Today may be the final day of Dry January, but it appears that the younger generation are committed to turning their backs on alcohol for much longer. Photo / Laure Noverraz, Unsplash
Today may be the final day of Dry January, but it appears that the younger generation are committed to turning their backs on alcohol for much longer. Photo / Laure Noverraz, Unsplash
Opinion by Eleanor Steafel
OPINION:
My flatmate bursts through the door fresh from a first date. “You’re home early?” I say. ”Yes, because - and I’m not joking - he’s just driven me home,” she retorts. Her date wasn’t drinking. He had a pint of coke, she had a glass of wine, then heoffered to give her a lift back. “I feel like I’ve gone back in time to the 1950s,” she says. “Or been out for the evening with my grandad.”
If that sounds sweetly old-fashioned, I’d hazard a guess you have never put yourself through the unmitigated torture that is starting a relationship via an app.
The world of digital dating has, in one way or another, always been fairly hellish to navigate (the early days of match.com - circa 1995 - must have been interesting), but I’d venture this era, where the potential object of your affections is as likely to order a sparkling water as a pint of Guinness, has to be among the worst.
Today may be the final day of Dry January, but it appears that the younger generation are committed to turning their backs on alcohol for much longer. One recent study showed that out of a group of 16-25 year-olds, more than a quarter described themselves as teetotal. I’m 31, but it’s a growing trend within my age bracket too, particularly among men. It means that the cinematic image you might have of two strangers at a small corner table, nervously clutching a glass of wine, is becoming less and less common. These days, your date is as likely to suggest an oat flat white and a walk around the park as they are a Thursday evening in the pub.
As a general rule, I find dates fall into three categories. There are the horror shows where the best you can hope for is that, at some point, your shoddy evening will provide the source material for an entertaining story; the middle-of-the-road assignations which were inoffensive, but just weren’t for you; and then, very occasionally, there is the elusive good date, the rare fizzy, hopeful evening with a man who is funny and interesting, who doesn’t treat you like a free therapist, who asks you questions about yourself - and who you actually want to see again.
I have been on dating apps for about five years and, lately, a fourth category has emerged. It has crept in slowly, but now seems to be a permanent fixture in the dating landscape. Enter the era of the alcohol-free date.
Somewhere between the birth of the wellness movement and the tail end of the pandemic, men stopped drinking. Swiping through my Hinge app, every other man appears to be sober. When interrogated, they all have different reasons. Some are health nuts, one had somehow never tried alcohol, one had a bet with a friend that he couldn’t do Dry January last year and, when he made it to February, having not touched a drop, just decided to keep going.
I’m yet to get to the bottom of the phenomenon, but through the course of my “research”, a few types have emerged. There are the “I’ll just have one drink or I won’t sleep” men - generally tech nerds and start-up founders, all more interested in being sharp for their morning meeting than having a fun, flirty night out. Then there are the “I don’t ingest stimulants of any kind because my body is a temple” people. Artists, actors, civil servants; they’re possibly vegan, definitely do yoga, almost certainly wear Crocs and socks. Then (most challenging of all) there are the guys who “just never liked the taste”. Could they not just try a bit harder? It should be said this particular subsection are often, though not exclusively, men with “ambitions to start a podcast”. Need I say more?
"There’s something slightly uncomfortable about being the only one drinking." Photo / Luis Alvarez
As I navigate this strange new land, it’s at least some comfort to know I’m not alone. A friend has had a string of low or no-alcohol dates recently. One man drank half pints which he picked up with two hands as if they were a child’s beaker (“I just thought, ‘If he can’t handle a full pint, how can he handle me?”’ said my friend). There was a sweet, nervous guy who “drank orange juice like there was no tomorrow. It meant he was always quite hyper. It just wasn’t sexy.” And, most recently, the date who would “sip one G&T in the same time it took me to down five wines”. It didn’t put her off, but still “it was a shame”, she said, as “there’s nothing sexier than a man who can work his way around a wine list”.
It’s not essential that my date should be a big drinker. This is 2023, after all, and I’m all for people prioritising their mental health and not feeling pressured to overdo it on the booze, or even to drink at all if they don’t want to. Not to mention the fact that “drunk” by no means equals “fun”. I once walked out of a date when the guy turned up already hammered. But, if I’m being absolutely honest, it does put me off. Apart from anything else, a glass of wine takes some of the awkwardness out of a first date with a stranger. And there’s something slightly uncomfortable about being the only one drinking.
One friend is calling time on sober dates. “I don’t go on dates with guys who don’t drink - I filter them out.” Another is embracing it. “In some ways it’s good. No hangover the next day, assessing a potential suitor without beer goggles. But I miss the days of flirting tipsily over a negroni in a dark bar.”
My married friends at the other end of their 30s are baffled by this phenomenon. “I’d never have gone out with anyone if I didn’t drink,” says one. “I definitely wouldn’t have got together with my husband if we hadn’t been three gin and tonics down at a party one night in the early noughties.”
Though one friend does point out that if you begin a relationship getting tipsy in pubs, there is the inevitable moment, a year in, when you realise you’ve “set the bar too high and your partner thinks you’re going to be that fun forever”. At some point, she says, “you’re just watching telly in your trackies on a Tuesday night, sober, eating an average stir-fry.”
I also know that abstaining from alcohol isn’t a personality trait - I truly don’t want to judge a person based on whether or not they drink, particularly not before I’ve even met them. But in the strange world of modern app dating, you have very little information to go on before you choose to meet up, and the tiny cues you might get from a person’s profile (made up of a few pictures and a mini CV) can be enough to put you off, or intrigue you. It forces you to filter people in a way you might not in real life. If I met someone at a party or at work, got to know and like them, and it just happened to be that they didn’t drink, I can safely say it wouldn’t be a problem. On an app? It’s as good a reason as any to swipe by and onto the next.
I’m keenly aware it may not reflect well on me that I need to share a drink on a date. I should probably learn how to flirt without a margarita in my hand. I think it just comes down to an overwhelming desire to inject some fun back into a part of life which - more often than not - feels like a huge chore. I don’t need to be drunk to have a good time, but I do think sharing a couple of glasses of wine can help make the awkward business of getting to know a stranger a little easier.
