Imagine you’re selling a car. You have to describe yourself, ‘bit of a fast mover, nice shiny exterior’, and choose good pictures
you in the park to give them 50 stomach crunches. Does James shout at his clients, telling them to ‘get back out there’ and stop slobbing on the sofa?
He offers me a coaching session so I can see his technique for myself. In normal, non-Covid times, James offers one-on-one sessions that cost from £170 and meets his new clients in person to discuss their relationship history.
Sometimes, he arranges a mock date between them and an actor in a cafe or a bar, to see how they perform. The actor then writes a report on the client, ‘saying their flirting skills need a bit of work and things like that’.
The idea of a school report on my flirting abilities (I’m British and ferociously uptight) fills me with horror. And rightly so, it turns out, because over a Zoom session, James declares that I’m guarded, that I like to take control and use humour to deflect anything too serious or personal, and therefore I’m giving off ‘masculine energy’.
‘I reckon there’s a little girl inside you who’s desperate to be set free and be loved and you’ve almost got her trapped inside you. You’re scared of getting hurt,’ he adds.
This makes me cringe momentarily. But after two relationships that left me heartbroken, I’m definitely nervous about being hurt or hurting anyone, which is why I’ve been on precisely two dates in nearly two years.
JAMeS says this is very common, ‘but it’s probably time to start dating again on a light basis because, say you meet someone in the coming weeks, are you not going to be terrified and out of practice?’ Maybe, I admit.
He moves on to critique my dating app profile. Although most love coaches insist dating apps are terrible, they also say you need to be on them.
I’ve had a profile on Hinge — the app for those who want long-term relationships — for a year or so, but treat it like a game when I’m bored. I swipe through men while
I wait for the kettle to boil and I’ve never used it for an actual date. This doesn’t surprise James, who isn’t impressed with my profile.
My first picture is no good, he says, because it’s a selfie in a mirror. ‘If a guy was doing this, you’d think, “Loser”. It looks like you’ve got no friends to take pictures for you. And you look slightly nervous and awkward. Also, you appear to be wearing a wedding ring in it.’
Ah, yes. It’s not a wedding ring, but because it’s a picture taken in a mirror, it looks as if my rings are on my left hand. ‘It’s like you’ve sneaked off to the loo when your husband’s not around and taken the picture.’
James moves on to critique other parts of my dating profile. Apparently, answering that the word game Bananagrams is my unusual skill isn’t ‘interesting’ or ‘unusual’, other pictures don’t have ‘an interesting enough background’, ‘those sunglasses are a bit weird’ and so on. Phew. It’s tough work this online dating game.
‘Imagine this is Auto Trader and you’re selling a car. You’ve got to describe yourself, “Bit of a fast mover, nice shiny exterior” and have good pictures of you, so you get the attention to start with.’
I promise I will edit my profile accordingly (only one picture with sunglasses is allowed) and he gives me some first-date tips because, he says, once I’ve made his suggested tweaks, I’ll be ‘dating a lot of people’. ‘Will I?’ I ask nervously. ‘Yes, and your time is precious, so the first date is just drinks, oneand-a-half hours maximum, so you leave them wanting more. No dinner, there’s too much pressure. And who’s going to pay for it?’
Also, he adds, ‘don’t talk about Brexit’. Is Covid too much of a conversational dampener? No, says James, it’s perfectly fine so long as you focus on the ‘positive’ aspects. ‘Talk about how you’ve been enjoying the chance to relax or learn new skills.’
ANOTHeR British love coach who thinks you have to be on dating apps if you are single is Jo Barnett. ‘If you’re not in the race, you haven’t got a chance of winning,’ she says.
A trained life coach, Jo became a love coach after getting divorced seven years ago. ‘Having married the wrong person, I became passionate about helping others avoid that mistake.’
When we speak, she has just come back from a date. ‘I had no expectations and I was going to cancel beforehand because I wasn’t feeling it — but it was lovely,’ she says.
