It’s not you, it’s me.

Alternative title: It’s not you, it’s not actually me either. No, it’s some terrible neoliberal, tech intervention that has broken our human hearts.

This is likely the most under researched article that I have ever written, but so disturbed am I by the romance landscape, that I’m here to weigh-in on what seems, from my preliminary research, to be a cooked world for the hopeful lover.

Out there good people, we have added oxygen to a wildfire that has burnt every inch of our heart’s rich vegetation. We are feeding an insidious pandemic - one that has changed the way we ‘human’ together.

The cause? the ‘apps’ - as the kids would say.

Dating has gone through many iterations. Post-war, you would attend hall dances and interested suitors would add their name to a lady’s card. We then had the 60s - when women also had a bit of a say in who they might suitor with and then the 80s brought, well date rape, but also the idea that dating could be actually fun. Then in the 90s you would ‘pick up’ and pash and wonder about the institution of marriage. And then the bloody noughties took us into the first iterations of dating as a commodified ‘marketplace’.

And without much resistance, we allowed the growth of this social cancer. A full take-over of what was previously built on human connection, not job-seeker KPIs.

I’m a girl who stopped dating in the 90s after I met a fella on the dirty carpet of the Punters Club hotel in Fitzroy and just pashed-on with him for the next 27 years. Then, I spent a couple of years post divorce, rocking solo in the corner sure I would never step into that world again. But eventually happened upon a ‘boyfriend’ who occupied the last year of my life. Now I’m sat here, single and wondering just what the hell has happened in those last thirty years. The carpet at the punters club has been replaced, and so too has our capacity to feel our way to love.

I haven’t ventured far into the depths of this contaminated ocean, but I’ve had a paddle, and have seen the weirdest mutation of human behaviour that I may have ever seen. No longer do you skull a six pack, take to the dance-floor and, like a peacock, hope that you might attract an unwitting match. Now, it is about presenting yourself, ultimately for a job interview, to see if you might pass through the stages that each interview might advance you to.

Method:
Text each other for weeks assessing a compatible textual banter. (Banter in this new world order, is highly prized). Then if there is an agreement to undertake a ‘First date’ which must take place in a public location, you agree to participate in the first round of interviews. Be ready, not necessarily to be asked any questions that are geared to understand the best of your soul, but rather side-eye to to assess that illusive vibe. Basically, you need to prove on this initial date that you have potential to be good for the company and its hope for expansion and success.

Note: Don’t call too soon after first date, you will look desperate.

Second date: establish your sexual preferences in a white boarding process that draws clear outlines of what you like, and what you don’t. Yes, this is now part of the initial briefing period. before you ‘do it’ - discuss at length the socio- cultural- political space your body inhabits. Not such a bad thing really, but also a covert neo liberal mechanism to assuage you of any sense that actually you are just playing to the same tired ideas, and instead, that you are autonomous and in control.

God knows what happens from here.

Where once we might have warmed up to each other, held hands on the ferris wheel of life, and placed a kiss on the cheek of optimism- it seems we are now each the CEOs of our own companies - interviewing hopeful recruits to join us in the grand plans of our lives.

My 20 year old friend was asked by someone she agreed to sup some wine with, what her five year plan was. My 40 year old friend is assessed as a possible father to children at the first hello, and I found myself having a drink with a dude who licked my neck as I quickly said goodbye.

For those unfamiliar - the app world goes like this. You create a profile - Photos, bios, symbols that represent your interest in bearing children or if you smoke or like cheese, some preprepared questions that allow for your kooky side to shine - and then you pop it up online. Like a Christmas ham in the butcher’s window, passersby will make quick assessments as to how juicy you might be - and then one slides a finger across the screen either in the right direction if you like the cut, or the left, if you don’t vibe the vibe the subtle signs that indicate the freshness or suitability of the meat.

And while, yes, we have long used demeaning measures of human worth to assess potential partners on superficial grounds – this process of ‘apping’ is a next level corruption of our human spirit.

So absolute is the proliferation and acceptance of dating via this technocratic app regime, that understanding the ancient art of instinct, as you get a feeling in your gut when you see someone on the dance-floor cutting unusual shapes, or someone in the supermarket who selects the same apples as you - has been killed-off in favour of an algorithm that insists we submit a curriculum vitae before we allow for a crossing of the breach. No one really meets in person anymore. We’ve made it so that that kinda thing is outside how we understand the rules and codes of conduct.

We no longer know how to flirt, or attract, or shimmy like a peacock. instead, this technocratic overlord has made us all head and no heart.

I danced with the devil for a week. I am now dealing with some serious dating app PTSD. Have we gone too far? Can we pull this baby back? Or are we now a world where people carry clipboards and post-it notes and highlighters to make sure they are ready to assess potential when it sits across from them at the interview table?

Bring back singles mingles. (Did we ever do this?)
Bring back a wanton eyebrow at the kebab counter.
Bring back a world where we were messy and unscripted and not a series of questions and answers and impressive KPIs.

Bring back romance

One week in, and I’m out!