  On the sly.  Slightly on a tangent, but while we're on the topic of me slightly embarrassing myself in the boy department, I'd like to bring up the fact that I once bought a boy I fancied a huge Christmas card - you know those outrageously expensive ones that cost you just under a tenner and pop out and sing to you?  I think I even hand-delivered it to him in the playground at school.  Not one of my finer moments but coming to think of it, it does sound rather adorable.  I was probably about 10 at the time.  Old enough to know better.

So this Valentine's Day, February 14th 2013, I am reliving a relationship status which has remained constant since the day I was born.  But you know what?  I'm not depressed about that realisation because I know there's a Mr Right out there somewhere, laden with roses, heart-shaped chocolates and pink Champagne who will sit me on a sheepskin rug by a crackling fire and read me love poetry.  One day.  But in the mean-time, today I am working 12 hours in the office, followed by fondue and wine served in baby bottles with the girls in Montmartre.  I'd much rather that than be squeezed into a chi-chi restaurant with a guy I hardly know to watch gooey couples snogging over their foie gras.  Not that we won't be seeing some of that tonight, but at least I can laugh about it amongst friends.

But if a guy were really trying to win my heart on Valentine's Day?:

He'd leave a trail of love hearts (the edible ones) from my pillow to the kitchen where heart-shaped pancakes (lovingly home-made of course), maple syrup and fresh blueberries await me.  A fresh bunch of sweet peas would be in the middle of the table.  He'd also make me a cappuccino with a heart-shaped swirl in the foam, followed by declaring how truly irresistible and wonderful I am and becoming my slave for the day.  But all jokes aside, you know what would truly touch me?  Something incredibly spontaneous, unexpected and heartfelt which would make me think: God, I'm lucky to have you.

Eternally Single

I'm already planning on what I'm going to name my 14 cats.  While love-struck teenagers are thinking up baby names, I've been seduced by the life of a spinster.  It was either that, or join a convent.  (The nun garb wouldn't do anything for my pallor.)

While I don't tend to parade my love life (or lack of it) on the Internet, an article I read recently in the New York Times entitled 'The End of Courtship?' really hit home and inspired me to write a blog post.  I'm starting to understand more and more why I am, as my title suggests, eternally single.

Of course every girl will go through that stage when they question why they haven't yet been courted.  Too ugly?  Too fat?  Too spotty? Too boring? Too annoying?  Too weird?  Too vain?  Are my boobs not big enough?  Do I look like a man?  You then wonder why every time you get 'close' to a guy, he either just wants to be friends, or wants to pop your cherry and then leave you, because either he's "just got out of a serious relationship" (two years ago hardly counts as 'just'), he's "not really in that place for a relationship right now", or "it's not practical".  You then find out that two weeks later he's off the market and his new Facebook relationship status feels like a bullet to your brain.  You then start going through every single 'moment' the two of you had together and wonder how you could have possibly misread the signals.  Were you ever that important to him?  Well of course you were, you tell yourself; he always put three kisses on the end of each text, told you he fancied you and he made you feel like his beautiful little princess.  But just when you think he's about to make it official, he disappears into a huge, fat, grey cloud hanging over planet loserville.  (Apparently they don't have 3G signal or wifi there...hence lack of contact.)  He missed you?  Get real.  You were his accessory of convenience.  So alas, Cadbury's chocolate and tissue boxes suddenly become your new best friend but all you're left with is another inch around the waist, a red nose and a broken heart.  And then you find yourself hoarding tins of Vaseline at the check out.

