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Last week, I read The Husbands by Holly Gramazio. The book tells the story of a woman named Lauren and her magic attic that changes her husbands. Whenever Lauren gets the ick, she can send the husband up the ladder to the attic, and a new husband comes down.
It’s not a far cry from the dating app culture.
Before technology and love collided, the dating pool was limited to whoever we stumbled across in life. Those days are gone; we are no longer restricted to the men we meet in the office, the pub, or the disco because, on our phones, we have a catalogue of men, far and wide.
Let’s see: We have a Middle-aged Peloton enthusiast, a bearded barista, a sourdough baker, and an Esty candlestick maker… each one you can imagine a life with (and do so in a terrifying amount of detail).
It’s also a lot easier; you can set up a date as quickly as you can get an iPhone charger off Amazon Prime. One minute, you’re scrolling through the catalogue – the next, you’re on a date with Nathan, the lion expert, with his safari tan and lion impression that you find strangely arousing.
Despite the access and ease of dating, my friends are still whining about the lack of men.
“Literally, no men. LITERALLY.”
Obviously, they are referring to quality, not quantity….but what defines quality in this current dating climate? The apps have widened the pool so significantly that we have the luxury of giving the ick card when things are not quite perfect…
If the ambitious, funny, 6ft 2 dark-haired man rollerbladed to your first date, you could replace him with another ambitious, funny, 6ft 2 dark-haired man who doesn’t rollerblade to his dates.
The same goes for the flip side. I once joked with a man that I’m everywhere in Clapham. A few months later, he texted me, saying,
“I’m just in Clapham, and you were right—you’re absolutely everywhere!”
And on the surface, that’s what I am on the apps—everywhere.
Blonde-Avocado-Toast-Munching-30-Something-Year-Old… I’m not exactly reinventing the wheel here.
And if that’s your thing, [except I gave you the ick], then I’m replaceable with another, Blonde-Avocado-Toast-Munching-30-Something-Year-Old.
Sometimes, it’s a shallow ick that makes us throw each other away, other times, you just don’t want to see each other naked. And that’s fine. You can’t spray a bottle of pheromones over each other after all.
But maybe there is a risk that, like Lauren in The Husbands, we are too hasty to dispose of someone over little icks like…rollerblading, knowing that you can replace them with a flick of your finger.
This brings me to my dating app idea called Stuck or Unlock…. (The name needs more work).
Once you agree to go on a date, both of your accounts are locked. Think of the playground game Stuck in the Mud. The only way you can ‘unlock’ your account is when your phones are in proximity on two separate occasions—forcing you to go on two dates.
(And yeah, yeah, health and safety, there are ways to unlock the account if needed.)
The idea is that you will be more meticulous before agreeing to the initial date, saving us from treating each other like a product off Amazon Prime.
The second-date rule means that you’re giving, whatever it could be, a good chance. And you never know…he may explain the rollerblades, and you may change your mind about sending him up to the attic.
Thumbs up or down…
Would you download Stuck/Unlock?
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