Several months ago, my then-boyfriend and I parted ways. Not because he was a philandering rotter or because I had done anything particularly wrong. It turned out that being on the opposite ends of the political spectrum was a dealbreaker.
Which is why I was not surprised to read a recent survey revealing politics could be the new dating deal-breaker, with only 25 per cent of respondents open to dating across the divide. I have experienced this firsthand countless times.
Only a few weeks ago, I was on a promising date at a Soho bar. The chemistry was electric, right up until the conversation drifted toward Keir Starmer vs Kemi Badenoch. Suddenly, the finger-wagging began. “Oh, it’s ‘Nazi Kate’, is it?” he sneered as I told him I agreed with Badenoch’s thoughts on colonial history. I was staggered. Why on earth should I tolerate people who think they can insult me just because I don’t share their views?
I lobbed back “sanctimonious hypocrite” for starters. It felt great. I grabbed my coat and walked out, done with tolerating people who think they have a greater claim to higher intellectual or moral knowledge.
These uncomfortable incidents have become far too common. Ever since political correctness cleaved a wedge in society, my love life has turned into a moral maze; with “Left or Right” becoming one of the most polarising of all dating divides. I am a capitalist who has fallen through the looking glass into what seems like a socialist minefield.
Shared views are central to romance. There is nothing quite like the sensual, bonding experience of getting to know someone across a candlelit table, especially with steak frites and a good bottle of Barolo. However, that romantic glow vanishes the moment your date dismisses the toughness of the meat as a “first-world problem” – all while smugly tucking into a virtue-signalling bowl of something vegan. For those of us who don’t subscribe to left-wing values, navigating the dating world has become a minefield where honesty feels like a liability.
I used to keep my views to myself, but caving in felt humiliating and patronising. I would get the familiar knot of fear in my stomach, thinking it simply wasn’t worth the stress. But why should I self-censor out of fear of reprisal? It made me angry that these men felt they had a greater claim to higher intellectual or moral knowledge.
I first hit this wall of intolerance during a date in Camden. When the man began preaching about social inclusion, I suggested it sounded more like social engineering. He reeled back in horror. The evening ended in a silence so heavy that I could hear myself chewing my lentil salad; unsurprisingly, he never called again.
It’s a depressing, recurring theme. There was the man from Perth who sent a WhatsApp ultimatum: “This ends now if you’re right-wing.” Then there was the TV producer who abandoned his starter mid-bite the moment his worldview was challenged.
More recently, an arts producer branded me a racist and right-wing sympathiser simply because I voted Leave and supported Boris in 2016. When I suggested a grown-up debate, he flatly refused. We might have ended in a stalemate, but at least there would have been a mutual, respectful attempt to understand the other side.
Instead, it seems we’ve reached a point where open discussion is no longer on the menu. And while the divide is widening for everyone, it seems the Left are the most judgmental. Research published in The Conversation noted that left-wing voters were 37 per cent more likely to reject someone on the Right than the other way around.
Over the next few months, date after date imploded like a sad soufflé. Declaring myself a Conservative was treated like admitting I belonged to a sinister cult. When I told one balding academic that, yes, I’d rather live in a world where people are rewarded for what they achieved, I was called elitist and nasty.
“You don’t look like a Tory,” another date remarked, as if I should have been wearing a dress made of Union Jacks. Often, I didn’t even get to the first date. One man blocked me for asking him what “woke” meant to him personally. Others have told me point-blank that I am undatable.
What I really find unpalatable is their unearned moral superiority. I’ve always been happy to disagree over lunch or drinks, but for the modern Left, a difference of opinion is treated not only as a character flaw but a reason to be cancelled.
One date actually sneered, “Oh, you’re one of them,” simply because I suggested coffee at Gail’s on the Fulham Road. He spent the afternoon chomping on hemp seeds from a pouch, announcing he didn’t “do” commercialised sourdough with the air of a man delivering a sermon.
Frankly, the feeling is becoming mutual. I’d rather chew off my own arm than date a man whose profile reads: “Left-wing, seeking equality with a woman of similar views.” It immediately conjures smug, lecturing energy. Nothing kills the swoon factor like a ribeye with a side order of sermon.
So now I put “Lefties swipe left” on my dating app profile, and it has worked a miracle.
These days, instead of sifting through the ideological dross, when I meet fellow Conservatives, it doesn’t just feel like a date; it feels like a conspiracy of two. There is a heady liberation in that first quiet smile of complicity and a profound sense of relief that comes from finally being able to exhale, knowing you don’t have to self-edit or tread on eggshells. I want a man who’s comfortable in his own success, who values common sense over correct thinking, and who can handle a robust debate without becoming a blubbing mess.
Life is far too short for socially engineered romance. I’m done with the lectures, the constant whine to “park my privilege”. So I’m off for lunch with a lovely man in a smart, well-tailored suit. He not only let me choose the restaurant, but insisted on picking me up. That’s chivalry with a capital C.
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