I went to London's two hottest dating nights ... or at least I tried to.

I guess I should begin with an introduction. Professionally I’m mostly known as a songwriter and a vocalist, although you’ve probably never heard my name or my work (or maybe you have but just didn’t know it.) Regardless, I’m someone who, despite choosing the roughest, toughest industry to pin all my hopes and dreams on from age 5, proudly makes my full time living from writing and performing music. As you might imagine, I’ve seen a lot, and have a lot of stories to share. Beyond music I’ve always simply loved to write; lyrics (of course), stories, poems, scripts (a recent but intense love affair) and well, whatever this is. Life lessons? An inventory of things not to do and people to avoid? Something that’s eternal existence on the internet will undoubtedly haunt my future self? Most likely all of those things. Nevertheless, when an idea calls to me I’m the kind of person that has to give it a go. So here we are. 
I’ll mostly be sharing different experiences from the pits of the music industry, but as today is the day before Valentine’s Day, I’m sharing something on the lighter side; my recent attempt at finding something that has always been far more elusive to me than music or career success … love. 

When it came to the lists of ‘ins and outs’ that seemed to circulate more than ever this new year, there was one thing that we all seemed to have landed on. And by “all” I’m referring to single women. When it comes to dating, the apps are dead, and in person singles nights are the place to be.  (At this point I’m going to offer the important disclaimer that I’m specifically writing about my experience of being a woman looking to date men. And for that affliction I am suffering the consequences.)
The agreement that the apps are a total bust, for those of us still in the dating trenches, has been a while in the making. For a couple of years, videos have been regularly popping up on my timelines of women asking why their Hinge feels like it’s stopped showing them anyone even slightly viable, and hacks for how to attempt to reset your algorithm in hopes of bringing them back. For me, I knew that it was time to delete when I started seeing the same men come up that I’d already been on a date with five years ago. 

Thankfully though, there’s a solution! No longer deemed as perhaps a little sad and undeniably a little daunting, speed dating is in baby. After reading an article at the end of last year, there were two London singles nights that I had on my radar. They both looked appealing; designed by and for like minded people who, just like me, felt that surely dating was supposed to be more fun. I set myself the personal challenge of getting out of my comfort zone and going to both. As a way of guarding my vulnerability, like every millennial woman who ever opened a laptop, I decided to channel my girlhood heroine Carrie Bradshaw, and approach this from an anthropological point of view. That way, if this turned out to be another laughably pathetic experience I could at least maybe make something out of it. You’re now reading this, so let that be your first indicator of how it went. 

I sought out both the events online at the end of December, with a plan to buy my tickets whilst still riding this wave of optimism and confidence. I quickly found though that this process was not going to be as simple as that. 
The first event was actually being hosted by one of my favourite local spots - a popular South London pizza restaurant. I like their food, so I thought at least a delicious meal would be on the cards. Maybe I’d meet someone who it turned out lived just down the road, but we walk our dogs at different times so our paths had never crossed. I couldn’t buy a ticket for the event taking place in February, but I could submit an application. That’s right, this was by application only, as the pizza place was going to hand select the lucky singles, based on our answers to revealing questions such as “What’s your shower song?” and “What dish from our menu would you say that you are?” Who knew that pizza making went hand in hand with match making? Nonetheless, I put my faith in their expert hands, confident that my cute but witty answers and hot takes would secure me a date, and submitted my application. 
Fast forward to mid January and I got my first indication of how this dating exploration was going to go. The event opened up a give away - get as many of your male friends to sign up as possible for a chance to win something or other. Ah. It seemed that there might be a bit of a gap in sign ups. Still, I resigned to await my romantic destiny at the end of the month. 

Meanwhile, following a bit of an announcement build up, which I’m ashamed to say I obsessively checked their instagram stories for, tickets were released for event number two. Tickets for women looking to date men almost immediately sold out. I was able to nab one only because I’d set a reminder for when they went live (I really am outing myself here) and clicked the link within the first few minutes of them being available. Minutes later they were announced as all being gone. Tickets for men looking to date women though were still widely available. 

Despite my clear enthusiasm to get this ticket, as the night approached, my confidence started to wane. I was able to come up with multiple compelling reasons to not go, including the fact that I thought going to the singles pizza night was probably going to happen (did I really need to go to two in the space of a fortnight?), and that this one had shared there was a 200+ strong waiting list for the event. Two hundred people? Correction - two hundred women, because tickets for straight men, you guessed it, were still available. Surely one of these two hundred people wants to go more than me? Me who is quickly coming to terms with the fact that the odds are not in my favour here. In a moment of weakness I emailed to ask if I could get a refund and give my place to someone on the waiting list. I was told that I could give up my ticket but there would be no refunds. Well, I’m not going to be out £30 with nothing to show for it. “Never mind,” I replied. 

