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When Vogue first asked me to write about everything I learned about dating in 2025, I must admit I hesitated. Entering the dating scene after a 13-year relationship was like being Sigourney Weaver in the Alien franchise: I awoke from hyper-sleep, the ship was haunted and possibly cursed, and I wasn’t really sure if any of the men on the crew could be trusted, or whether they were secretly harboring a parasite in their chest.
Regardless, I plunged into battle like someone who was last single some time around the early Neolithic era—and I found that there was plenty to learn. More broadly, it seems there’s a prevailing sentiment that something has gone irrevocably wrong with modern dating. Call it heterofatalism or heteropessimism, chalk it up to dating app fatigue or late-stage capitalism, or just blame men, but nobody seems happy right now. Maybe it’s just the depressing weather. Or maybe it’s the dire lack of Christmas rom-coms (step up your game, Netflix). Either way, I persisted. And here are my main takeaways from the year that’s just been.
Dating is content now
Dating used to be a somewhat solitary activity that occurred between two people, practiced only in group situations by the very brave or polyamorous. Now, it’s impossible to divorce dating from the experience of consuming it as a form of content, whether that’s via Instagram galleries about top date spots in London or, God forbid, endless relationship advice on TikTok. Dating, as a concept, is now subject to multiple rounds of discourse, all wrapped up and sealed with a kiss outside the Spurstowe Arms (once described to me as “the closest thing to a straight darkroom in Hackney”).
I previously regarded the explosion of dating content with bemused interest. Now that I have skin in the game, I actually think that it’s actively working against our interests. After all, is there anything that kills desire faster than overanalysis? As Jemima Kirke once famously opined: “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much.” And God bless some of these content creators, but I personally do not believe you should take dating tips from some fresh-faced, 27-year-old dating coach from Missouri. Give me the grizzled wisdom and experience of someone in their 50s or 60s; give me Esther Perel and Orna Guralnik; give me someone with a postgraduate certificate in relationship counseling at the very least. Just because they’re young and hot doesn’t mean you should get into bed with them; the same thing applies to taking their advice about relationships.
Questions are overrated
TikTok will also have you believe that a good date consists of someone who asks you questions and dutifully listens to your answers. As someone who does this professionally (read British Vogue’s December cover story!), I’m here to tell you that this is a highly overrated date activity.
Unless I’m trying to hack your bank account, I don’t want to come away from a date knowing your star sign, what your mother did for a living, and the name of your pet goldfish. I want to leave feeling like I’ve engaged in the conversational equivalent of a tennis rally. You know that delightfully effervescent scene in When Harry Met Sally where Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal are walking through Central Park in autumn, bouncing off each other like two Ping-Pong balls drunk on fizzy pet nat? That’s called chemistry. Dates aren’t meant to feel like manual data entry—they’re meant to test the natural, spontaneous connection between the two of you. If you have to resort to a TikTok dating coach’s list of questions to make the conversation flow, they’re probably not right for you. Sorry!
Girls aren’t better than boys
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve recently heard straight girls say wistfully: “If only I was gay…” Bad news, ladies: queer women can be just as bad as straight men. As a bisexual person, I’ve been just as unrepentantly ghosted and negged by girls, including one Hinge match who WhatsApped me for two and a half weeks—mainly to bully me over my choice of club nights—and then left me on read when I asked for a drink. Maybe the crisis of heterofatalism would be solved if lesbians and heterosexual women came together more often to compare notes on dating. If you think a love-bombing man who already wants to introduce you to his parents moves way too fast, try a U-haul lesbian with a Zipcar membership.
They’re not bad people—they’re just not for you
Most of us have been poisoned by main-character syndrome, and none more so than when it comes to relationships. If you’re the lead in your own personal movie, then it stands to reason that every bad date feels like battling with the forces of evil (as embodied in Jake, 34, who likes small plates and recently got back from a trip to Mexico).
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