I remember in my first year at university when I hadn't called my mother for a week, she automatically deduced that there must be a man in my life.  After explaining that this was definitely not the case, she hasn't really brought the subject up since.  Now discussions re: my love life only resurface after I've been watching too many romcoms and accidentally let slip something like: "Why can't I find a boyfriend?  What's wrong with me?"  A heart-to-heart ensues before I come to the same conclusion each time: that I enjoy my freedom and it's probably better this way.  But as much as I love my friends, mugs of tea and watching episodes of Miranda, sometimes the only cure for a bad day at work is a boyfriend to cuddle you, look into your eyes, and tell you that you're the most wonderful person in the world.  The irony of this of course is that I've never had a boyfriend so this medicinal remedy hasn't exactly been available to me, let alone tried and tested.  A boyfriend isn't something you can get over the counter at Boots for a standard charge of £7.65.  I can't go to my local GP and ask them to write out a prescription for a 6 foot tall muscular man who likes musicals, cuddling, travelling and has a cracking sense of humour.  (Although of course if you fit the bill, please apply below...)

I have been on very few "proper" dates.  Although, contrary to the NYT article's opinion that dinner-dates and movies no longer exist in the 21st century dating world, I have been fortunate enough to experience both.  But for some reason, despite reluctantly allowing the guy to pay for my meal each time, nothing has ever materialised.  There was always something missing.  A spark, chemistry...biology.  You try and persuade yourself to like him because perhaps he's a gentleman and you're fed up with your life of singledom, but instead you find yourself falling for the type of guy who would eagerly accept a free drink from you, burps in public and doesn't understand the saying 'ladies first'.  As much as we've moved away from traditional courtship and a woman's role in society has moved on significantly from being the 'perfect wife and perfect mother', it's becoming rarer for a man to hold the door open for a lady, or top up her glass of wine first, or pull back her seat before she sits down in a restaurant.  Yet there's something so romantic about this little charade which makes butterflies flap their wings.

But while romantic candlelit dinners are a great way to up the ante, I'm not so sure if I'd feel comfortable having my first rendez-vous with a man over a bottle of Chablis and an Entrecote.  This particular setting calls for a certain type of behaviour or impression.  You're worried about which fork you're supposed to use for the starter or about leaving lipstick marks on your glass.  You're anxious he might judge you on how much you eat, or that you'll get salad stuck in your teeth.  There's nothing more off-putting than concentrating so hard on twirling spaghetti neatly onto your fork or correctly using chop-sticks that you can't enjoy one another's company.  It usually takes a few initial meet-ups before you feel totally comfortable being yourself.  You know you've conquered that stage when you can happily order a plate of ribs and have BBQ sauce smothered all over your face and laugh about it.  Even more so when you feel you can comment on the fact that he or she has BBQ sauce half way up their face too.

And then of course you get those casual coffee dates which sometimes extend into hours of mind-numbingly boring conversation because neither of you has the guts to make an exit.  It's hardly polite to make up an excuse and dash during an awkward pause.  You might as well be saying "I've run out of things to say to you so I'm just going to go home and never text you again."  But when you realise nothing better is coming into your line of vision, you organise a coffee date for a month's time, by which point you've forgotten about how mind-numbingly boring it will be and you end up discussing the same things as last time.  You make a mental note to keep coffee dates with them to a minimum but you inevitably agree to several more soul-destroying lattes.  And no amount of sugar will make them any sweeter.

I've started asking myself how and where I'm supposed to meet the man of my dreams.  In a lecture?  The furthest I usually get is 'Hi, my name's...' before the PowerPoint presentation starts.  I also study particularly female-dominated subjects so I'm not exactly spoilt for choice.  In halls?  Too late - I'm no longer a fresher.  In a society?  Too many egos in the ones I've been involved in.  At Church?  They're thinking about God.  In a nightclub?  He's looking for a one night stand.  At the gym?  Sweaty.  Need I say more?  Dating website?  His picture is probably from 1985.  On public transport?  He's desperate.  At work?  He's probably married and/or 30 years your senior.  At a wedding?  A little bit cliched, and he might be distantly related to you.

