Alice Oseman - Loveless

‘That’s … accurate,’ I confirmed. I did have high standards. I wasn’t sure what exactly my standards were, but they were undoubtedly very high.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, seemingly unfazed. ‘We’ve got loads more chances to find you someone. It won’t be that hard.’

‘Won’t it?’

‘Nope.’ Her mouth dropped open as she did her mascara. ‘Loads of people are looking to hook up this week. There are so many opportunities for you to meet people. It won’t take us that long to find you someone you like.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ll see.’

‘OK.’

‘What’s your type?’ Rooney asked at lunch.

Lunch at college was just like lunch at school – cafeteria food and sitting round tables and benches – but ten times worse due to the added pressure of socialising with a bunch of people I didn’t know very well. As irritating as I found Rooney’s effortless ability to thrive at university, I was actually very glad to have her in situations like this.

Thankfully, however, this was the first meal that Rooney and I had showed up to in which we didn’t spot anyone Rooney knew, so we were able to sit just us.

‘Type?’ I asked, my mind immediately going to Pokémon types, and then wondering whether it was a food question of some sort and looked down at my pasta.

‘Type of guy ,’ said Rooney, mouth full.

‘Oh.’ I shrugged and speared a piece of pasta. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘Come on. You must have some idea. Like, what sort of guys do you find yourself liking?’

None of them , is what I probably should have said. I never like anyone.

‘No type in particular,’ is what I actually said.

‘Tall? Nerdy? Sporty? Musicians? Tattoos? Long hair? Boys who look like pirates?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hm.’ Rooney chewed slowly, looking at me. ‘Girls?’

‘What?’

‘D’you prefer girls?’

‘Um.’ I blinked. ‘Well … I don’t think so? Not really.’

‘Hm.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just interesting.’

‘What is?’

Rooney swallowed, smirking. ‘You, I guess.’

I was about eighty per cent sure she was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for ‘weird’, but, oh well.

‘I had an idea,’ Rooney said to me in a very earnest tone that evening. I would have taken her seriously were she not dressed as a sexy fried egg in preparation for the John’s college bar fancy-dress party. This comprised a body piece in the shape of a fried egg, but with thigh-high socks and giant heels. I was actually quite impressed – it was an incredible way to say ‘I want to look good, but also let you know that I have a sense of humour’.

I was not going to the fancy-dress party. I’d told Rooney I needed a night to just be on my own and watch About Time swiftly followed by La La Land , and, to my surprise, she’d said that was fair enough.

‘An idea?’ I said from my bed. ‘About …?’

Rooney walked over and flopped down next to me on my bed. I shuffled up so the fried-egg body piece wasn’t literally crushing my torso.

‘Your no-romo situation.’

‘I’m really not that bothered,’ I said, which was obviously a lie. I was extremely and consistently bothered, but after yesterday’s fiasco I was ready to give up rather than put myself through that again.

Rooney held up her phone. ‘Have you tried any dating apps?’

I looked at the phone. I’d never met anyone our age who used a dating app . I hesitated. ‘Do people our age use dating apps?’

‘I’ve used Tinder since I turned eighteen.’

I knew what Tinder was, at least. ‘I don’t really think Tinder is for me.’

‘But how will you know if you don’t try?’

‘I don’t think I need to try everything to know I don’t like it.’

Rooney sighed. ‘Look, OK. This is just an idea, but Tinder is a really good way to just have a look at what guys are actually out there, like, in the vicinity . You don’t actually have to talk to them, but, like, it might at least help you get an idea of what sort of guy you want to go for.’

She opened Tinder on her phone and immediately showed me a picture of the first guy who popped up. ‘Kieran, 21, Student’.

I looked at Kieran. He looked a bit like a tall rat. Which, you know. That sort of look does it for some people.

‘I don’t think this is my thing,’ I said.

Rooney rolled off my bed with a sigh, her egg costume nearly knocking over the glass of water on my bedside table. ‘It’s just an idea. Do it if you get bored tonight.’ She walked over to her own bed and grabbed her bag. ‘Swipe left is no, swipe right is yes.’

‘I don’t think I’ll –’

‘It’s just an idea! You don’t have to, like, love them, but just look out for anyone you see who you wouldn’t mind finding more about.’

And then she was out the door.

I was half an hour into About Time when I picked up my phone and downloaded Tinder.

I definitely wasn’t going to talk to anyone. I was just curious.

I just wanted to know if I would ever see a guy and think, Yeah, he’s hot .

So I made a Tinder profile. I picked five of my best selfies from Instagram and spent another half an hour trying to think what to write in my ‘About’ section, before settling on ‘Cheesy-romcom connoisseur’.

The first guy who popped up was ‘Myles, 20, Student’. He had brown hair and a leer. In one picture he was playing snooker. I got a bad vibe and swiped left.

The second guy was ‘Adrian, 19, Student’. His bio said he was an adrenaline junkie who was looking for his ‘manic pixie dream girl’, which got an instant swipe left.

I swiped left on four more guys, then realised that I wasn’t even looking at them properly – I was just reading the bios and making an assessment as to whether I thought we’d get on. That wasn’t the point. I was supposed to be finding someone I was physically attracted to .

So after that I tried to properly focus on their appearances. Their faces, their eyes, their mouths, their hair, their style. These were the things you were supposed to like. What did I like? What was my standard? What were my preferences?

After ten minutes of this, I stumbled upon a guy who looked like a model, so I was unsurprised when I looked at his info and read ‘Jack, 18, Model’. He had a sharp-cut jawline and a symmetrical face. His main photo was clearly from a magazine advert he’d done.

I tried to picture myself dating Jack, 18, Model. Kissing him. Having sex.

Like, if it was gonna be anyone, based on appearance alone, surely it would be Jack, 18, Model, with his cool denim jacket and dimples.

Imagine kissing that face.

Imagine him leaning in.

Imagine his skin near you.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. Trying to ignore the nauseated feeling in my stomach at the pictures I was conjuring in my head.

Then I swiped left.

Georgia Warr

hello fried egg i have an update

i swiped left on all of them lol

Rooney Bach

Haha what do you mean all of them

Georgia Warr

just all the ones i looked at

Rooney Bach

And how many was that?

Georgia Warr

idk like … forty?

tinder isn’t for me i think lol

sorry to disappoint

Rooney Bach

I’m not disappointed haha I just hoped it would help

FORTY

Wow!!

Okay!

Georgia Warr

so that’s a lot to swipe left on??

Rooney Bach