I’ve finally met a guy online. There’s just one problem...
SHOULD A 51-YEAR- OLD WOMAN DATING ONLINE FOR THE FIRST TIME BE WARY OF HER NEW ‘BOYFRIEND?’
About three weeks ago, aged 51, I did something I’ve never done before. I took a selfie to show to a man I had met online. It was the first time I’d ever taken a photo of myself in this way.
In front of my bathroom mirror, I contorted myself into several positions to a) get a more flattering angle, and b) work out how to take a picture without a big grey smartphone concealing my face.
A quick call to a friend revealed that you could, in fact, “flip” the camera with a button on the screen.
Ludicrous, that I didn’t know this, isn’t it? But it’s illustrative of how — due to a combination of severe insomnia and resultant depression — I had been “off the planet” for several years.
During my illness, my physical health suffered. Nine years of insomnia is not generally good for the appearance. I gained a lot of weight. The glamorous photograph that remains my social media avatar is nine years old and was taken in a studio by a professional photographer with “hair and makeup”. The true picture is here, with this article. I’m very self-conscious about the way I look.
This is why having an invisible online-only boyfriend suits me.
A couple of months ago, having ventured on to social media for the first time, I was involved in one of those “Twitterstorms” where an illthought- out comment generates a tsunami of controversy. I posted something mildly political, wondering who to vote for in the light of the Labour anti- Semitism controversy, and — bang! — the Momentum trolls jumped on me.
I was shocked at how vicious people had become. I publicly wondered if I should leave Twitter for good, but people asked me not to. This added to the swell of supportive comments that had just started arriving on my feed.
There were women among them, but I did notice more men, many of them educated, some of them extraordinary: from writers to academics, and an American surgeon doing humanitarian work in Syria. Most of the messages were friendly, but there was definitely an undercurrent of frisson in a handful.
Hugo ( not his real name) was one of those who stood out, as well as a novelist from Chicago. This virtual flirting was something I had never experienced before, and great fun. Having separated from my husband in 2016, I embraced being a born- again online virgin. I also enjoyed conducting these flirtations via social media, rather than dating apps. It was all about words and felt like a throwback to 84 Charing Cross Road or even You’ve Got Mail.
In the end, juggling several men — however delightful — started to feel a bit uncomfortable, especially as two were moving into different territory (we went from public Twitter to private messaging and then phone calls). Even two felt too many, and so Hugo emerged “victorious” a few weeks ago.
Hugo is lovely. He designs buildings, does 10k runs every Sunday and gives me practical advice on things like how to find an accountant.
Most importantly, he is single. He’s divorced and has been in at least one other long-term relationship. We text all day and talk on the phone almost every morning and night. Hugo wants to meet me.
There are two problems. The first is my worry about what Hugo will think about fat, frizzy Miranda. Then there is the second: is Hugo really who he says he is?
The latter hadn’t even occurred, until I was telling a friend about him, and she said: “How do you know he isn’t cat-fishing you?”
Google told me that “to catfish” — now a verb, apparently — was to lure someone into a relationship by means of a fictional online persona, for financial gain or as a form of trolling.
Oh good.
Surely it made a difference that I had met Hugo on Twitter, rather than a dating site? Plus, I was the one who had “followed” him, so I could send him a private message. But, this aside, my main concern is still the “Hugo wanting to meet” conundrum.
I used to be confident. I still am — around my work and non- romantic relationships. But, despite having lost a significant amount of weight since the start of the year, eating healthily and exercising again, I still have low self-esteem. My friends have been accepting and complimentary, saying yes, I’ve put on some weight but I still look like “old Miranda.” And, as they rightly point out, appearance isn’t everything — blah blah blah. But Hugo is a fit, eligible 47-yearold man (as far as I know), who will obviously want a physical relationship. As will I.
He lives in west London and has invited me for a drink near his home. He sent me photos of himself, but I didn’t want him to see a recent photo of me. I fretted: what if he spotted me, thought “no thanks” and carried on? Or, worse, sat down and then went to the loo and climbed out of the window? I don’t want to be pitied, or — equally as bad — tolerated.
Then, without warning, my attitude changed.
The day I took my first selfie was a boiling hot Saturday. My hair was dishevelled and I was wearing hardly any make-up. I told myself what my friends had said repeatedly: if he’s a good guy, it won’t matter. If he disappears, then he wasn’t worth it.
When you send a selfie, there is a space for a caption. I wrote: “Run!” He didn’t.
In the short time since my “outing,” things have continued on the same trajectory and have become more relaxed since the elephant (me!) was let out of the room.
Maybe I will meet Hugo, maybe I won’t. But right now he says he will “give me all the time I need” until I feel comfortable enough to go to that pub. And I’m a realist. If he meets someone else in the meantime, I’ve told him that would be fair enough.
As for whether he really is who he says — perhaps I will yet be proven naive. And what if I’m the one who is cat-fishing Hugo? What if I am not who I say I am?
On balance, I think I will save the existential questions for another day. All I know is that I have “met” a nice man who seems to like me, and I, a man I seem to like. That’s worth getting to grips with a smartphone camera for, surely.