They told us the economy would improve, they said we’d get better trade deals, but they didn’t talk about love, did they? Johnson and his Brexit friends.
Oh, it’s alright for them. Davis has Doreen, Farage has Kirsten, and there’s the lovely Sarah Vine for Gove. Never a thought for us Leavers – the single ones – who might never have a snog again.
You think I jest, but such a possibility became clear to me as I logged onto Tinder on June 24, alone and afraid, in a shark pool of Remain voters.
I should preface this with a brief explanation of what Tinder is, given that the average Brexiteer may have never used it – opting for more old fashioned methods of courtship.
Tinder is a mobile application to help people – mostly the young – ‘find love’, designed some Zuckerbergian type. Fledglings now use their phones like metal detectors to trawl locations for potential mates.
I’ve been an intermittent Tinderer for years, and it’s been a hit and miss thing. There was never any talk of politics, only conversations about work and the weather. And the occasional date.
On June 23rd things changed, though. Particularly in London, where users rapidly changed their biographies to ward off big, bad Brexiteers. For instance, Greg from Clapham said: “If you voted Leave, please leave me alone.” Others were ruder than Greg.
When the Remainers weren’t standoffish, they were resourceful, posting things like: “Irish passport holder for anyone wanting to stay in the EU”, and: “Sorry about Brexit”. At one point I struck up a lovely conversation with a lad, who then asked me the dreaded question: “Are you Remain?” As I told him the truth, that I had ruined the whole world on June 23rd, he decided to terminate our enthralling chat.
It’s not entirely surprising Brexit Tinderers are experiencing a dry spell. Young people are far more likely to use the app, and were far more likely to vote Remain in the referendum. Add to that, the fact that cities like London – where Tinder use is rife – were Remain-heavy too, and there is no love. Only microwave meals and Downton.
The other interesting thing is that Tinder attracts masses of Europeans, sometimes looking for amor, sometimes a friend (just never one that chose Leave). My goodness I love the French, but will they ever forgive me, if we go out for dinner somewhere, and I whisper into their ear: “I voted Brexit”.
I’m not sure what the answer to all this is, anyway, but I think I’d like to go back to the unsaid rule: “no talking about politics”. Though, at the same time, I don’t think it’s great having to hide one’s referendum position for a chance at love. It’s not healthy, and when the truth comes out, I expect neither party will want in.
Besides, what kind of feeble individual do you have to be to shun company because of politics? And what kind of person can’t love a Brexiteer? We have feelings too (just not for Brussels bureaucracy).
Take me or leave me, Tinder men – but not because of my political views.