Can’t be bothered to read? I’ll read it for you!
Skip introduction | 1:51.
I was ovulating in a remote villa in France when I redownloaded Hinge again. With no man in sight, a catalogue of virtual men was my second-best option. It had been over a year since I left the online dating arena, but now I was ready to return (I think).
I uploaded recent photos and worked on creating effective prompts. These prompts are there so people can understand you better and make a judgment about whether you are compatible.
In my time away from dating, I realised I needed a man who was more chilled than me, to balance out my uptightness. The best way I could sum this up was… “I am looking for someone who doesn’t worry about missing a flight but never misses a flight.” I listed a few of my interests (coffee, Pilates, film…) I KNOW I’M BASIC.
When that was done… I was good to go.
Hinge generated $550 million in revenue in 2024. In other words, it’s not a warm-hearted charity that yearns to help singletons. It’s free, but with plenty of encouragement to pay. For £9.99, you can be seen by 11x more single men for one hour. For £89.99, you get a 3-month Hinge X package, meaning you can set even more dating preferences and can send unlimited likes. I didn’t go as far as paying for Hinge X, but I did pay for Hinge +. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.
So, there I was on Hinge +. Not much has changed since the last time. There were a lot of inflated job titles being tossed about. (CEO, Founder, Property Developer, Man in Finance). There were those who were still searching for a partner/new best friend to go climbing, biking, or paintballing with. Lots of skiers. Too many skiers. One man was looking for a woman to ‘live off the grid with him.’ Another was looking for someone to ‘split his Peloton subscription with.’ A stingy cyclist… how hot. And a CEO who thought women would be interested to know that his sister calls him “Mr. Worldwide.”
On the whole, though, most of the men who liked me seemed like decent chaps. (And the ones who I liked but didn’t like me back also seemed like decent chaps.) There was one bloke in particular, though, who caught my interest. He was ten years older, my type, and had a dog.
We began voice-noting almost instantly. He sounded like Colin Farrell, and this made me very happy indeed.
“Can you ski, because everyone on this app can ski?” I whispered.
He sent one back in his Irish accent. “No, I don’t ski; I was actually on the verge of asking the Hinge admin team if a ski photo was required to make the app work.”
“Great,” I said. “I have a fear of being bullied into ski holidays for the rest of my life.”
And our conversation continued like that.
He asked to meet, but I was busy. He asked to meet again, but I was busy. The third time, though, Sunday evening, I was free. Lovely. He suggested the London Bridge area and would book us a table. An actual table.
I thought of the kind of table it would be. Perhaps that one on the balcony that overlooks Borough Market; there will be a wax-dripping candle and the third cheapest merlot on the table. I will wear my new black skirt and laugh a lot. Maybe he could be my +1 to Hermione’s punting birthday party. Maybe.
Friends often tell me I overthink men, but I think you can’t be too prepared for a date. So, I brushed up on my Irish history by listening to The Rest Is History podcast. You never know when someone might test you on their country’s history.
It got to Saturday night, and all I knew was the outfit I was going to wear, that the Easter Rising happened in 1916, and that there was a table booked in London Bridge at some point tomorrow evening. I messaged the bloke and asked what time I should be sitting at this table. He texted back.
Would 5 work?
Great! I replied. Even though I thought it was a funny time to eat dinner. I also gave him my phone number. (We had been speaking via the Hinge app until this point).
I spent Sunday morning on Google Maps, working out the best way to get from A to B. I was going from a BBQ party in East Putney, which on this Sunday was a 50-minute commute to London Bridge. I was a little sad that I would have to leave the BBQ early, but these things we must do if we don’t want to die alone.
At 10 a.m., the bloke sent me the location of the mystery table. I opened the link.
Hell is this? It certainly wasn’t a table on a balcony overlooking the market – I’ll tell you that for free. It was this back road, dark ‘neighbourhood’ pub, with a rough-and-ready beer garden. I understand that London is an overcrowded city, but this place didn’t seem to need a table booking at 5 PM on a Sunday, which got me thinking – maybe he didn’t book a table.
*Clasps hands*
Dear St. Valentine, all I want is one Hinge date to book me a table. Just one.
After whimpering at the Tripadvisor photos and reviews (one of which was titled, ‘Wetherspoons for Savoy prices’), I pulled myself together.
Maybe it’s a good thing. The man who books the fancy place knows how to play the game, whereas this guy is humble and chilled out. You wanted chilled out, remember?
I took a breath and sent a text back.
Great, see you then.
Later that afternoon, I was biting into my vegetable kebab when I received a message from the Hinge bloke. I read the top line and rolled my eyes…
He asked if we could meet tomorrow or another time instead because his friend had ‘played him at whiskey last night’ and he was too hungover to meet me. He said it was rare because he hadn’t been hungover before.
It was three hours before out date.
Back in the day, I would have given him the benefit of the doubt, maybe the poor 43-year-old did get peer pressured by his mate to drink too much Jack Daniel’s… But that’s old Mary. I don’t have time for this. My eggs are rusting.
I texted back.
Aaah don’t worry, get better soon.
I then unmatched and blocked the bloke.
On the bright side, I no longer had to commute across town to sit in a pub to swap travel stories. Also, my knowledge about the potato famine had improved significantly.
And so, my Hinge adventure continues…
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THE QUACK 