The night itself arrived. It was taking place on a Wednesday in Central London, I assume because the venue (which was very nice) was only available mid week. For me this meant I definitely wouldn’t make it on time by the time I factored in getting home from work, changing, and at least twenty minutes of additional faffing around deciding if I was really going to go. I arrived exactly an hour late, half hoping maybe they’d say it had already started and I’d be forced to go late night shopping instead, but I was welcomed in, and I have to give it to them, this seemed like a fun event. The team were all super friendly and the atmosphere inside was lively but not overwhelming. My arrival was well timed because it turned out I’d happily missed all of the awkward pre-mingling and was just in time for the speed dating. 

The women were to remain seated as the men rotated around the tables every three minutes. I’ll admit I liked this element - sitting like a queen as the men darted up and down, politely and even a little gingerly, approaching our tables each time the bell rang. It was clear though that the power was not in my hands. Out of only partial curiosity, but mostly a lack of small talk ideas because I was the one driving the conversation, I asked my first date how he had heard about the event …

‘Funnily enough my friend is one of the organisers.’

‘Oh. Right. Were you roped into coming because there weren't enough men?’

‘Well, when you put it like that. Yeah I suppose’

Ding ding ding. Three minutes are up. And so it went. I had “dates” with two other men that were also there because they were friends with the organisers and they’d been asked to come to balance out the numbers. I expect they were told not to mention that part, but they each shared it confidently as soon as I asked (which obviously I was doing each time now). It also goes without saying that they, I’m sure, didn’t pay £30 for a ticket. There were also a few dates with men that had been dragged along by their female friends who didn’t want to have to go alone. The cherry on top was when I actually didn’t have a date for one slot because the numbers were off, so one of the organisers sat at my table. 

The dates were all fine, nice enough guys, but none that I felt like I wanted to give my number to when the date ended. Maybe I couldn’t shake the underlying feeling that most of them really hadn’t put in any thought or effort into coming (most, not all.)  I don’t take issue with not having really connected with anyone, that’s just how dating goes. What I just can’t get over though, is how unbalanced it felt. I could feel it on the apps, but it was pretty confronting being met face to face with the reality of just how many smart, beautiful women are invested in wanting to meet someone; so much so that we’d put ourselves out there on a Wednesday night and put our hands in our pockets for a ticket after beating out hundreds of other women equally deserving of love. All the while mediocre men had to be practically dragged in off the streets. 

It wasn’t a total waste of time. Like I said, this was a room full of gorgeous, interesting women, and the part mingling with them afterwards as we discussed each other’s careers as artists, publishers, and university lecturers, was fun. I gave myself a pat on the back for making an effort to try something new, and made my exit. 

I tried to keep an open mind. I was going to hear about the pizza dating night this week and maybe that would be a better balance. Maybe men were more inclined to go to something local rather than having to traipse into town. That might have just been too much to ask of them! I’ll remind you at this point, that this is the night that was just running a giveaway to try and get people to sign up their male friends, so yes, my optimism really has no business here. I originally should have already known by this point if I was in fact being blessed with the opportunity to attend, but on what was supposed to be the day people were contacted, they shared that due to the thousands of applicants, they would need a week to get through them. I repeat, thousands. And yet they’d been begging for more men to sign up. How would these expert pizza making matchmakers decide who was the right fit for the night? The wait felt like when I’d auditioned for all the most prestigious drama schools in the country when I was eighteen. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. If you haven’t heard by next Thursday then you haven’t been selected. 

Just like that agonising spring when I was eighteen, the call never came. I was never selected. I couldn’t get a place at the singles night organised by my local pizza restaurant! I don’t need to wonder how many other hopeful, amazing women were in the same position, because they’d already confirmed the answer - thousands! Actually the more I think of it, the more I see that the ratio in dating is a lot like trying to break into the arts, where passionate talented women are everywhere you look waiting for a chance, whilst the few semi-interested men just sail through. 

So, I would love to tell you about my experience of test driving “London’s two hottest singles nights” but I could only get a spot at one. Barely. And what I learned from my experience with both was this; what is true in online dating is just as true everywhere else. Women are showing up, hearts on sleeves, putting in effort, whilst men … well, men are not. How are we supposed to find love in these conditions?

 It’s a good job that the prospect of never meeting anyone doesn’t particularly phase me, because pickings are slimmer than slim, and now I know I can’t even just blame it on the elusive algorithm. On the bright side at least I’ve acquired another anecdote to entertain my married friends with, and hopefully you too. 

If you have recommendations for other London dating events feel free to share them, maybe I’ll give them a go. Don’t even think about suggesting a run club.