I’m sat in my bedroom wearing my favourite dress, full face of make up.
I’m positioned so that the sunlight shining in gives me that Instagram-filter glow. I look like I’m heading on a night out, except it’s 4pm on a Thursday afternoon, the UK is two weeks into lockdown and this is the first time I’ve changed out of my pyjamas in almost as long.
I’m about to have my first ever virtual date. This is what dating looks like during a global pandemic.
When the UK went into lockdown at the end of March, I resigned myself to the fact that my love life would be put on hold for a while. I’d already had enough of the constant Zoom calls. The idea of chatting to a man I’d never met through the screen of my phone filled me with dread.
But, ever the people-pleaser and annoyingly determined to seize every opportunity that comes my way, I’d agreed to a virtual date with a man I’d been chatting to on a dating app.
My phone rang and I arranged my face in a way I thought might look pleasant to the complete stranger I was about to greet. A blurred and frozen figure filled the screen. I’d been let down by my unreliable WiFi at the first hurdle. After a few minutes, joking about technical issues and growing ever more flustered, I finally connected and saw him properly for the first time. He was cute.
Much to my surprise, I found the next three hours easy and, dare I say it, fun. We immediately clicked and the conversation flowed. We made plans to chat again later in the week, a second date secured as simply as that. I had done a complete 180 on my earlier attitude towards virtual dating.
I started to look forward to our weekly calls. We’d share silly stories from our past and eventually about more serious topics, we even developed our own in-jokes. Without the distraction of sex, I got to know him better in just a few dates than some of the men I’d been seeing for months.
In my most lonely lockdown moments, I’d look forward to the day we could lie in bed together enjoying one of the box sets we’d planned to watch. It seemed like the perfect fairytale, and I was fully ready to be swept off my feet when I met him in real life.
Almost two months later, we were still enjoying our weekly calls, but it was getting more difficult to find things to talk about. We needed to meet in real life to see if this thing between us could go anywhere.
The moment arrived and as I saw him walking towards me, it felt as though a balloon in my chest had deflated.
As soon as the rules allowed, we arranged a socially distanced walk. Our first ‘real’ date. I felt more nervous than I’d ever felt for one before, but excited too. I’d managed to convince myself that our first real-life meeting would be some rom-com style moment. We’d see each other for the first time and everything would just feel right.
Then the moment arrived.
As I saw him walking towards me, it felt as though a balloon in my chest had deflated. I was glad to see him, but it felt like being reunited with an old friend. I felt confused. Did I actually fancy him?
As we walked, we admitted how strange it felt to finally meet, chatting about the same topics we’d already discussed, more to fill moments of silence than anything. I was acutely aware that after all this time, surely we should have more to say?
It struck me why I was feeling so strange. As well as the literal two metre space between us, there was a figurative gap where the physical intimacy should have been. A silence is much more palatable if you’re holding hands or kissing and usually, after dating for two months, that’s what you’d be doing. We obviously got on, but what I couldn’t figure out was whether there was any chemistry between us. A quick snog might have fixed that.
He was also the first person I’d properly interacted with in real life for any length of time since lockdown began. It felt as though I was trying to remember how to socialise. Perhaps, in hindsight, meeting for the first time in these circumstances was too much pressure for us.
We gave it a good go. We found a patch of grass in the sun for a picnic and watched the world go by, making small talk. I think both of us were glad of the change of scenery after so long indoors and somehow our date ended up stretching out for five hours. I came away feeling nothing but confusion and pretty severe sunburn. Had I been on a date, or catching up with a friend?
We vaguely agreed that we’d meet again but haven’t yet, nor have we had any more virtual dates. I feel it fizzling out, but can’t bring myself to address it, and I think he feels the same. What was once regular and enthusiastic messaging has turned into polite, sporadic updates.
Who knows, maybe once this is all over, we’ll pick up where we left off. Maybe, when we’re finally allowed to get closer, I might find that chemistry I was missing. If not, we’ll always have the story of our lockdown romance. Dating during a global pandemic is definitely a bonding experience, if nothing else.
For now, though, I’m listening to my original instincts.
The apps have been deleted and I’m taking a break from dating until I can actually meet my date in real life instead of through a screen. When I can (hopefully) give them a hug and stand neaerthan two metres to them.
But who knows, the world of post-lockdown dating might be a whole different minefield to navigate.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk
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