Swipe Left For Labour: The Realities Of Dating Outside Your Politics
Is there anything more political than sex? Think about it: it always involves power. Often, a degree of diplomacy is required. And sometimes, it can be a little performative. But never have the links between the two been quite so apparent than this week.
With the General Election fast-approaching, it feels as if politics has bled into almost every part of the dating landscape, whether it’s users proudly displaying their party of choice on their profiles, or asking who you’re voting for within the first few minutes of matching (this has happened to me more than once).
The political market has never felt more volatile, and subsequently, neither has the dating market. Our brains are already wired to make snap decisions on dating apps – I have female friends who refuse to swipe right on men under six feet – but now, we’re making them based on people’s political parties. Almost every major dating app gives users the option to display their political views on their profiles, and most do. And if they aren’t doing it with the specific politics feature, they’re showing you in other ways (see the Labour-voters who write 'never kissed a Tory' in their profiles, or the Tories whose photos are mostly of top hats and standard shooting weekends).
According to a new survey of 2,000 Gen-Z singles on Tinder, 60% feel strongly that the person they are dating should respect their political opinions, increasing to 65% for women. Meanwhile, over one third (36%) stated that they feel comfortable discussing politics on the first date.
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Personally, it’s always been a subject I’ve avoided, instead trying to vaguely gauge people’s politics by the subjects they’re invested in, the way they behave in restaurants, and – against my better judgement – what they wear. But this hasn’t served me well in the past. Nor has exclusively dating men that vote the same way as me (Labour).
Having been single for two years, I decided to open my mind and challenge myself to go on a date with someone from every major political party in the run-up to the election. At best, I’d fall madly in love with the man of my dreams. At worst, I’d have some interesting conversations with people I never want to see again. The stakes were high – but then again, aren’t they always when it comes to love?
Here’s what happened when I tried dating men from every political party.
Thursday, 7pm, Jasper*: The Tory
Jasper was 10 minutes late to our date. In a bid to play it cool, I refrained from messaging him. We were meeting in The Coral Bar (his suggestion), a very swanky cocktail joint nestled within the Bloomsbury Hotel. 'Just checking where you are?' he texted. 'I’m at the corner table,' I replied. A man across the bar stood up; we’d both been waiting for one another the entire time.
It was an awkward start that set the precedent for the date that followed. A Harrow-educated investment banker with his own flat in Holland Park, Jasper had 'Tory' written all over him. And yet, his political views on Hinge were 'liberal'. Hence why I’d planned for him to be my champagne socialist Labour guinea pig. But a few minutes into our conversation, he explained he’d be voting Tory. His party line? That he didn’t trust Keir Starmer and didn’t see the point in voting for any of the other parties. But the more we spoke, the less left-leaning he seemed.
'I think men and women are just as bad as each other,' he posited when I explained a lot of my journalism involved reporting on violence against women. When I told him about a friend who’d been ignored by the police after reporting a stalker, he defended the police: 'Well, to play devil’s advocate…' If that wasn’t enough he called his female boss a 'psychopath' and one of his parting lines as we said goodbye was, 'I think you hate men.'
So, Jasper became my Tory guy. One I never saw again – and ghosted after he messaged me the following day.
Friday, 6.30pm, Max*: Labour
I was optimistic about Max – and not just because we’re politically aligned. Like me, he was a writer. Like me, he lived in south London. He was also my age and had a friendly face. We met for a drink at a pub off Marylebone High Street on a particularly balmy evening – the perfect setting for any first date. But the date itself was strained; Max didn’t look like his photos and seemed somewhat disinterested in talking to me about anything, let alone politics.
'The older I get, the more I realise how little I know about things,' he mused when I asked why he was voting Labour. So, why are you voting for them? 'Well, because I’m right on. So I obviously can’t vote Tory.' I wasn’t sure what he meant by this but as conversation lilted on, I discovered that Max was not particularly politically engaged beyond wanting to present himself as a Labour voter, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.
He had a lot of wealthy friends with Reform-voting parents and we enjoyed laughing about that. But that was the most insight I got into Max’s political leanings. He couldn’t answer any of my questions about Labour’s policies, and didn’t seem to know much about Keir Starmer besides the fact he’d recently gone to a Taylor Swift concert.
We did not kiss and neither one of us has been in touch with the other since our date.
Wednesday, 8pm, James*: Lib Dem
My hopes were also high for James. A funny, clever, publishing executive with some mutual friends, he ticked a lot of boxes. But like my previous two dates, he was voting Lib Dem out of avoidance, rather than active choice. 'The Tories obviously aren’t getting my vote because of how much they’ve f***ed up this country,' he said in between sips of Guinness. 'But I also can’t vote for Starmer because of how long it took for him to call for a ceasefire in Gaza. And Green just won’t win. So it’s Lib Dem for me.'
Is there anything you like about the party? 'They’re good on climate change and want a complete ban on conversion therapy. And I’ve always liked the colour yellow.' We agreed on the importance of these things. But it wasn’t enough to spark a romantic connection. James interrupted me a lot, and talked so quickly and furiously about himself and his work that it felt hard to get a word in. He was entertaining, sure, and I definitely found him physically attractive. But there was no spark. And even if there was at first, it evaporated soon after he told a story about how him and his friends trashed a countryside B&B after a friend’s wedding and 'had to tiptoe past the angry cleaners the next day'. I can only presume he thought I’d laugh at this, and not interpret it as obnoxious behaviour that makes him sound like an entitled oaf.
At the end of the date, talk of politics had fizzled as had any signs of a kiss. This was clarified when a cyclist got run over right in front of us. The cyclist was okay, thankfully. And I was too, once I’d said goodbye and got in an Uber home.
Sunday, 5pm, Fred*: Green
When you go on a date with someone voting Green, stereotypes warp your expectations. You’ll go to a zero emissions restaurant that serves a mix of raw vegetables and air. You’ll be chastised for wearing anything that isn’t secondhand. And most of the conversation will be about forest fires, melting ice, and our slowly collapsing planet. Not only are these assumptions hackneyed, they’re just wrong. As I discovered in my date with Fred, an ardent Green Party supporter.
We met at an east London brewery on a sunny Sunday afternoon and very quickly got into it. 'I was in between Labour and Green but I care a lot about environmental issues,' he explained before rattling off a list of the ones he cares the most about (greener transport and protecting animals). With mostly female friends, Fred is baffled by the 'Joe Rogan-esque' men they’ve dated. 'They’re still quite pathetic politically but hold far right views,' he said.
We agree on a lot of the political stuff, actually. More so than with any of the other men I’ve dated. But that’s where the compatibility ends. Whenever I try to steer the conversation to pop culture, or friends and family, he finds a way to bring it back to politics. I get it, and that’s what we’re here for. But it’s not enough to build a relationship from. We say goodbye and vow to meet again as friends.
The Verdict:
I’ve left my little dating experiment feeling unsure there’s any value in putting your political ideologies on your dating app profile. The first reason is that people are sometimes lying – see Tory Jasper – and the second is that how someone votes only tells you so much about who they are and what they value. It’s better to judge the person in front of you as opposed to whatever box they’ll be ticking on July 4. After all, people always end up surprising you.
*Names have been changed.
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