SOCIAL LIFE:Are you a single sommelier or a solicitor still searching? Fancy a round of silent speed dating or a supper safari? ÁINE KERRnavigates the social minefield that is Ireland's dating scene, and meets the movers and shakers
IT’S NOT UNUSUAL for motorists to criss-cross lanes of early morning commuter traffic in Melbourne, Australia to fix their gaze on a bus where people are acting strangely, standing up and swapping seats every five to 10 minutes. The bus, it transpires, is on its way to a Victoria winery and, even at 8.30am, speed dating is already underway.
The Australians have become accomplished speed daters, with a growing range of options including tall-men speed dating, university-educated speed dating, toyboy speed dating and globetrotters speed dating. In the UK, everything from table football and karaoke to silent speed dating is available. In California, they have moved on to vegan speed dating.
Here in Ireland, singles’ supper clubs, speedy quiz nights, regular table-to-table speed dating, salsa for singles and singles’ countryside walks are appearing on social calendars in towns and cities. But the events remain a taboo subject among many, carrying a curious stigma that is difficult to articulate. Most participants are fearful of a public “badge of desperation” because of past perceptions of lonely-hearts columns and online chatrooms.
This, though, is not the case in one central Dublin bar on a recent Wednesday night. Thirty men and 30 women are first divided into six groups of 10, and then move from restaurant to restaurant for different courses of fine cuisine in the company of single people.
Having signed-up for the Singles Supper Safari Club weeks earlier, the paying customers wait patiently for instructions on each of the restaurants and their next team of talkers.
The logic behind the Supper Safari, organised by Singlelista.ie founder Avril Mulcahy (29), is simple: “Einstein said it’s insane to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results . . . so people are doing different things.” And she should know, having spent several years organising singles events in Australia, before winning $22,000 (€15,900) on a game show and deciding to invest it in an events company in Ireland.
Solicitors, sommeliers, band members, radio-show presenters, artists, boutique owners and business people are among the Supper Safari crowd. Some want to find a partner for life, some want to make new friends, and others simply want to boost their confidence.
At another event, in a Dublin city centre hotel earlier this year, 250 people were divided into two groups of men and women, with the women treated to fortune tellers, make-up artists, a masseuse and cocktails, while the men were entertained by a magician. Before converging in one open room, the women were given a lock chain and the men a key chain.
It’s a “bit naff”, concedes Mulcahy, but it’s designed as an ice-breaker conversation starter. If regular chit-chat fails, the option remains of salsa dancing on the main floor and regular old speed dating in another corner.
THE SOCIAL ENTERPRISE
Conal Gallagher, a high-end landscaper in his 40s, is more accustomed to the exclusive surroundings of The Residence on St Stephen’s Green, than the basement of La Cave, shouting over Brazilian music late on a Wednesday night.
But after being coaxed into going on a Supper Safari, he embraced everything that followed. “It was great fun. I’d go every second week if it was organised,” he says. “I don’t need a date. I wasn’t looking for anything . . . this was a social enterprise, not a dating enterprise. There was no agenda and it was a brilliant night.”
Some of the participants were controlled, restricted, fearful, some divided off into city versus rural categories, some were of a “critical age” and seeking to meet someone. “It was fascinating to watch. You had some people who were clearly damaged by past experiences, lost and wanted something out of the night. And you could see them doing the process of elimination . . . while people like myself were just enjoying the night,” says Gallagher.
PROUD AND PRIVATE
Among the first timers was solicitor Lorraine Clifford (30), a self-confessed foodie who recently set up her own legal practice and wanted to extend her contacts base. Recently single, open-minded and sociable, the idea of a supper club aroused her interest. She’s quick to add that she wasn’t on “some desperate man hunt . . . It’s a night out with single people. It’s not a mission to find someone. There should be no stigma.”
And while many will simply treat the night as they would any other and remain in tight-knit groups of men or women, others mingle and meet.
The success stories from these events are not often publicised. Kate, a garda, and Seán, a teacher, are both in their late 20s and met at an arranged event some months ago. They don’t give their real names here, conscious of gossiping gardaí, parents or boards of management.
The stereotypical story goes that gardaí and teachers make perfect partners, having first met in the popular stomping ground of Copper Face Jacks. The reality, however, is different.
In modern-day dating Ireland, the routine often becomes the local pub, the same corner, the same huddle. Sean, who lived abroad for some time, says Irish women are simply harder to chat up. “They stay in packs and it’s intimidating. They never, ever approach a man first. You always have to make the move,” he says. “They don’t hold eye contact, they don’t show interest, so you’re left guessing as to whether they want to be chatted up or not.” After a chance sighting of an advert for a singles party on Facebook, what followed was like any other night out, except Sean knew the room contained “potential singles”.
Kate turned up with two friends, having got her ticket from one of her friends who “became too mortified about it and bottled it”. Later that night, having met some people who were “mad characters but 90 per cent of them were sound”, Kate struck up conversation with Seán. The rest, as they say, is history.
Apart from a close circle of friends, the couple tell relatives and acquaintances they met in a pub. “The whole taboo with singles nights, internet dating and the like has to be taken away . . . There’s still a perception that internet dating is for the sad and the lonely. It’s not that way . . . I think people just don’t know enough to make a judgment,” says Kate.
