When you’ve had a blog a relatively long time you’re on a pretty hefty mailing list. Over the years I’ve met and engaged with hundreds of brands and PR agencies; some make their press releases and opportunities personal, troche others just don’t bother. Sadly most of the mails I get are unsolicited and completely irrelevant to me and my audience, try so I delete them and go on my merry way. But every now and then a really great e-mail lands in my inbox, buy viagra like a recent one from Nine West.
I couldn’t help but laugh when I realised the angle I was being propositioned to explore for their cheeky new Autumn/Winter brand campaign aimed at the modern woman and the situations she finds herself in: Starter Husband Hunting. Thanks Nine West, I see you’ve been paying attention. At first I thought “cripes no, I couldn’t dare discuss this very real and personal thing with the world”. And then I thought the opposite. Why not share my thoughts and experiences on a subject that’s raw and relevant to so many women?
So I found myself in Johannesburg and single in 2015. Fuck. I mean, I’m 31 and I have a cat. Isn’t that supposed to be man repellant? I embraced the suck and turned to wine, okay wine/gin/tequila/vodka and maybe even Strawberry Lips one night. Please don’t judge me, I didn’t order it. Fortunately my incredible friends who supported me through the early weeks of the break-up were equally as thirsty.
After a month with my surrogate family I moved back into my wonderful old flat in Illovo. Thank-you universe for small mercies like my tenant having a short-term lease, and me actually owning property in Johannesburg! Finally I had my independence back, my sanctuary, my stuff and my normal. Well, as normal as things could be under these circumstances. I also decided to say yes to [almost] everything. New people, new experiences, new ideas, new hobbies, new technology.
I mean, the proverbial new-age husband hunting-ground, right? I’ll admit, I went to dinner with some friends and we thought it would be funny. So I created a profile and started left-swiping. And then a total stranger on twitter noticed me, tweeted about it and it scared the crap out of me. I felt exposed and caught out, embarrassed even. Profile deleted less than 24 hours later.
That’s one of the options it gives you when you match with someone. You can only chat to someone on Tinder if you’ve both right-swiped each other, which means you both ‘like’ each other and you match. Keep playing? It may as well say Play On, Playette, in the immortal words of Blackstreet. And that’s the thing; like archery, so too is Tinder a game. And a stupidly addictive one at that. Because you see, whilst you know it’s completely ridiculous and teeming with creeps, CrossFit ambassadors, guys who obviously can’t afford sleeves and don’t know how to spell, there’s this little voice that goes “But what if your future husband is just one swipe away?” when you want to stop ‘playing’.
Needless to say I’m back on Tinder, still telling myself that there have got to be some nice guys in the mix, surely?
The real world.
Equal parts fun and terrifying. Fun because there is so much to be had when you open yourself up to it, and I’m having so much of it. Terrifying because how the hell does one hunt a husband? And even more terrifying than that is the notion that I fall into a category of women affectionately known as Husband Hunters.
I feel like I need to interject here with a disclaimer: I’m using husband hunting to replace the word dating. There. Not as vicious and leopard-print clad anymore, is it? Good.
Last night I went to the Sir James Van Der Merwe Bar in Kramerville with some of my girlfriends. Now you see, 98% of the people who go to SJVDM Bar on a Wednesday go there straight from work, in their work clothes, for a few drinks, a prego roll and a dance (not always in that order). So you see when you’re really hunting, you stand out like a sore thumb, as did two women with shocks of black hair and shockingly short skirts. Ugh and they had their baps out too. Choose one, ladies, never both. In this instance I prefer to label these types as Range Rover Hunters, gentlemen beware.
I haven’t started dating yet, but I am excited about it. I’m also glad I’m in Johannesburg to do it, where the ratio works in our favour and the men [generally] are well mannered and old-fashioned, in a good way. I don’t know what my tack will be, or how I’m going to approach this exciting/terrifying new world of singledom, but what I do know is I’m going to be exploring it in heels, mostly.