COVID has changed dating forever. Happenstance flings in clubs and romantic nights out on the town have been rendered ancient history as the compounding loneliness of endless lockdowns has largely moved romance into the realm of online dating.
A daunting proposition to begin with, the pitfalls of the online dating scene have only been magnified by social-distancing, curfews, the vaccination status of potential partners, and of course, the risk of catching a life-threatening virus.
Many of Melbourne’s brave singles have nevertheless risen to the challenge of trying to negotiate love in this brave new world, their journeys leading them from popular dating apps like Hinge and Tinder to walking trails and parks within their government-sanctioned travel radiuses.
These experiences have led many to re-evaluate the role of dating in their lives, the changing nature of the “getting-to-know-you” process and the difference that natural lighting makes in the time-honoured dance of courtship.
“I’m the kind of person who meets people randomly at pubs or at festivals and that’s how relationships start for me,” says Nkechi, 31, who had sworn off dating apps before the pandemic.
After holding out for the first year of Melbourne’s lockdown she reluctantly joined the online dating community despite some initial scepticism.
“In the first year of lockdown, I was like ‘what’s the point?’” she said.
“All you could really do was walk around the park wearing a mask, which left me feeling pretty disheartened,
“This year, though, I was a bit sick of talking to the same people all the time and really wanted to meet somebody new, so I started back on the apps.”
For Nkechi, though, the vetting process of online dating lacks the sense of spontaneous connection that she’s looking for.
“Having to think about it a lot really changes things,” she said.
“Not to say that I’m completely reckless, but before COVID I was totally happy to go out for the night just drinking, and to hook up with somebody.
“It wasn’t about ‘do I want to be in a long-term relationship’ with this person.”
“Socialising felt quite new” after being locked down for a while, Nkechi said, and the art of small talk has suffered as a consequence.
“You quickly realise that you and the person you’re on a date with are both slightly traumatised by the COVID scenario,” she said.
“You’re trying to get to know somebody at a distance and you’re trying to have conversations to explain who you are, but for the last two years you’ve been doing what everyone else has been doing – nothing!
“All I could think about was ‘could I stand being confined in a small space with this person for a long period of time?’
“Someone asked me, ‘how are you going?’ I’m like, ‘probably the same as you, dude. I’ve just been doing fuck all. Like, I don’t know what to tell you.’
Tony, 33, is a musician and chef who has had a markedly different set of dating experiences over the pandemic. Much more comfortable with the online environment and largely unable to work in hospitality, his love life “blossomed”.
“It actually flourished for me because I’m usually working a lot, especially at night-time,” he said.
“I live solo, so you could have a bubble – I’d meet up in a park for a wine and if things went well, we’d rendezvous at one of our places.”
When meeting people online, Tony noticed that a lot of Tinder users had recently included their vaccination status in their bios as “a sort of pickup line”.
“A lot of people put it in their Tinder bios, ‘full-vaxxed’ and the like – I’ve seen a couple of anti-vaxxers on there too, he said.
“It’s definitely a divided thing.”
Despite this, however, Tony found the venues of his dates, public parks filled with families, to be “quite a strange setting” for romance.
“I’d bring a bottle of wine and some cheese usually,” he said.
“Although I did feel quite self-conscious at times because of all the families and stuff in the park.
“It shone a light on social protocols that happen in the dating world that I wasn’t necessarily even aware of.”
Pete Whelan 