Head over heart… works every single time.
Four years ago, my best friend and I consumed two bottles of cheap white wine and agreed on a fact that had been glaringly obvious for years: I had truly, laughably, disturbingly bad taste in men.
From an athlete who insisted on calculating my body fat percentage to a cocaine-obsessed man-bun wearer, the dudes I brought home as a teenager were either dreamy artist types or Alpha Males with Outrageous Egos.
The one thing they all had in common? They were always met with tight, polite smiles and tactful “she’ll-grow-out-of-it” eye-rolls over my head at the family dinner table.
My shocking taste in men didn’t particularly matter while I was busy being young and ridiculous. But, as I grew to full-time-work age, I got serious. I didn’t want to waste my emotional energy dating a handsome architect only to discover he’d been a member of the Young Liberals, or invest three weeks into a guy before realising he was a misogynist who’d always insist on ordering (salad) for me on a date. I had a career and some travels to get started with.
And hell, call me a tragic, old-fashioned cliche but I just wanted an awesome, well-matched male human to do those things with — wich meant I had to try to resist my emotional pull towards loud-mouthed deadbeats and start listening to my brain, which knew my bad taste in men wasn’t doing me any favours.
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So, two bottles of cleanskin wine down, my friend and I wrote a checklist for our future life partners — and I vowed to only date men who ticked off every item.
Relationship-wise, it was the best thing I ever did.
Before you shout me down as an unromantic spontaneity-hater with a cold dead robot heart, this wasn’t one of those insane checklists covering everything from hairstyle to jocks-or-boxers preference. This was a bare-essentials, non-negotiable list of qualities without which I knew (from experience) I’d end up miserable.
Top of the list: kindness. The other nine items ranged from honesty, to similar political alignment, to a love of travel.
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My list worked like magic. Not immediately, because I soon started dating a sweet, skinny guy called Noel. He was funny and considerate, but I could tell he was nervous: in fact, he grew so awkward around me he would only kiss me on the cheek for a month.
The whole thing clearly wasn’t going to work out — he was worried I wouldn’t like what he had planned, so he’d always leave the plan-making for our dates to me — and eventually I called time, conceding my checklist hadn’t worked out the first time around.
I resolved to move on. So, at a gathering with some old school friends, I accepted a date with a well-groomed guy I’d once crossed paths with as a teenager.
He picked me up from my house. He took me to a slick, beautiful restaurant in a trendy part of town. He asked all the right questions, initiatived a democratic food-ordering process (no salad in sight), lent me a CD I’d been wanting to get my hands on and sent a warm, gramatically correct follow-up text.
He was nice.
More than nice: he ticked off most of the checklist.
But there was a niggling problem. I couldn’t get excited at his suggestions of a second date. I kept forgetting to respond to his messages. I didn’t bother Facebook-stalking him when he requested to add me as a “friend”. I just didn’t… care.
Then, some time after Noel and I had parted ways, there was a ring at my doorbell.
It was shy, skinny Noel, and he wanted to hang out one last time.
Pre-checklist, I would have said no. I would have expected some sweeping romantic gesture. I would have politely turned Noel away and awaited the next loud, plan-making, man-bun wearing ratbag to sweep me off my feet.
But a little part of my brain said: He’s kind! He’s honest! He loves travel, for God’s sake.
And luckily, a little part of my heart chipped in: You’ve missed this guy. He may not take you to the hippest restaurant in town but he’s funny and sweet and he buys your nanna flowers and it’s worth a go.
So I made plans with Noel.
Those plans led to some more plans, which led to some more plans (by which time he’d learned to actually plan a date).
Which led to us planning to move in together, which led to us planning to get married later this year.
So to those who write off checklists as a romance-killer, I say: try it first.
Jot down the top five or ten “non-negotiable” qualities you need in a partner, and make yourself a promise to date outside your usual dating box but squarely within that list.
It’s not enough on its own, sure; some guys who tick every single checklist quality might leave you cold, chemistry-wise. But, if you have my luck, it might open your eyes to someone you’d otherwise assume you wouldn’t realise you’ll click with — and for once, your head and your heart might actually find themselves in agreement.
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Top Comments
I agree with this approach, and used a version of it myself once upon a time, having dated several chaps who were... not that awesome in various ways. I acknowledged I wanted someone I could see a future with and decided ''right. No more as*hats!''. Look, it's not a list, but as soon as game-playing and worrying and ''trying not to appear keen'' type things enter the picture, my natural paranoia comes to the fore and it's more trouble than it's worth. Within 3 months I had met my husband. It was just... easy. Of course there was a smidge of ''will-he-won't-he-call'', but in a fun way, no anxiety or fretting. Neither of us is remotely perfect, but I chose well, a person for the very long haul, for the hard times as well as the good, a wonderful sense of humour, we each have strengths and weaknesses and he is my teammate. 10 years married this year! So much of the ''he must be gorgeous and super-hot and sensitive and LOOOOVEE mountain biking'' bullet points just fade after a while, not that there's anything wrong with any of those things, but deciding what is really important over the long haul is key, and being open to possibilities... being super-picky is lovely at 25. Not so much at 35, and it means that you either compromise on certain things or deal with being single.
I had a rough checklist of things I would prefer - not necessarily non-negotiables - as smart or smarter than me, tall (as I am tall-ish, I wanted taller), outdoorsy, practical, handy, not a "suit", not more than 4 years younger than me - and I ended up with a guy who met all my criteria, but it's all very subjective. I don't think it hurts to set our your expectations as long as you're flexible. You can't really predict the chemistry and what guy will make you laugh or be kind etc. In my early 20s I found some vain guys quite appealing (God knows why) but thankfully I grew out of that! It's easier if you have shared values and come from a similar background and find each other amusing.