Would you spend £15k on love?
Well, one of these women is. The other? She’s made it her mission to find her a match, by going on the pull with a professional matchmaker ›
The walls are blood red, with mismatched frames housing black and white pictures of various men I don’t recognise.
The floorboards are so trodden they’re shiny, and the rugs – along with the waitresses’ skirts – are tartan. From next door comes the boom of male laughter and, suddenly, these men come piling in, clad in novelty jumpers, to make their way through to the cigar terrace. One of them, I’m told, is a right-wing politician – I didn’t look up in time. Another, a Hollywood actor who I’m much more upset not to spot. On our table sits a bottle of champagne, and – every now and then – these men make their way over to us, where Mairead Molloy, global director of Berkeley International, the elite matchmaking agency, pours them a glass and asks them about their lives.
It seems I’ve finally found the answer to the question “Where are all the men hiding?” The whole place is soaked in testosterone. Whether they’re “good” men depends on your personal preferences (and politics), but considering Molloy has spent the past 16 years setting up high-networth individuals with each other, she’ll have the perfect match in mind for each and every one of them.
When I moved to London, over a decade ago, I tried to become a professional matchmaker. I printed out my CV, wrote long covering letters detailing my “experience” and sent them off to various agencies. But, it turns out, setting up one couple (who split after three years) and chatting up people in clubs on behalf of my friends were not the qualifications they were looking for.
Even back then the idea of paying someone to find you a prospective suitor seemed straight out of Pride And Prejudice. Why part with your cash when you could meet someone in a bar, get your mate to set you up or flirt with that hot person you see in work’s communal kitchen area? Then Tinder came along, in 2012, and made those IRL connections seem dated. Why settle for whoever is in your current vicinity or friendship group when sitting in your pocket are millions of singles just waiting to speak to you? Two years after its launch, Tinder was boasting around a billion swipes per day. Then even more apps came along – both Bumble and Happn launched in 2014 – and before long there was one for every preference. Into beards? There’s an app for that. Fancy a threesome? There’s an app for that as well. Our preference for staying in and swiping was, according to some experts, behind the UK’s failing nightclub scene, which has dipped in value by an estimated £200 million in the past five years.* (Netflix, an unstable economy and the booming wellness scene have also undoubtedly played their part.)
But, lately, the tide appears to be turning. Cosmopolitan research found that 70% of our readers would prefer to meet someone in real life, dating events increased by
400% between 2014 and 2018† and for matchmakers like
Molloy, business is thriving.
But what can we learn from a woman who charges upwards of £15,000 for her services? Does she really know the secret to finding love in a world so reliant on algorithms? I decided to go back to that old ambition of mine, and become a professional matchmaker to find out.
A HOT FRONT
“It’s all coming back now – bespoke, hand-holding dating,” says Molloy, smearing butter on toast, talking to me and peering at her email inbox all at the same time. It’s a few days later and we’re at Home House, a private members’ club in London. Despite having nine offices globally (and living in Cannes herself), Irish Molloy works, it seems, wherever there will be eligible singles. She blanches at the idea of being called a “matchmaker”; she’d prefer “relationship psychologist” (she also works in the field and has a degree in psychology and a master’s in criminal law). She certainly has a way of eking out personal details – when I listen to our conversation on my Dictaphone a few days later, I realise it took just 10 minutes for me to let her in on some extremely personal details about my own life.
This is a huge part of her job. I’d imagined I’d spend the day rifling through profiles of people on a computer, pairing them together. But that’s not how it works. Molloy gets to know people quickly, her client base is made up of applications from the website, referrals and those who she actively seeks. Berkeley International tailors a package for each client, depending on their specific needs – for those willing to spend the big bucks, Molloy or one of her 20 global “ambassadors” will fly all across the world looking for their chosen match.“So I could ask you to find me Jack O’Connell and you could?” I ask, wondering if, for this feature (and my career), my husband might let me go on a date with him.“You have to be realistic,” Molloy says, dashing my hopes… but maybe saving my marriage.“We may not have that sort of person, or they may not be interested in you. But you could say,‘I want to meet someone in LA in the film industry,’ and we could set that up for you.”
Once in LA or New York (or wherever you need her), Molloy will get herself into the right parties and “network”.“We once had a client who really wanted to meet a doctor from Harvard,” she tells me. “We flew out [to the US] and, for weeks, went to all the socials and set her up with 16 or so people. Naturally, I can say to someone, ‘Are you in a relationship?’ and find out, then hand them a card.”
Before taking anyone on as a client, there’s a brief phone consultation in which it’s decided if they’re “suitable” (more on that later), and then it’s a full-on interview. This takes place in clients’ homes, or in the Berkeley International offices, where we head next to grill Amy Grier, Cosmopolitan’s executive editor (and, not-asawkward-as-it-sounds, my boss). We’re putting her on Berkeley’s books so I can see how it works. I’m jealous – Molloy is highly secretive as to who she looks after, but it’s a mixture of lawyers, business owners and celebrities… one client even hosts his dates on his private jet.
Over glasses of fizzy water, Molloy fires questions at Amy, in a process that’s more like a very intense job interview. Every now and then she shuts her eyes, as if mentally scrolling through faces in her head.“You’re always thinking of your clients,” she confirms later. “The minute someone walks in the room I have an idea in
“YOU COULD SAY, ‘I WANT TO MEET SOMEONE IN LA,’ AND WE’D SET THAT UP”
my mind as to who to set them up with.” Whoever it is, Amy will not see a picture of them.“I have no tolerance for online dating and how dismissive people can be; it’s disrespectful. You have to give people a chance.”
