Lockdown seemed like the perfect time to update the old Hinge profile. All the time in the world to dig into the back catalogue and find some photos where I look a touch healthier than my current shade of pale, that could understandably be mistaken for some sort of vitamin deficiency. I open the app with an air of wistfulness of what could be. Then I see them. The god awful prompt questions. If you are not familiar with these questions they truly make you want to curl up into a little ball and text your ex, begging them to take you back just so you don't have to go through the humiliation of answering painstaking questions such as, "Dating me is like..." and "What I always order the table..." and the one that really makes you question people's time; two truths and a lie. When did this awkward office ice breaker become an acceptable pick-up line? FYI, everyone has been in an Uber pool with someone famous or is a stunt double for someone famous- because apparently that is actually a real job. Who knew?
After staring at the question "A shower thought I once had..." for about ten minutes and deciding responding with "I need to get more shampoo, but I should probably try a shampoo bar because this plastic packaging is insane, but where the hell do you get a shampoo bar from in a lockdown?"wasn't very sexy, I deleted the app. Maybe rash, but after losing an hour of my life trying to impress strangers with my less than witty banter and subpar photos, I make peace with my decision and brand it as a move of defiance, saying things to my friends like, "I'm giving myself a break from it all" and "I'm putting myself first".
But what next? How does one spend their time if not mindlessly swiping those in the surrounding vicinity? That my friends is when Beyonce spoke to me. Whilst on a run, her Coachella performance started playing. As you can imagine, this prompted me to start bounding down the road as if I were a model in an Ivy Park advert, showing off the true durability of the sporty but stylish hybrid. I arrive home inspired. I re-watch the Beychella performance (for the tenth time), agog at her prowess. Then, inspiration strikes me, "I will learn her dance!" I proclaim to my less than interested housemate.
As I struggle to catch sight of myself practicing in front of the only full length mirror in the flat, I envision raucous post lockdown scenes of me parting packed dance floors with my new moves looking as good as Bey in some Daisy Duke's and a hoody. Ha. Yeah right. But I persist. Because although this routine will never be seen by a soul, much less on a Hinge profile, I am channelling my inner Beyonce and right now that can only be a good thing, right?