Two years ago, I remember saying to a friend that I would hate to be single. The dating scene seemed toxic for women, I said, and even more so for women over the age of thirty. On Twitter, on Instagram, on TikTok; female content creators were sharing their stories of how terrible the apps were, how there were no good men out there, how they would rather die alone than have to go on yet another date where the other person doesn’t ask them one single question. (The latter I can definitely empathise with. “You’re such a good listener!” says the man who has spent the last 45 minutes monologuing at me, while I resist the urge to do a murder. ASK QUESTIONS AND LISTEN TO THE ANSWERS! THIS IS A BASIC TENANT OF HUMAN INTERACTION!!)
As a result of all this bad press, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that, in January, I decided to start dating again. While I’m not trying to negate anyone else’s experience – between the unsolicited dick pics and the, ya know, fear you might be raped and murdered by the random stranger you’ve agreed to meet up with, of course dating can feel like a more treacherous proposition for women – on the whole, I have to be honest and say that my experience has been different. To put it bluntly, I’m having a great fucking time.
Now, I want to acknowledge that in certain ways, dating is easier for someone like me –I’m thin, I’m white, I’m cisgender. We know that not adhering to these ‘standards’ that can make dating straight men exponentially more difficult, not to mention dangerous. I’m also coming at this with very few expectations, which considerably lowers the stakes. I’m not looking for The One, if such a thing even exists. I just want to have fun.
And that is exactly what I’m having in Paris. Will I tell you all about the fun I’m having? I’ve been here for just over ten days and