STORMY WEATHER
Our next appointment is at a plastic surgeon’s office. It’s here that we meet Dr Ghoobi‡ to see how he’s getting on with his current match. He met his first wife through Molloy and, 10 years later, messy divorce behind him, he’s turned to her again. He beams at us and says he’s weeks away from proposing. Just as he’s divulging his plans, we are ambushed by a surprise visitor: a friend and client of his, who’s recently divorced and wants to find love. Molloy fires questions at her, but she soon mentions her ex, his name uttered as if it’s wrapped in gold. Molloy plainly says, “You’re still in love with him.” There’s some back and forth as the prospective client insists she isn’t. But Molloy is unconvinced. This could be good or bad, she says after we leave – perhaps starting something else will be what she needs to get over him… or it will help break her out of denial.
She’ll still take her on as a client and see – after a few dates – what happens. Then it might be time for a tough conversation.
Because that’s another huge part of Molloy’s job – telling people where they’re going wrong. After every date, both parties give feedback, and that informs the next date – in terms of both who they’re matched with, and how they behave.“Some people really appreciate being told what’s wrong with them,” she says. “It’s quantitative analysis – eventually after five, six, seven dates, you see the same themes coming up.” If these things are damaging, then it’s time to have a word. Similar bugbears come up again and again, across the board – people drinking too much on dates, inflated egos and something that’s enhanced in both online dating and a service like this: pickiness.“You can’t breed the perfect human,” she says. “And often my clients will think the more money they spend, the more they can lengthen their wish list… but even if we can present you with your ideal person on paper, we can’t provide chemistry. It’s the one thing money can’t buy.”
As for cash, I’m intrigued to know whether her clients demand their match earns a certain salary.“I don’t think salaries come into play too much for the men, maybe 3% will ask about it. For them, it’s about the laughter, the love, the look and feeling of belonging. But for women – and this may be controversial…” she says. “I think they like to feel secure. Not necessarily financially – women should be financially independent – but they do like to feel looked after, and money comes into that.”
“IF YOU ACCEPT THAT EVERYONE HAS FLAWS, THEN YOU WILL MEET SOMEONE”
The way Molloy talks about love is practical and mature – she won’t promise the world, and will put you in your place if you demand it. Love, she says, isn’t about finding “the one”, but instead someone who “feels like home”. And she doesn’t believe in fate. Even though she once, without knowing their relationship to each other, matched a divorced couple together… and they remarried. Or the time she set up a client with a woman he’d spotted on the street months before and fallen in love with.“If your wishlist isn’t too long, you’re a relatively normal human being and accept that everyone has flaws, then you will meet someone,” she says. But Molloy wouldn’t dream of attending any of her clients’ weddings. “You don’t invite your plumber to enjoy your bath, do you?” she cackles.
LIGHTNING STRIKES
I didn’t fully understand what Molloy meant by “networking” until we headed to London’s Boisdales Of Belgravia, a Scottish restaurant filled with men with booming voices and – judging by the menu – bursting wallets. Molloy hosts an annual Valentine’s party here and it’s where many of her clients hold their first dates. The tartan everywhere reminds me of the dive bars I’d drink in as a teen in Scotland, but the clientele is entirely different. Instead of pallid stoners who need (at least) five black sambucas before they’ll come over and chat to you, here, making conversation with strangers is the norm. Within 30 minutes of arrival, we’ve already spoken to a record producer weighed down by gold chains, and a white-haired movie producer. Both leave with Molloy’s card clutched in their grip. I keep my eye out for matches for Amy but can’t spot any – which doesn’t matter, as Molloy has already decided what she needs. “Someone who will take the reigns – she’s the editor of a very prominent magazine… she’ll want someone alpha,” she explains. I keep pressing for more on this; hoping that Molloy will present me with the perfect formula for love. But she doesn’t have it. No one does.
What organisations like Berkeley International can provide is a buffer – a shiny one that protects you from all the crap that comes from dating. And lately that crap seems to be amplified. New terms for dating trends are defined every week (“to ghost” has even been added to the dictionary), and pretty much everyone who is actively dating has a horror story to tell. In real life, “chatting someone up” has become almost non-existent, seen as a throwback to a pre-app time. With an agency like Berkeley, sure, you might go on a few dud dates, but to the degree of stilted conversation, not “they brought along their ex/tarantula/mate for a threesome”. Not only does her team have a strong gut instinct for liars, they also ensure – via things like background checks, asking to see divorce papers, and house visits – that people are exactly who they say they are. The follow-ups after every date mean that no one gets ghosted – if they don’t want to see you again, you’ll know (and be told exactly why).
Matchmakers are nothing new – they’ve been around for centuries within most cultures. In Ancient Greece, some women would act as go-betweens, delivering telegrams between couples who wanted to marry (and offering their verdict on the prospective partners), while “miai” – a form of matchmaking created as part of 16th-century samurai classes – still exists in Japan today. But a new yearning for face-to-face contact, brought on by our ever-increasing reliance on technology, coupled with us having an expert for all areas of our lives (PTs, life coaches, therapists) means it makes sense that they’re now back in a big way. It’s paying a professional to get the job done right. That’s what Berkeley International offers – Molloy cultivates “grown-up dating” where people treat each other as adults, and with respect. Somewhere along the way we’ve lost that. But have we really reached the stage where we have to pay the equivalent of a house deposit to get it?
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The Matchmaker by Catriona Innes is out now