Why should I be a carer for your grandpa? What will you give me a flat? A car? she blurted, not trying to soften the blow, staring at me as if I were an outofdate stock item left on the clearance rack of a Sainsburys. In that moment, for the first time in years, I wondered whether the world had finally flipped upsidedown: at 43 I was already being labelled oldtimer, and the price tag on the relationship was being slapped on my face with none of the usual flirtation or coyness.
Im 43. Ive never been married. Ive had two serious relationships, each lasting about two years, lived together, split up like grownups and walked away with no alimony, no exfiles, no baggage, no endless comparisons. I always thought that was a plus fewer strings attached. Turns out, in todays dating market, being single is seen as a red flag, as if an unmarried man must be some defective product that didnt pass the quality check.
So I decided it was time. I wanted a family, a partner who was attractive, wellkept, and, lets be honest, under 28, so my mates could ask, Where did you find her? without any hint of jealousy. I wasnt ashamed of that desire; after all, I earn a decent salary, own a cosy flat in Manchester, have a reliable Ford Fiesta, I dont drink or smoke, I look after myself, and I figured I was a fairly decent commodity on the market.
Apparently the market runs on a different rulebook, and on that book I turned out not to be a buyer but a piece of merchandise and not even a hot one.
**First date.**
I met 26yearold Poppy through a dating app. We messaged for a week; she laughed at my jokes, wrote youre interesting and it’s easy talking to you. I thought perhaps this would be a straightforward, uncomplicated connection. But the moment we sat down at a café in Liverpool, the conversation took a sharp turn.
She glanced at me, evaluative, and within fifteen minutes asked, What car do you drive?
I answered.
Do you own a flat?
I answered.
How much do you earn?
Thats when I realised this wasnt a date; it was an interview, and I was the asset being assessed for liquidity. She asked the questions as calmly as one might ask, Tea or coffee? without a hint of embarrassment.
When I finally asked, What are you looking for in a relationship? she smiled and replied, Comfort. I want a man who can meet my needs. No beating around the bush, just a price list.
**Second date.**
The next time I went out with 24yearold Milly a pictureperfect, impeccably groomed woman, the sort you think youll go the extra mile for we met at a restaurant in Birmingham. I paid for dinner, everything was as proper as it gets, and eventually the talk drifted to the future.
I said, I want a family, kids, a stable relationship.
She looked at me and said, And what can you give?
I was taken aback.
What do you mean?
She went on, Youre after a younger woman, right? She has choices. Why would she pick you?
Then she laid it out plainly: Youre older, so you have to make up for it with resources flat, car, money, lifestyle. Otherwise whats the point?
I tried to argue that love, compatibility, and respect mattered too, but she simply shrugged, Those are secondary. The basics come first.
And then, in that very calm tone, she repeated, Why should I be a carer for your grandpa? as if stating a fact, adding, If you want a young woman, youd better match the package. I left feeling as though Id just been taken apart on a conveyor belt and priced like a used car.
**Third story the final blow.**
I was texting a 27yearold named Elsie, whod initiated the chat, asked plenty of questions, flirted a bit, and I began to think maybe not everything was hopeless. Then she sent a voice note: Listen, lets be honest. I need a man wholl support me. Im not willing to work myself to the bone. If youre not ready, dont waste either of our time.
I asked, What do you bring to the table?
She laughed. Me? myself.
Thats when something clicked inside me. Myself as a product. A allinclusive package with payment up front. The absurd part was that they seemed utterly oblivious to how strange that sounded.
They dont hide, they dont play games they just set the terms, and if you dont fit, youre written off without a second thought, like an unsuitable applicant.
And the most ironic thing? I used to blame women for everything that theyd become spoiled, that they were greedy, that they only wanted money. The more dates I had, the more I realised the problem isnt simply them.
Id walked into this market expecting to pick, but I ended up being the one picked. I wanted a young, pretty, convenient partner. They wanted a financially solid, stable, profitable one. I chased looks; they chased resources. In that logic everything is honest, just a tad unpleasant.
It hurts to discover youre not a unique treasure, but one of many items being compared, judged, and discarded. The worst part isnt the rejections; its the moment you realise youre being seen not as a man, but as a proposal with conditions, limits, and an expiry date. Perhaps Im simply late to the party.
Maybe I should have started building a family earlier, before it turned into a transaction. Maybe I lingered too long in the illusion that time was on my side. The reality now is that to get what you want you either have to meet the markets demands or rewrite your own expectations.
And I am not ready for either option just yet.
That, Im afraid, is the most unpleasant revelation Ive had in recent years.