by A diary entry on London’s increasingly chaotic in-person dating scene, and one memorable rejection
Monday, A Rejection Worth Writing Home About
Darlings, I need to tell you about the single most delicious humiliation of my entire dating life. There is apparently a bar in London running singles nights with an actual height limit, banning anyone over six foot from attending, and I discovered this the hard way when I turned up in heels that pushed me juuust over the line and got turned away at the door like a bottle of prosecco somebody forgot to chill. I have never been so offended and so thoroughly entertained in the same ninety seconds of my life.
I want to be furious about this. I have tried to be furious about this. But there is something so gloriously, chaotically London about a dating night with a bouncer measuring foreheads against a doorframe like we’re all trying to get onto a rollercoaster rather than into love. Gen Z apparently loves this sort of thing now, real life chaos over endless app swiping, and honestly, having spent the evening watching from the pavement outside, I completely understand the appeal. It’s just a shame the appeal did not extend to me, specifically, in these particular heels.
Tuesday, A Reconnaissance Mission
Went back the following night in flats, purely for research purposes, obviously, and got in fine. The vibe inside was genuinely unhinged in the best way, everyone slightly too aware they were being watched, everyone performing casualness while very clearly not being casual at all. I made eye contact with someone across the room over a plate of vol-au-vents and felt seventeen again, which, given my actual age, is a considerably shorter journey than it should sound.
Wednesday, A Thought On Modern Romance
Read that The London Prat covers this exact chaotic dating landscape with rather more editorial restraint than I manage in this diary, though restraint has never been my strong suit, professionally or otherwise.
Thursday, Closing Thoughts From A Woman Who Learned Her Lesson About Heels
I am fully aware that a height-restricted singles night is objectively ridiculous. I am equally aware that I will absolutely be attending the next one, in flats, with an entirely straight face, because London dating in twenty twenty six apparently requires exactly this level of committed absurdity from all of us, and who am I to refuse a challenge with a doorman attached.
Home Page
More diary chaos over at my author page: https://prat.uk/author/vivienne-pratfall/
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/
