I'm sitting - trying to look composed - in a London bar. Cocktail ordered, there's a rollercoaster knot of anticipation building in my stomach - I'm waiting for a date.
Except this isn't exactly your typical dating rendezvous - because while my date and I met online, as so many people do nowadays, we matched on an app that doesn't allow users to exchange messages until a few hours before the meetup.
I know my date's name and I've seen her photo, but there's been none of the usual small talk messaging - just a few words to confirm I'm looking forward to meeting, and that's it.
I first started using dating apps during the Covid lockdowns - Hinge mainly, but I've also tried Tinder and Bumble. They introduced me to a vibrant mix of people - some became short-term flings, others full-blown relationships, and then there were the other indefinable in-betweens.
But after a mutual new year break-up (with an ex I'd met on Hinge), I returned to the dating app scene as a 30-something tired of the cookie-cutter profiles and weird monoculture. Everyone seems to be looking for someone who "doesn't take themselves too seriously", is itching to make travel and running a personality trait, or is desperate to go hiking. As a wheelchair user, I definitely won't be doing the last two - no matter how much physio I do.
