Kate Mulvey, a delusional 50-ish malcontent, professional writer who chronicles her dwindling mid-life sex appeal, thinks she deserves “better.” (The Telegraph registration/pay-wall, sorry)
A couple of years ago, I too joined an expensive matchmaking agency. I had just come out of a seven year relationship, and was on the wrong side of 50.
I soon tired of online dating and receiving messages from over weight baldies who peppered their emails with childish emojis. I hankered to find Mr Right-for-me, a man who was suitably educated and a successful professional.
And so this is how I found myself, throwing money (my entire savings to be precise) to an upmarket matchmaking agency in central London. The agency claimed to filter out the undesirables, the mediocre and give clients the personal touch, so I handed over the hefty sum of £6,000.
Apparently, in times of loneliness (and sexual frustration), there can be no accounting for stupidity and willingness to part with one’s own money.
Mulvey continues to elaborate a bigger and deeper hole into which tumbles her credibility.
As I waited to be matched with someone from their ‘extensive database’, I idly imagined my handsome date, cashmere polo neck, a bit academic and kind. We’d eat steak tartare and swap notes on our latest clever box-set find and favourite novels.
How is it that “responsible, mature and modern” women so helplessly defer to pipe dreams and rainbow-romance? How can their perception become so skewed as to almost be non-existent?
Harsh truth-time, Ms. Mulvey.
In the grand dance of mankind’s evolutionary gender dynamic (fuck all that gender -relative, -neutral bullshit…it’s an affectation of a diseased and complacent modern culture), age is a ruthless disqualification for the female interloper. The institution of marriage provides a security nest for men and women alike since people are not genetically groomed to contend with the mating market once they enter their 50’s and beyond.
With today’s perversely elongated lifespans, there is burgeoning swath of developed society that has no choice. I can appreciate this. What I cannot appreciate, however, is the fantastical belief, to be found in both genders, that we “deserve” a fictionally laced dream. And least of all, the entitled condescension that ensues.
When I met him [prospective agency match] at a pub in Richmond, I was shocked. I was expecting a cultured and dynamic man, instead I got a man in a pair of jeans, a moth eaten jumper and the table manners of a modern day Baldrick.
The thing I found most unnerving though was not being allowed to see what my date looked like, let alone have a pre-date chat with them before we met. All so important if you are to get a feel of someone.
It wasn’t too much of a surprise then that they rarely got it right. For the next few months, I dated up and down the eligibility scale. Some men were pleasant but dull, others who said they wanted to be in a relationship but were burdened with so much baggage they were toxic.
Uh yeah, that’s life.
It’s called dating, it’s called being patient – most of all, it is not feeling entitled to a fairy tale relationship simply because your’re old and single. There are no promises in life.
It is a tough time for midlife dating today, and there are a lot vulnerable educated women like me who are so desperate for love they are willing to try anything whatever the price. Yet, the quality of men were, I no different to those on online dating sites.
I learnt the hard way, but my advice when it comes to dating is: trust your instinct and meet through friends of friends.
It is bound to be more accurate. Oh, and it is free.
Reality is a bitter pill, isn’t it?
The dating market for those who are over 50 is so dystopic and corrupted that these desperate people are well-advised to foment traditional styles of meeting people, not online meat markets. Even those that cater to “quality mid-lifers” which ultimately are scams exploiting old economy desperation in a new economy arena.