Gone are the days of meeting men in ballrooms, endlessly hoping that Mr. Darcy will surreptitiously invite you to dance with him.  We've got to face the facts: people don't make the same sort of effort in this new era of fast-paced technology.  Why would he ride four hours through a thunder storm on his horse just to embrace you when he can ping you on BBM?  Like the article suggests, women are starting to act more as tag alongs rather than invitees to one-on-one soirees.  As much as it pains me to think of modern-day dating culture as leaning more towards group hang-outs, in some respects this is probably healthier in the initial stages of getting to know each other.  If you share mutual friends then your relationship won't seem like such an isolated affair and is more likely to blossom naturally at a pace suited to both, rather than an awkward memory you'd rather forget involving a premature kiss and cryptic text messages.
 
Meeting in a more informal setting also means there's less pressure and you don't feel obligated to buy anyone a drink out of courtesy.  However, an overly 'lax' approach to dating could result in both boy and girl being too anxious to discuss their romantic feelings for each another and it's a lose lose situation.  Furthermore, dating culture has evolved into a game where young men and women are often dating multiple people at once, keeping their options open and struggling to commit even to being 'exclusive' with just one person (which in many circles, still doesn't count as 'official').  This ongoing struggle to stick to our guns and 'pick' a boyfriend or girlfriend is becoming absurd.  Have we become a generation too preoccupied with forming our own liberal agendas?

But one thing I do know: If you're not totally satisfied when you're single, you're naive to think having a man in your life will fill all the gaps.  Sometimes you have to experiment with the glue first before you let someone else stick you back together.  Because who's to say they won't go pouring glue in the wrong cracks....

Flirting Females

The word flirting is so titillating.  It's even hard not to say it in a flirtatious way.   Flurrrrr-tingggg.  I think it's partly the thrusting of the tongue against your teeth as you say it.  Thrust: now there's another titillating word.

There's something so wonderful about the concept of flirting; trying to get a member of the opposite sex - or same sex depending on your sexual orientation - to fancy you, even just for a moment.  We all become like peacocks, flaunting our feathers to lure in our prey.

For a woman hunting down men, there are various different methods she may use:

Sometimes it's subtle: she's twirling a lock of hair around her finger.  Perhaps this is just a habit or maybe she's nervous and needs to occupy her hands to avoid cracking her knuckles (an awful habit which I dip in and out of.)  However, it could also mean she's subconsciously attracted to the handsome specimen sitting opposite her.  She enjoys flaunting her femininity at him because she thinks it makes her more desirable.  She may even go one step further and flick the contents of her hair away from her face, showing off generous proportions of her neck.  Or if she's really trying to create a scene, she may purposefully pull her hair back into a pony tail, only to skilfully slide it off at the precise moment a man walks into her periphery, before shaking her locks in slow-mo style.  She'll deny it was staged.

Not only that, she subconsciously becomes more girly.  Her voice gets that teeny bit higher and she giggles rather than laughs, and does that half smile half pout because she thinks it makes her look more seductive. She bites her lip from time to time and keeps her eyes as wide-open as possible, hypnotising her target with a dreamy gaze.  He loves it because it creates a moment of intensity before she feigns embarrassment and looks away, all the while wrapping the same lock of hair around her finger.

 

She pretends to be simultaneously silly, naive and cute, because she thinks it makes her more endearing.  She doesn't want to come across as overly opinionated or clever because she's worried this may intimidate him.  As soon as he escapes to the WC, she reapplies her lipgloss and subtly massages her lips together when he arrives back at his seat.  She catches him staring and her eyes sparkle.  She likes to remain mysterious and uses teasing lines like 'a lady never tells', to keep the suspense up.  She describes herself as 'innocent' even though she knows she's not, because she knows he'll find this appealing.  A truly innocent girl rarely describes herself as innocent and he's well aware of this.

She shows an overly eager interest in everything he has to say, nodding a lot, making 'mmmm' noises, even though she knows nothing about his subject of choice.  Everything that comes out of his mouth seems gold plated from behind her rose-tinted glasses and she humours him with little comments here and there to encourage him to keep talking.  She laughs at all his jokes or musings, even when they're not funny.  She pretends she's interested in sport and talks about the time she used to have season tickets for her local team, supported by her Dad and brother.  She doesn't mention that the best part of the match was buying a hotdog at half time.

