Table for The One, Please

When it comes to finding love, we're told to watch for red flags, keep our standards high, and never settle. But when nothing on the dating menu is catching our eye, we have to ask: At what point does self-protection become self-sabotage?

- By Hayley Peppin

I've never been a picky eater, nor a particularly choosy person.

I'm always the first to try a weird menu item, suggest a new bar, or eat my way around the world. But when it comes to dating? My friends would say I'm Michelin-star “picky”—or, more diplomatically, I should “just keep an open mind”. But wow, it's hard in 2025—when gym guys care more about selfies than self-care, finance bros trade you the second a 'better deal' comes along, and the footy lads reserve Saturday nights for loud sports bars (and Sunday hangovers for “the boys”).

To be clear, I’m not expecting an astonishingly handsome Insta prince to whisk me away to the Maldives. (Although...would I go? Absolutely.) I just have a certain taste: Lanky creatives, tortured artists, photographers, hot chefs. Essentially, someone who hates capitalism, yet drops money on orange wine and vinyl (he probably shares a quarter of his kitchen with housemates, and the nonworking record player's part of the art collection—but I digress). Is it really too much to ask?