snogees to be eagerly in touch afterwards, both Kim and Kate are dismayed when they hear nothing. Kim follows up with an email only to receive a downright rude reply. It would have been comical – if it hadn’t made her feel crap and empty and induce a week-long funk of low self-esteem in which she threw the baby out with the bathwater (job bad; career trajectory stalled; life going nowhere). And for what? A randomer! Meanwhile, Kate’s lad does respond and agrees to meet her for a drink. He isn’t free for a week, during which time Kate gets moderately excited. When they meet, it’s at a grotty pub of his choosing, and afterwards he seems to expect her to accompany him home. She allows him a snog and then – three days later when she still hasn’t heard from him – she sends him a drunken text. He doesn’t reply and she too enters a few days of self-loathing and anger.
We’re meant to be having the times of our lives but, as the above stories suggest, being single and content in the 21st century is far from straightforward. Ruth, 29, puts it well: ‘Being single is a job. But it’s a secret job.’ We’re constantly juggling our private anxiety about being single with a free ’n’ easy public persona. So while being single sounds like a barrel of laughs for the well-waxed, sexually liberated, financially solvent young woman, it is far from being a walk in the park.
What made me want to write this book is the fact that the Western single woman has never had it so good. She’s got more opportunity than ever before – professionally, socially and sexually. She puts up with less harassment and fewer superiority complexes from men than ever before. She earns more, shags more and drinks more than ever. She can do what she wants. But somehow – when it comes to society’s ultimate flash point, sex and love – she can’t get no satisfaction. Or not enough.
The Man Diet expresses my belief that it doesn’t need to be that way. I want to help the single woman cut through the biggest obstacle to her happiness today: junk-food love. I want to help lift the sense of doom and even worthlessness many of us feel if we are sporting neither a rock nor a man on our arm so that we can get on with the business of being – and feeling – awesome.
‘Being single is a job. But it’s a secret job.’
Easy highs, easy lows:
welcome to a world of junk-food love
Badoo is a mobile hook-up site for the straight market with 120 million users and 300,000 more added per day at the time of writing. Floxx, which originated as FitFinder, is a microblogging site where users describe hot people nearby in salacious terms (a perving portal, in other words), while tube.net allows users (female only, interestingly) to post pictures of hotties photographed surreptitiously on the Underground. Flirtomatic allows users to send electronic flirts – the homepage is a surge of photos that come forward then recede ever so slightly sickeningly. There are dozens more like this being conceived every day. I’m going to sound hideously prim here, but I see these sites as a natural by-product of a dating environment that’s becoming increasingly high in poorly made fast food and low in slow-cooked, well-sourced nourishment. There, I’ve said it.
Back at the beginning of 2010, when I became single again, I was all about the fast-food style of love, and warmly embraced the ‘many fish in the sea’ idea. I was a bit manic, going after men and saying yes to them as if it was my job to do so now that I was single, and – as I said above – supposedly ‘loving it’.
It was psychologist and relationships expert Dr Cecilia d’Felice who first recommended that I go on a ‘Man Diet’ after I told her about my experience of being single.
‘With each failed encounter – a man that doesn’t ask for a follow-up date, a guy that is rude, or a date you didn’t enjoy – there is the potential to lose self-esteem. Too many negative experiences will chip away at your self-worth leaving you feeling low and anxious about your date-ability.’
Dr Cecilia d’Felice, clinical psychologist and relationships expert, author of Dare to Be You
So, I hear you all ask, what is a Man Diet? Well, pure and simple, it’s a diet, in which you take a break from chowing down on men – literally and otherwise. You let them go. Forget about them. Instead, you focus on building up your sense of self-worth, your interests, your personhood. Your ‘you’. You relax, and give yourself a time out on dating, romantic timelines and so on.
I thought more about this brave idea. Could I do it? And ultimately, did I want to do it? I had to admit it sounded tempting and challenging in equal measure. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but equally, I sensed I’d benefit massively if I did. The Man Diet smacked of a path to somewhere good, not without its tiring uphills but generally pleasant and with interesting scenery along the way. It seemed like the kind of ride whose uphills would leave you with excellent, enviable glutes and thighs at the end of it.
I started not only to pay close attention to where I was going wrong, but to quietly observe my single friends’ behaviour, rather than just urging them to keep going in order to erase the bad taste of one unsatisfying encounter with another one. Of course we were all roughly going wrong in the same ways: giving ourselves away too much and to too many people, for no particularly good reason. Great men – potential life partners – don’t grow on trees these days (did they ever?) and you know them when you see them. We weren’t seeing them, so instead we channelled a Samantha from Sex and the City-style quantity-over-quality approach, and guess what: it wasn’t making us happy. Nor did it appear to be increasing the chances of meeting someone worthwhile – the types of guys we were attracting never really improved or changed.
And if we weren’t getting action – if we were in a ‘drought’ – we talked about that, using up our emotional energy. Follow-up dates with guys we didn’t particularly like spending time with – whether we met them online or elsewhere – bruised and eroded our self-esteem, too. With men or without them, we seemed to be defining ourselves in relation to men.
Who fancies you, how many hook-ups, shags, suggestive texts, Facebook come-ons or intrigues you can run up seem to be the single girl’s bread and butter (or rather, her high-carb fix). I began to see that, in reality, they’re our poison. Not because they are bad in themselves, but because they so easily become like drugs: without them, we feel crap, and when we have them we can only think of our next fix. Are we ever left feeling satisfied? Of course not.
Identity and the single woman: am I hot enough?
Hotness, like gold (only not nearly as solid), has become society’s most sought-after social and sexual currency.
In Female Chauvinist Pigs, a brilliant book, Ariel Levy states in no uncertain terms that the image-generated, ‘overheated thumping of sexuality’ in the West is far more about consumption than real human connection. Indeed, people spend a large amount of cash acquiring this glossy form of hotness.
As Maria, 31, puts it: ‘Everything comes down to: “Do you think I’m good looking or not?”’
Somewhere, nestled deep inside our brains, is the childhood idea that good things come to pretty girls. Namely: knights in shining armour; doting attention; popularity. So, lacking her knight as well as a range of good options, the single woman feels she has to prove to herself and others that she’s not single because she isn’t attractive. While being considered hot is a huge motivator for women of every romantic status, I think it’s an even more emotional concern for the single woman. We feel a bit like this: ‘Show me I am pretty enough so that I know I really am. Otherwise I’m afraid that people – myself included – will see my singleness as a function of subpar hotness. And that will crush me.’
The false promise of shagging like a man
We want to show we’re hot, and sex is one way we do it. But it has to be easy, breezy casual
