the math behind it

on dating

The other day some friends and I were talking about dating, and then we started talking about my dating, specifically.

I wheeled out the same anecdotes I always do – guy on Hinge who had photos of himself beaten to a pulp on his profile, guy who got mad at me for guessing that his favourite comedian was John Mulaney (it was), the guy I went on TWO dates with despite him telling me on the first date that he had herpes (no shame, but this was not-requested information at the time), then on the second date clarified that it was actually shingles. We saw Shaun of the Dead (I had never seen it, it was fabulous!) and then kissed (decidedly not fabulous) next to the Fro-Yo on Glenferrie Rd. Then I went home and Googled ‘can you get shingles from kissing someone with shingles’.

I love my little stories because they’re so silly and have perfect comedic beats that I have honed over several retellings. I like them because they make my friends laugh. I have found that they can also help people in relationships understand what it’s really like to be single and dating in 2026.

When people ask me what I even want out of dating – especially since it’s so trying – I have a few reasons I often wheel out.

“I just want to remind myself that dating is fun.” Unfortunately, dating is just not fun for me. Even when the guy sitting across from me doesn’t have shingles or herpes or no job. I think what I actually mean when I say this is: “I just want to be someone who believes that dating is fun.”

I am shy, and weirdly getting even shier as I get older (and more public-facing, sorry). It sounds silly and spoiled but it does take a lot for me to socialise with people I know, let alone people I don’t. I just find first and even second dates really daunting – this is common, I think?

“I’ve never had a fling – I’d be happy with one of those!” Once again, I think this is more about rather wanting to be someone who actually desires to be flung.

“I don’t want my last experience of love to be my last experience of love.” This is true. If my last relationship ends up being my last experience of romantic love for the rest of my life – I mean, I shudder to think.

And so the pursuit is ongoing. Well, in fits and starts.

The truth is, I don’t like how I feel about myself when I’m dating. I don’t like the way I talk to myself. Dating apps are one thing – God, just the most deflating thing in the world. But I find that the self-critique bleeds out into other areas too. I went on a first date the other day and ended up internally berating myself for ‘being weird’, getting the tone wrong in a joke, so it came off more heavy-handed than intended, for using ‘Amazing!’ as a filler-word to steamroll through any awkward silences. I worry about if the other person likes me and get upset about not being asked on a second date before I’ve figured out if I would even want that. It makes me insecure about my social skills, question my attractiveness, second-guess my worth. I don’t really do this in any other kind of social scenario.

I imagine it’s not supposed to do all those things once you meet and date your eventual partner.

I don’t even really want a partner, that’s the other thing. I love and cherish my life, right now, just as it is. I’m really not yearning for anything. I once had a friend at uni who told me very confidently that a “switch will flip” one day, and I’ll instantaneously go from not thinking about children to needing to have one immediately. “Like that,” he (yes, he) said, snapping his fingers. The switch-snap hasn’t come for me, and I can’t imagine a world in, or a version of myself for which it does. But who really knows, I guess!

For the moment, at least, I’m not yearning. Not seeking a husband. I dread first dates – I even dread opening the required apps, in which the first dates are hiding beneath the surface, waiting to germinate. Dating makes me anxious and self-critical. I don’t want some loser boyfriend. My feminine ancestors lived and died for my right to not need a loser boyfriend!

So…what? Why do I keep doing it?

(I’m actually asking).

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t still dating at least partly because the stories I get out of it are so funny and tenacious. That’s one part of it.

That last thing is still true, as well. I think that I think that there’s a little version of me – younger, dumber – stuck in a fairytale tower, waiting to be rescued from the sadness of my last experience. I guess it’s not so much for myself, as I am today, that I keep dating for, but for her. Can you really date to heal an old version of yourself? Can an old version of yourself even be healed? Is it even fair to date some random from Hinge with no intentions other than emotional retributive justice?

Oh, I don’t know. Anytime I say that now I think of my grandmother – she would say it so much at the end of an argument like a verbal scowl. Oh, I don’t know. It wasn’t much of a closing argument, but it sure was a fiery way to go down.