Online dating in your 40s: One woman’s journey through singledom
FROM married cheaters to online stalkers, and being accosted on a velvet couch, it makes Sex and the City seem tame. But this is life in the online dating world at 42, writes Fiona Sexton.
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AFTER my 21-year relationship ended in 2015, the plunge back into singledom gave me the shock of my life.
Not only had I never tried online dating, I’d never really done it much at all — I’d met my ex-husband while still at uni, and never had those Sex and the City years of flings, short-term relationships, mistakes and experimentation many 20 and 30-somethings go through before they settle down.
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So at 42, while I was well versed at life as a working mum in a nuclear family, with pets, a mortgage and a picket fence, no way was I prepared for what came next.
There weren’t even mobile phones when I was last single, let alone texting and Tinder. Way back before 1994 I’d met men — well, boys — on backpacking trails in Asia, or at share-house parties, or on boozy uni nights at Metro.
But two decades later, with young kids, a full-time job and hardly any single friends I did not have the time or inclination to be going to places singles mingle these days.
So I embarked on the online dating journey. And what a baptism of fire it was.
THE FIRST DATE
It’s nerve-wracking. Particularly when it’s the first date in more than 20 years, and also a blind Tinder date.
This one resulted from a friend doing the old steal-my-phone-and-swipe-right-on-Tinder-randoms trick over drinks.
A week later, and after taking dating advice from a single friend (start by dating inappropriate men) I met a man who was a fair bit younger than me, at a city cocktail bar at 5pm on a Wednesday.
After an awkward drinks ordering process, served by pitying bartenders who would have seen it all a million times before, he suggested we move to a two-seater velvet couch in a dim corner.
Five minutes later, as I was literally mid-sentence talking about a holiday in Japan, he launched at me in what can only be described as a kind of rugby tackle.
Octopus arms and a tongue down my throat forced an excruciating pause in my take on Kyoto and bullet trains.
He said: “That seemed like a good idea.” Me: “OK, it’s just that it’s 5pm on a Wednesday.”
Luckily I had a getaway planned — dinner with girlfriends at 6pm. We said goodbye on the street and my turn to cut him off came when I leapt on a passing tram. Unmatched and blocked.
THE STALKER
Deciding to make more age-appropriate choices, I filtered anyone under 40 out of my matches. I started chats with 40-somethings. They got more frequent with one who was a divorced father. He had so many questions! What was my favourite music/movies/books?
Where had I travelled? Favourite food/drink? Why did my marriage break down? Where did I live and why? How did I discipline my kids? Hobbies? Work?
At some point he started messaging “You sound like my perfect woman.” Ding. A small alarm bell rang.
Then I agreed to dinner. Rookie mistake.
Five minutes in I knew he was not for me. But I like a chat, and he was smart and fun so we had dinner.
We left the restaurant and he said “I’d like to hold your hand.” Then another awkward silence as he realised that was the hand I was dialling the Uber with.
I tried ghosting his messages for a week or so, but then had to block him on the app and mobile after I got three successive days of drunken text tirades about “only ditzy blondes being interested in him,” then a one-line message that was just plain threatening. Then I got a Facebook friend request, which I blocked. Thankfully, it ended there.
THE CHEATERS
Online dating brings out the worst of them. It didn’t matter how prominently I displayed “If you’re married swipe elsewhere” in my profile, they hit me up anyway.
Those slimy cowards looking for a bit on the side never showed their faces in their pics, which baffled me … what is it exactly they think they have to offer single women?
One of them, whose profile pic showed his beer gut quite prominently, actually sent me a snarky “Well, I guess that’s a no” after I ignored his messages.
Then there are the many who are “separated, single but still living with my ex and kids.” I dated one like this a few times. And I do get it, relationships and families are complicated, and arrangements that don’t work for some may well work for others.
