Most of the time, I like to think I’m a pretty sensible, level headed single person. I don’t freak out when spending long periods of time in my own company, I usually remember that soul mates don’t actually exist and I read articles like this one that make me realise that third wheeling can be really quite fun (and also funny). And more often than not, I feel bloody smug that I’m going home to nothing more than a Earl Grey tea and my Miffy pyjamas.
But sometimes, weeks like last week happen. And last week, two things happened to not knock my balance right off.
Let’s talk about those things.
The first thing
The early part of the week marked the anniversary of the night I met the person I spent 97% of the last year madly in love with/perpetually confused by/crying over. Often I was all three at the same time. It was the most awesomely spontaneous, crazily passionate yet emotionally tumultuous relationship I’ve ever been in. And the great weekend that started it all was flashing all over my Facebook timeline, a reminder of that thing I used to have. In the words of Justin Bieber, FEELS.
The second thing
So, what else is a girl to do when moping over her ex, but to head into her iPhone for a string of disappointing and disjointed virtual conversations?
I matched with a guy on Tinder, totally my ‘type’ (y’know, the type that you think is your type, but in reality you have never dated anyone like that…) We started chatting; it’s all going well. He mentions the usual – where he lives, where he works, interests, his football team… and then the penny drops. I know that there is probably more than one Spurs season ticket holder within a 5 kilometre radius of my house, but in that moment I just knew. This guy had already been on a date with one of my friends.
I also know that the chances of this happening aren’t actually that slim – there are only so many men of a certain age, in a certain place, on a certain app at any one time. But these two things combined sent me into one of those OHMYHGOD-I’m-the-only-single-person-left-and-it’s-gong-to-be-this-way-forever panics.
In order to alleviate this panic – and also because I’m a maths-loving, curiously minded, highly analytical person (as well as a bit bored and being left to my own devices for a little bit too long), I decided to try and work out the actual chances of me and my bestie matching the same dude on Tinder.
Strap yourself in folks, stats are coming your way…
Yes, I actually went on the Internet and looked up official government statistics. I’m not apologising, this was a really fun way to spend my Saturday afternoon (DORK).
• There are 8.2 million people in London – 4.2 million female, 4 million male
• Of these Londoners, 1.6 million people are aged 30-44 (this the closest age bracket to my own age that I could use)
• 804,000 of these people are male
• 314,000 of these men are single and have never been married
• When you add back in divorced and widowed (if you don’t mind the baggage), this goes back up a bit to 353,000
• BUT then, you have to take off people that aren’t married, but are co-habiting – this takes off quite a few, so the number drops again, leaving…
• 195,000 single men aged 30-44 living in London
• HOWEVER, this doesn’t account for men that are coupled, but not co-habiting, and also makes no assumption as to sexual orientation (both of which will drop the number further)
• Then of course, you have to take off: men that think that rugby is better than football, men that aren’t feminists, men that think that tying a jumper around their waist is okay (or whatever list of non-negotiables you’d personally like to apply to your pool of potential partners)
So, making some very, very rough estimations (this is where it turns from actual hard facts to just me guessing…) there are about 115,000 men of a certain age, in a certain place…
…but as for on a certain app? I tried to find some figures to suggest how many users of Tinder there were in London (yep, this thing went DEEP), but came up blank. Judging on my experience though, I’m going with ‘quite a lot’ of those 115,000.
So, my conclusion is this: although I have just proved to the internet that I am actually quite crazy, there is still a relatively good chance that there is at least one person that might find it at least a little bit endearing, maybe even something more.
Ahhh, thank you maths.
(For those that are interested, the number is ever so slightly lower when the same logic is applied to women. For those that are really interested, I have all the data in a spreadsheet. And I have data sources. Oh, and we should probably date.)