Then there's the not-so-subtle flirting which involves flinging herself at men, commonly in nightclubs after one too many Long Island Ice Teas.  If you know anything about cocktails, you'll know that knocking back the aforementioned will practically be the end of you.  And I mean THE end.  Instead of locking eyes with you, she'll stare straight at your mouth, before walking past you, accidentally brushing your arm, and 'accidentally' pinching your arse.  She wants you to pinch hers back.

Watch this space.

Montana

Hollywood's Paris

This weekend I went to a fabulous exhibition at Hotel de Ville called "Paris vu par Hollywood" (i.e. Paris seen by Hollywood).  Since Hollywood's conception in the early 20th century, Paris has captured a multitude of film directors who have been drawn to the city's romantic allure and celebrated scenery.  The portrayal of Paris in these films dates back to the iconic performances of Charlie Chaplin and later Gene Kelly, who appeared in films such as A Woman of Paris (1923) and An American in Paris (1951) respectively.  Paris has consequently been depicted in over 800 American films, one of the most recent being Woody Allen's 2011 production of Midnight in Paris starring French leading lady Marion Cotillard, as well as Martin Scorsese's coming of age adventure Hugo, shot entirely in 3D.  Two monumental statues created by Dante Ferreti for Scorsese’s film were commissioned for the exhibit.  I wondered for a moment if they weren’t indeed part of the hall’s aesthetic, standing ominously like carved pillars.

The exhibition spoke as much about Paris as the American public.  For the average American, Paris is touted as a place representing desire, pleasure and sophistication. McDonald's transforms into Tinseltown French Brasserie.  They discover before long French fashion like Givenchy and Jean Paul Gaultier which appear alien to their Wal-Mart bargains.  The exhibit itself showcased a variety of gowns and outfits, in particular some stunning creations from Hubert de Givenchy who designed many of Audrey Hepburn's iconic looks.  One of the exhibition’s highlights was a gold-sequined ball gown from the musical Lovely to Look At (1952) which was displayed behind glass in the centre of the grand hall.

What was beautifully evasive however was the word “fantasy” which sparkled on the walls in the form of posters and blown up movie clips of scenes involving vintage cars, baguettes and lots of French kissing.  Here we see the Paris of German-American filmmaker Ernst Lubitsch.  Lubitsch created dozens of films in the 20s and 30s using replicas of Paris, admitting “I’ve been to Paris, France, and I’ve been to Paris Paramount.  Paris Paramount is better.”

The exposition walks the voyeur through the history of Paris' illustration in silent films, towards the stylish Paris of romantic comedies, the Cancan with all the spirit of Moulin Rouge (1952), and lastly Paris as seen in Hollywood action films.  The exhibition showcases a variety of film clips featured on the 42-foot-long projection screen, including a scene from Funny Face (1957) starring Hepburn and Fred Estaire singing at the Eiffel Tower summit, creating none other than a romantic illusion.  Dozens of smaller screens scatter the aisles, exhibiting excerpts from films and interviews with the likes of Alfred Hitchcock.  Photographs and set models from Hollywood films are part of the 100 strong collection, paired with colourful mood boards and fabric trimmings.  Original sketches of Paris drawn in coloured chalks steal the show with their fine detailing and impressive clarity.  It is one of the few instances when a spectator outside the world of film can truly experience the aptitude of the artists involved in creating both sets and costumes first-hand.

My immediate impression was that of wanting to fall head-first into one of these blissfully charismatic models of Paris, until I realised that the Paris I’m in right now is so much more authentic than the one depicted on the Hollywood golden screen.  Rather, they are reconstitutions of the Paris effect in Hollywood studios, not only of an aesthetic existence, but also a Paris identifiable by American sensibilities.

Like the exhibition’s curator Antoine de Baecque says, “Paris in Hollywood is not the real city, it’s a cliché. It’s an American projection.”