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Female singledom—definitely not a word, but I'm going with it.
Currently in London the percentage of single, unattached human beings apparently stands at 51%. That means that at least half of women in the city are single and I am one of those statistics. Technically a single entity for 9 years and counting, I haven't quite given up on true love yet; sometimes I still even put myself out there. I've tried every trick and app in the symbolic book (literal app store) and a fair few online dating services too. Please don't mistake this for desperation; this is just what a lonely twenty-something girl looks like. I've got to be honest; it's a wild country out there in the big city and not exactly what I signed up for just because I have female reproductive organs. It’s hard to catch a break out there and when you do it’s even harder to keep a hold on it.
Don't worry; it's just as depressing as it sounds. From the ashes of every date I've had in the last 9 years has sprung the metaphorical phoenix of not only my humiliation, but also the determination of a totally clueless Cher Horowitz. It’s a great combination, any day now I'll start sending myself fake presents to make some unknowing man jealous. When your life is basically a teen movie you may as well make the most of it and relish in the predictability of your failure. You should probably keep reading, because it'll definitely make you feel better about your life, just like the film did.
This is something that I've wanted to say for a while. Dating: just why? Every little thing about romance’s involvement in this life is kind of bullshit. No matter how many times we're told that the grass isn't always greener on the other side, it doesn't change that end game; the constant, unwavering lust for something more, something that means that we're not quite so alone. The pure belief that those people in relationships must have it so much better than we do; it can't all be chocolates and roses. Right?
But this is the 21st Century and that means dating EVERYONE. Downloading ALL the apps. Heading to the hottest bars. Conversing with the slimiest of men. Putting oneself out there day after day just for a hint that someone might literally fancy the pants off of you.
And so I come to The Girlfriend Experience. Most commonly known to men as the time they pay to spend and sleep with the perfect girl who gives them everything they need and asks for nothing but cash in return.
To me however, and my fellow single ladies, The Girlfriend Experience is the horizon that I consistently fail to reach. It always starts with hope and feigned positivity. Eye contact turns in to dates, turns in to awkward conversation, turns in to the grazing of finger tips, turns in to goodnight kisses, turns in to sex, turns in to the eventuality that always occurs: It ends. The elusive relationship slips through my fingers just when I think I might have a grasp on it. But of course, I am human, I never learn; and once again I find myself back at the bottom of the pile, fighting for that glimmer of attention that gives me hope. It shouldn't be this difficult. Disney lied: the happy ending, ultimately, never comes.
But as I said, this is my story, and I don't give up so easily. As the infallible Nicole Kidman once called out in Moulin Rouge: Come and get me boys.