In opposition to the smug marrieds, we singletons have always liked to position ourselves on the frontline of life, squaring off against creeps and weirdos in our valiant search for love. Already shut out of the property market and two-for-one meal deals, we’re now unfairly burdened by coronavirus, confronted with a new dilemma: risk infection by going on dates, or remain for ever alone.

Tinder, considered instrumental to a culture of casual sex and hook-ups, has warned users to “maintain social distance” – and carry hand sanitiser. OkCupid, meanwhile, has found that mentions of the virus on UK profiles are skyrocketing.

I am not active on any apps at the moment, but I have been picturing those first dates taking place against the backdrop of a global pandemic. It is easy to imagine the chat, at least. Coronavirus has handed single people the most obvious of openers. Screw getting-to-know-you questions about work or family – right now all conversations come back to the virus. It’s as ubiquitous as Brexit, but it moves faster and is less divisive than identifying as leave or remain. In fact, the pandemic has been oddly unifying: though we might not see eye to eye on the government’s response, we can all agree upon the threat posed by Covid-19.

The last non-political event I can remember that captured collective attention in this way was the Thai cave rescue in 2018: a similarly fast-moving saga, breaking from dreary politics with multiple points of entry (the boys dreaming of KFC, the approaching storm, Elon Musk’s offer of a hi-tech rescue to the trapped party before he called one of the rescue divers “pedo guy” in a now infamous tweet). The story offered something for everyone; it was the perfect first-date fodder.

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In that case, of course, the stakes were much lower (at least for those of us outside the cave). Yet dating, and app dating in particular, is a risk at the best of times. On the one hand, you’re making yourself vulnerable to rejection. And on the other, especially for women, you are meeting a stranger who may intend to do you harm.

In “putting yourself out there”, as we’re often told is crucial to dating success, single people weigh up the likelihood of such outcomes. Like the threat of catching a virus, these risks are nearly impossible to anticipate. There is a certain irony in that it’s only now Tinder has started warning users “of the risk of meeting in person”. Meeting a stranger you know from the internet has, to some extent, always been an exercise in trust.

Covid-19 is similar in this regard: our continued participation in society is premised on trusting that people are acting in each others’ interests. We have to assume that people who have the virus will isolate themselves – taking steps “not because we may feel personally at risk, but so that we can help lessen the risk for everyone”, as Zeynep Tufekci wrote recently for Scientific American. It is increasingly hard to know how to do so, with doctors warning that the virus may be spread by those not yet showing any signs of infection.

Once you have resolved to leave your home, how do you gauge or mitigate these risks? Do you ask your date to wash their hands in front of you? Bail on their second cough? And with no repartee sparkling enough to win you a kiss at the end of the night, you might reasonably ask yourself: why bother?

In this sense, the coronavirus crisis may offer some a reprieve. Those feeling fatigued by apps will be relieved to have an excuse not to participate – like a doctor’s note authorising you to sit out the dating game. But it is also a strange and unsettling time to be alone. As the US writer Madeleine Aggeler recently tweeted, “How many people are misguidedly reaching out to an ex during these trying times, I wonder.”

I received such a message myself (“thinking of you in this weird and scary time”). At 3am a friend of mine in a long distance relationship impulsively booked a flight across Europe to be with her partner in the UK, just before travel restrictions were imposed. “I panicked,” she said. More so than with any other crisis I can remember, weathering this one feels lonely, even if you’re not self-quarantined. You may have no reason to believe you are infected, but you remain hostage to an abstract sense of threat, even if coronavirus is no more real to you than a run on pasta at your closest supermarket.

I feel most for the people who are following the crisis alone. It is in this time of instability that you most want to retreat into relationships that make you feel safe, and supported – into a more secure, benign world of your own making. The greatest comfort to be had might be in sharing your anxiety and uncertainty with someone else. If not your saliva.

• Elle Hunt is a freelance journalist