But I got the feeling in most scenarios where a man puts himself out on Tinder while he’s living with his kids and his supposed ex, even if she knows about it, there’s one winner and one winner only — the man.
ALL ABOUT ME
This was the worst date I ever went on. Ever. I think this man may have actually bored women to death.
Online he seemed nice. Smart, good conversationalist and nice looking.
We met at a bar for drinks (because I knew by now not to do dinner). He then launched a different kind of tackle to the first date, but a tackle it was — a verbal tackle.
I think he had actually mastered the circular breathing required to play the didgeridoo, because he never actually paused. He monologued about himself for a solid hour and a half. He asked me one (rhetorical) question. “So, you’re a journalist”.
Finally I went to the bathroom, called a friend and screamed that she call me back in five minutes pretending to be the babysitter summoning me home to a suddenly sick child. She did — praise the sisterhood — and seconds later I had hijacked an Uber out front and blocked him, but not before he got his final WhatsApp message in, reading: begreattoseeyouagain.
AND he didn’t offer to pay for drinks. I’m all for splitting a bill, but on this occasion I deserved free drinks to compensate for that excruciating 90 minutes I will never, ever, ever get back.
WRANGLING THE APPS
Curious by nature, I tried out four different online dating apps.
Word of warning to lonelyhearts out there — they have many, many ways of reeling you in and keeping you hooked.
Those cunning algorithms lovebombed me with “Fiona, you’re popular!” notifications, and scores of likes and messages, in the minutes and hours after making my profile live.
One app urges members to answer a zillion questions covering religion, politics, relationships, and of course, sexual bents. One question simply read: “Biting?”
Another app also stung me a $79.90 “auto-renewal” after my month free trial was up. Furious, I waged an email war with them to get my money back, during which they tried to convince me to funnel the cash into a “premium” subscription.
But as I had only gone on one quite deadly date via this app (with someone I was allegedly 94 per cent compatible with) I told them nope, and finally threatened to report them to Consumer Affairs for unsatisfactory services rendered if they didn’t refund. Which they did.
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THE BREADCRUMBERS
Herein lies the biggest difference between dating in the ’90s and dating in 2018.
The endless range of options online dating throws up has created the breadcrumbers — those who message endlessly but don’t make plans to catch up.
I encountered a few of these, including one who I went on a fantastic first date with, who then breadcrumbed me for a good month before I relegated him to permanent ghost status.
To me, when I lost interest in someone I’d just stop comms, end the story and move on. I can understand why breadcrumbers do it — they’re keeping a few options on the bench, turning a few sausages on the barbie.
But who wants to be someone else’s plan B, C, D or E?
EVERYONE ELSE’S SHOCKER STORIES
Every time I had a dating horror story to share, there would always be someone else with a better one.
The woman who googled someone she dated, only to find out he was a registered sex offender who had slept with an underage girl. When she asked him about it, he not only said it was true, but added: “You actually remind me of her.”
The guy whose date midway through a walk down the street suddenly detoured into a nearby gym “to look around, because I might want to join up”.
The girl who left a bar with someone she’d met for a drink, who without warning stopped and urinated against a wall.
And no matter how bad they were, they made for outrageous stories to spin over glasses of bubbles with the girls.
HAPPY … BEGINNING
But it was far from all doom and gloom; I had 18 months of dating, most of it very fun and liberating.
It created many high points during an otherwise grim time of dividing up property with my ex, dealing with my grieving children and moving house.
Many of the men I met were interesting, fun, spontaneous and great company. They helped me make a new start and regain some of the confidence shattered in a big breakup.
But the best part? Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs before you find a prince.
For eight months now I’ve been in the happy relationship bubble with someone normal but far from boring.
He’s my age, he’s not a manchild and he still knows how to have fun. He loves to hear me talk, but has plenty of viewpoints of his own. He’s great on text but awesome in person.
He was not married, he came with no baggage, and he was the only one I considered worthy of meeting my kids.
And yes, I met him online.
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