You have probably heard of speed dating. Most months some publication or other sends someone to try out this ”new craze” sweeping the dating game.
The activity has already been featured on that hardy dater’s perennial, Sex and the City. In fact, it is not new at all. In my capacity as journalist — female; within fertility window (that’s what I have in my passport) — I have covered this innovative trend a number of times since 1999.
Here’s what happens: you take an equal number of men and women, usually about 40 of each, and place them in a room with flattering lighting. The women stay put while the men rotate, spending three minutes with each female, chatting.
Each participant then ticks the ones they want to see again, and any matches that occur can be followed up in regular, two-pronged dating style.
Now, I have found this an extremely efficient way of going about things. Even if you forget about physical attraction altogether, three minutes is easily long enough to appeal to or alienate someone.
One minute is enough; I did it in 17 seconds once (the conversation went like this: Me: ”What do you do?” Him: ”I’m a venture capitalist, mainly working with pharmaceutical companies.” Me: ”Do you enjoy that?” Him: ”Yeah, it’s great because you get to make shed loads of money, and make the world a better place at the same time.” Me: ”Yeah. That’s not entirely true, now is it?” We two would never have sex).
So, sure, speed dating is practical, but I honestly believe that its evolution, tenacity and popularity indicate two interrelated and entirely repellent aspects of modern culture.
The first is a weirdly malevolent gender brinkmanship. Here is the trajectory of the battle of the sexes — in the beginning (if you can call the Fifties the beginning of anything) men undervalued women. Some women were worth having sex with, but weren’t worth marrying. Some were worth marrying, but weren’t worth employing. Some were worth employing, but weren’t worth paying properly.
Feminism, as a side order in the pursuit of equality, rhetorically, undervalued men — size did matter, fish didn’t need bicycles, and so on. Men retaliated with the laddish culture — a woman might be your boss, but she’s still just tits-and-arse (ironically, you understand). Women bit back with rebarbative Carrie Bradshawisms (”Are men sentient human beings? Or are they just cocks with legs?”).
These are all terribly hilarious cultural arcs, but look where they’ve got us — real men and women are saying to one another: ”I can only offer you three minutes of my time. There’s someone else over there, you see, and besides I want to go out with my real friends.”
We are spending less time, with more shopping around, on who to have sex with than we would on choosing a car. This is hideous behaviour and is not, I think, a reflection of how seriously we take sex (we take it very seriously) but rather, a frankly bizarre competition to see which gender can treat the other with least regard. This is a cycle that needs breaking, and I’m going to start, on behalf of my gender, by saying that all men are great. Apart from that venture capitalist.
More distasteful still is the glamour building up around a simple lack of time. ”Cash rich; time poor” is a United States import, much like nail bars — few people find either concept relevant but they are much-discussed among people who discuss that kind of thing. Originally, time poverty was a nod ‘n’ wink way of saying ”I earn a lot” — it was the graceful way to convey that all your menial tasks were farmed out while you devoted your hours to the serious business of making money.
But now the euphemism has become the point — where once there was a certain cachet in not having time to do your own dry-cleaning, now there are kudos in not having time to have a social life. People will literally say ”I don’t have time for a relationship” or ”after a 13-hour day, the last thing I want to do is waste a whole evening on a date”.
This is sheer madness — how can anyone claim to be more fulfilled by accruing cash than they would be by going out and trying to get laid? Let’s be clear — this is not about vocation, or productivity, or social usefulness. You don’t hear psychiatric nurses and charity workers spouting this nonsense. You hear high earners of both sexes scuttling behind the facade of a ”career” when what they mean is money.
They mean they don’t have time to meet people they like because they’d rather have the money. It doesn’t sound too glamorous put like that, so God alone knows where the status of the speed date came from.
So, don’t go speed dating. Go out — waste whole evenings chatting up people who might not even be single. Fritter away time on people who don’t speak English. Manufacture vicious hangovers with people who won’t put out, and even worse ones with people who will.
Sex is worth more than money, and it’s worth a million times more than three minutes. Even if that’s how long it lasts. — Â