We’re Going on a Man Hunt

I turned 23 a week ago and I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was 17. And let’s face it, everyone knows that high school relationships don’t even count. If you’re having to use condoms that your parents gave you, then it’s basically the primary school equivalent of looking after an egg for a day. What is this? A relationship for ants?? 

But, if we’re being generous, then that’s still six years. Wow! Six fucking years. Let’s not psychoanalyse that too much, shall we? But if I had to take a stab in the dark, there’s a few reasons for my spinsterhood I can think of. Firstly, I was just really depressed during uni, lol. I’m putting the lol to add some much-needed comic relief. I could barely get out of bed, let alone get dressed up to talk about cryptocurrency over a half-pint of craft beer. When I started to get better, well, then I was just lazy. My life is fine! I have my little TV shows and my little amusements, I didn’t really feel the need to date. And honestly, I still don’t. But I’m 23, all my friends are in relationships, and Massive needed a new column, so here we fucking are. The things I do in the name of journalism, folks.  

My type of guy is pretty simple: he should be somewhat awkward. If I’m honest, I hate it when someone is upfront about liking me, and yes, this is definitely something to explore in therapy ten years down the line. It’s just uncomfortable, and presents me with an immediate question: do I want to date this man? Which, when you’re lazy, the answer is often no. I much prefer the whole not-knowing aspect of it all, the will-they-won’t-they game that comes from too much time watching Nora Ephron movies. If he’s awkward, he’s less likely to give the game away in the first innings, it adds a bit of mystery to the whole thing! Then next on the list is funny and a bit self-deprecating (I’m a bit guilty of negging when I’m trying to drunk-flirt, so he can’t get too offended at my very shit humour). I don’t really give a shit about height (I’m short) and everything else is kind of a given in the Wellington scene (liberal, wears nice sweaters).  

So, in this column, we’re going to explore the ups and downs of trying to find a boyfriend. Let’s face it, mostly downs. But you never know. From Tinder to speed-dating to sad supermarket signs, I’m going to be trying everything in pursuit of a Sunday BF.  

First up: Omegle. Okay sure, I’m really fucking easing myself into this, but let’s face it, I’ve already wasted half of this column just explaining my numerous commitment issues, so it’s time for something short and sweet.  

Omegle is terrifying. If you don’t respond in like 0.2 seconds, you instantly get disconnected. You also get a lot of copy and paste messages about becoming someone’s “personal little slut”. (I’m not opposed to the idea, it’s just a touch strong for a first message, okay?) Thankfully, the site has introduced a new option of a college chat, which you verify using your uni email, so very useful for filtering out underage teenagers who are notorious on the site.  

However, using the common interest of NZ, I actually hit gold. I found a delightful young professional from Christchurch called Simon. He was 30, which is sure, a bit older than I would have normally gone for, but owned his own house, and was genuinely lovely.  

We chatted about how shit dating apps were and potential good bios. My suggestion was “I think steampunk is a blight on our society”, but he thought that might get actually GET me steampunk guys. Maybe that’s why I’m still single. Although he did suggest, unironically, that I should have a bio of “I love Rick and Morty”, so perhaps that’s why he’s still single too.  

He asked for my Instagram at the end of the 30-minute convo, and you know what? I actually gave it to him! I really wanted to chicken out, but that wouldn’t exactly make for an exciting column. Upon actual stalking, he used a lot of hashtags in his photos which is well…interesting, but he’s not bad looking at all.  

In retrospect, reading back through the chat, it’s hard to tell if I had a decent time because of him, or just because I’m a wonderful conversationalist. I think I struggle with that a lot, not to sound like a cunt, but I often face lingering questions after dates like this. Was he funny or am I just really funny? I think we both know the answer to that, reader.  

If I get any updates from dear Simon, I’ll be sure to keep you informed, but stay tuned for next week where I’ll try, God forbid, talking to guys in the library.