It all comes down to confidence, Jo adds. ‘That, and then for women it’s being open-minded in the same way I had to be openminded today, because I hadn’t got a brilliant vibe from him over the phone — but you have to give people a chance.’
Ah, yes. I recognise this aversion in myself and tell Jo I’ve previously written off dates for wearing the wrong shoes. No, she says, I cannot give up on someone simply because I don’t like what they have on their feet. OK, I promise, thinking I still couldn’t date the sort of man who wears winklepickers.
Writing a wish list is a good practice, Jo says, but it depends what type of list. ‘A healthy list would have things like kindness, intelligence and independence on there. The unhealthy list would say, like, 6ft 2in, dark hair, blue eyes. People should have an idea of what values they’re looking for — but in terms of appearance, you can’t be that specific because you can’t manufacture someone.’
The final love coach I talk to says she met her fiance because she wrote a wish list herself.
Persia Lawson is 34 and has been described as a ‘millennial love coach’ who specialises in helping thirtysomething women find and sustain relationships.
She decided on this career path after a turbulent childhood and early foray into romantic life.
Her parents were drug addicts, which led her to look for validation from men when she was a teenager to get the attention she craved. After several destructive relationships where she cheated or they cheated, she started going to Sex
And Love Addicts Anonymous meetings — a 12-step programme based on Alcoholics Anonymous — and reinvented herself as a love coach after that, having studied cognitive behavioural therapy.
In 2015, while writing about her traumatic past for a book called The Inner Fix, Persia compiled a list of 100 qualities she was looking for in a partner.
‘They weren’t all non-negotiable, but it was an interesting exercise,’ she says. ‘He had to be sociable because I am and it wouldn’t work otherwise. He had to be adventurous and solvent because I’ve had to carry too many penniless guys.’
Two days later, she met her fiance, Joe, at the Wilderness Festival in Oxfordshire.
‘It was very much love at first sight,’ she says. ‘Our relationship’s not perfect, but we’re both committed to working on ourselves and on “us”, and that’s made all the difference.’
Persia says she sees a lot of women ‘around the age of 30 who desperately want to be in a relationship but have very unhealthy patterns around love, whether that’s extreme cheating, like me, or perhaps never having had a relationship.
‘I see a lot of successful women who are operating in their “masculine”, trying to manoeuvre and control the dynamic at every turn, and that doesn’t work so well in their love life.’
Ah, there’s that masculine word again. I wince and ask what she would recommend for someone like me. She offers various packages starting at £797, but says, ideally, it would be her ‘deep’ 16-week programme, Love For Leaders, which would take me step-by-step through the changes I could make in my life.
‘In the short-term, I have this really fun practice I call Goddess Hour,’ she adds.
This is ‘an hour where you get into your feminine. You turn off your phone, put some music on — sexy or whatever, can be jazz, just something that helps you relax — light some candles, dim the lights, have a bath or glass of wine and read a book. Perhaps put on some silk. Really get into that energy and reconnect with yourself. It makes a huge difference.’
Hmm, OK. So, according to the love coaches I’ve spoken to, I need to be more open-minded, make more of an effort with dating, stop worrying about what men are wearing on their feet and put on a bit of silk. I’m not sure I own any silk. Years ago, I bought a navy negligee before a weekend away with a boyfriend, but I fear it’s a polyestersilk blend. Maybe that will work?
After speaking with the love coaches I feel more confident that I should (dread phrase) ‘put myself out there’ more, that a few bad dates needn’t be the end of the world. I’ve also tweaked my Hinge profile as James instructed — smilier pictures, no selfies, nothing that could be misconstrued as a wedding ring — and am delighted I’ve had more likes and messaged two men.
My mother shouldn’t buy a hat just yet — but it’s a start.
Apparently, answering that the word game Bananagrams is my unusual skill isn’t ‘interesting’