QUIZ NIGHT
Second in the popularity ranks after speed dating are the “speedy singles pub quizzes”. The advantage of a quiz over speed dating is obvious – there is no time for awkward or intrusive questions, with the focus on brainstorming answers and drawing on people’s innate competitiveness.
The concept is simple: You swot up on your general knowledge, bring a brainiac friend, and tag-team. There are eight rounds of 10 questions, and tables of four with two men and two women. After each round, the men move to the next table, during which both sides can discreetly mark their “dating card”. The following day, if there’s a match, they receive an e-mail.
Some people have been returning to singles nights for more than five years, according to Hugh Redmond of GetOut.ie. All the while, the number of people in their 20s attending everything from masked balls to Wicklow walks and dinner parties is increasing. “They’re frustrated with the social scene. Then there are the professionals aged 30 to 40 who have been through the dating regime and they’re disillusioned. They have the house, they have the dog, but they don’t have a partner. There’s no love in their life. They’re the most active group,” says Redmond. “The 40-plus group are often single, separated, divorced or bereaved. They are the forgotten generation.” But once a month, they are mixing and mingling, and meeting dozens of new people in organised nights out.
THE SUCCESS STORY
Laboratory supervisor Celine Robbins (55) and civil engineer David Galbraith (58) could be recruited as mascots for the entire online and novelty sector, such is their enthusiasm for the alternative outlet. Robbins, who has two daughters, separated in 2000 and registered with Parship.ie in 2010. “I always said 2000 was a new millennium, a new beginning,” says Robbins. It may have taken until 2010 to make the leap to online dating but within weeks, the Parship questionnaire of 80 questions had matched her to three people. Galbraith, a father of three who had separated some 20 years earlier, was the third and last person she met through online dating on February 26th, 2010.
“Immediately, when I met David, I felt something. I remember him texting on the day and saying at the end it was the start of something very special and that’s exactly how I felt,” she says. Eighteen months later, they are still travelling between Tullamore and Dún Laoghaire, but plan on retiring together.
Robbins accepts some people misunderstand the whole online dating sphere. “You’ll always get narrow-minded people who think it’s sex, sex and more sex. But that’s only a factor with a small few,” she says. In reality, because many sites are fees-based, those registering for online dating are genuine people simply reaching out, she adds. Proving the total unquestionable success of her experience, Robbins’s ex-husband joined her and Galbraith for Christmas Day dinner. “One neighbour arrived in that day and wondered if they were in the right house at all,” Robbins says with a laugh.
MATCHMAKER MATCHED
In the US, setting off for a night’s speed dating is akin to going for a pint here, according to Hugh Redmond. When he returned from the US and set up GetOut.ie, he never expected to find himself matched, courtesy of one of his own matchmaking pursuits.
“There was a slight dilemma in that being single and running the business, I needed to be careful that I wouldn’t be seen to be hitting on customers,” jokes Redmond. “In the back of my mind, I had a laissez-faire attitude about someone stumbling across my path.” Two years ago, Tara turned up on one of his organised walks for singles; there was chemistry, engagement and then marriage. But their tale is different to most others. Many people are without the confidence to initiate first contact and require a lot of “hand-holding”, according to Redmond.
In a bid to assess the state of Ireland’s singles scene and the extent of the chaperoning needed, Singlelista.ie founder Avril Mulcahy set off on a “40 dates in 40 days experiment” during Lent this year. It was the “first Lenten expedition of its kind in the world,” says Mulcahy, who chronicled her adventures in a blog. All friends, neighbours and family members were contacted for the details of singletons, and agencies were enlisted. She was rejected, stood up and cancelled at the last minute. She was taken salsa dancing, brought to a water park, an aquarium, a sushi-making class, a cocktail-mixing session and a ride on a Segway. The experience has fuelled her dating advice and coaching.
BLURRING THE RULE BOOK
The dating rule book is ever-evolving, and becoming blurred at the margins. Take a survey earlier this year of 6,000 adults across 13 countries by Parship, Europe’s largest matchmaking website, which found that only 66 per cent of Irish men pick up the restaurant bill on the first date.
Some will positively interpret the findings as testament to the egalitarian dating rules; others will accuse Irish men of lacking traditional chivalry. The findings grew more curious, highlighting the minefield that is dating. Even among those who insist on going halves, more than a quarter of women (27 per cent) and almost a third of men (32 per cent) said they would take it as a sign the other person was not interested.
British researchers added to the confusion this year in the journal Biology Letters, having found that the more choice some 4,000 men and women had in potential dates, the more likely they were to remain alone. All of which, it seems, leaves single people in South Korea celebrating “Black Day” on April 14th and marking “Quirky Alone Day” internationally on February 14th.
But a European Singles Survey in August dealt better news for the men of Ireland, which showed they outspend their European counterparts on their romantic pursuits. It seems, they spend an average €106 per date on their prospective partners, double that of Continental romancers and €46 more than those in the UK.
For the die-hard daters, the whole arena is about to expand even further. There are more than 1,000 dating agencies in the UK, and Ireland is only now entering the phase reached by the UK some five years ago, according to Paula Hall of Parship.
Up next is the smartphone app, which has the potential to change the way people date. Once a client has registered with an agency and downloaded an app, they will be alerted to fellow registered users who are within 50 metres of them; the smartphones will initiate contact between the two.
It’s an ever-changing minefield, but the Irish public are starting to embrace it.
