A Philosopher Finds Love In Tesco

(This post celebrates First Principles crossing 1K subscribers, and reaching #15 Rising in France. Thank you!

In further celebration, I’m running a promotion offer of 50% off my paid tier. You’ll get 3 whole months at half-price. And you’ll be doing your part to put this analytic philosophy blog at the number 1 spot in France—the heart of enemy territory. Support the resistance!

Also, I recorded my first podcast interview on Silas Abrahamsen’s channel. It’s all about the philosophy of the good life. You can watch that on either Substack or YouTube.

Lastly, don’t forget to submit your subscriber questions for this month’s AMA. You can post them in the relevant thread of the group chat. As always, paid subscribers get priority, but if your question is really good, I’ll find a way to get to it.)

By their nature, couples are competitive.

True, it’s mostly unspoken, but they LOVE to compete with one another over the silliest things. Who hosts the better dinner parties, who’s got the cuter baby, and especially, who’s got the better origin story? How did you two meet, isn’t just small talk. It’s throwing down the gauntlet.

Diane and I never lose.

That’s because our origin story is cuter than this photograph of Sherlock as a puppy.

The hook alone forces the other couples to drop their forks. You met in Tesco? You mean that supermarket for commoners? You mean you didn’t match on Tinder? You didn’t slide into her DMs? You didn’t mail-order her from the Russian Steppes?

No.

I, Philosophy’s favourite wannabe comedian, met my wife in the cereal aisle at Tesco.

Here’s how I ended up in that Tesco.

In 2019, I moved to London. The plan was to get in, get my degree, and get out. Unfortunately, the Master’s programme I’d enrolled in was the MSc in Philosophy & Public Policy at the London School of Economics. Had I known how hard it would be, I wouldn’t have sold my kidney to rent that apartment: such luxuries are unnecessary when you spend all your nights in the library. My first months in London were a grind.

They were also amazing. Catching up to the galaxy-brains at LSE meant I actually had to learn something. Day-by-day my philosophy muscles grew until I could throw around words like modus tollens without feeling like a Harry Potter cosplayer. In fact, I got so good that I actually started losing arguments, rather than hearing I’m “not even wrong.” Yep, those were the good old days.

On one of these nights at the library, I realised I might be a bad person. I was reading about a guy named Peter Singer and a little-known thought experiment involving drowning children. The thrust of Singer’s argument was that if it’s wrong to walk by while a child drowns in a pond, then it’s wrong to stand by when millions of kids die of starvation around the world. If you can do something, you should. I wasn’t doing anything.

But what could I do? As a South African student living in London, people had a habit of looking at my native currency as little better than toilet paper. All I had was spare time on the weekends, but visa restrictions blocked me from getting a job. So, I did what all ineffective altruists do when faced with similar constraints. Charity.

LSE had a charity programme. All I had to do was sign into my student account, close the pop-ups for management consulting workshops, navigate to the public service page, and sign onto a project. Sadly, there were no ‘Pond Monitor’ roles available on the dashboard; so I signed up for a local food drive. A food drive at Tesco.

The day arrived. It was a crisp Saturday morning in late November 2019. The brief said that I, and a handful of people, would greet shoppers as they entered the store, point out the plight of their less-fortunate neighbours, and invite them to donate foodstuffs for us to pass on to the local shelters. Together, I and my fellow do-gooders would stand as gates of guilt between incoming shoppers and their awaiting packs of Guinness. That was the job.

I was not the first to arrive. Waiting quietly was a young woman with nervous energy: Tasmin. I introduced myself as Lorenzo, would-be saviour of drowning children everywhere. She didn’t smile.

We got to work. This mostly involved setting up signage so that incoming victims donors wouldn’t mistake us for pesky charlatans. For our efforts to succeed, it was imperative they see us as pesky samaritans instead. And so, Tasmin and I worked, without chitchat, without camaraderie, without chemistry.

Then she walked in. Well-worn trainers. Black jeans. White T-shirt. No makeup. The only ornamentation I recall her wearing was confidence. She walked into that Tesco the same way she’s walked into every room since: with purpose.

I thought she was a shopper. Swallowing my nerves, I approached to repeat the short script of guilt-trips I’d found effective. She smirked and listened patiently, one eyebrow raised in amusement. Then Tasmin approached, and gave her a hug.

“What took you so long?” asked Tasmin.

Please say you were held up rescuing a drowning child, I thought.

“The tube again,” said the shopper/not-shopper.

“You two know each other?” I asked sheepishly.

“We work together. I’m Diane. I’m also here to volunteer for the food drive.”

I blushed.

“Well, how was my sales pitch?” I asked.

She smiled.

“You’ll get there,” she said.

Diane and I worked. And as we worked, we told our stories, told jokes, and spoke of home. She learned that, despite appearances, I was not a Brazilian salsa dancer. And I learned, despite my hopes, that she was not a philosopher. Nobody’s perfect.

I also learned she was French, born and raised in Paris. Educated at the Sorbonne. Spent 5 years working in Russia. Spoke 4 languages fluently, and worked as an energy reporter in London. Ok, close to perfect.

She learned that I was South African, spoke 1 language (barely), and studied at the LSE.

Somehow, that was enough. Because when it came time to pack up, I plucked up the courage to ask for her number. She didn’t play it cool.

She beamed. “What took you so long?”

In the coming months, we dated. We became official. And then COVID happened. All of a sudden, everything was locked down, and I spent all my time in my crappy little apartment, staring at the wall when I wasn’t zooming into my classes.

So, I texted Diane, and asked if I could pack a bag and stay at her place for the weekend. She said “sure,” not knowing that “weekend” would last 8 months.

For most, Lockdown was a blur of online meetings, DIY yoga, and baking sourdough. For us, it was a cocoon for our relationship. A protected space where we could be ourselves, and be together. When we came out, we were strong enough to fly.

By October 2020, we were engaged.

By March 2021, we were married.

By May 2021, we adopted Sherlock.

And in January this year, we welcomed our baby girl into the world.

Like I said, Diane and I never lose.

— Lorenzo

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P.S. So much for “get in, get the degree, and get out,” huh?