I once made the mistake of going on a Tinder date with an aspiring comedian. By the time our main courses arrived he had shared his full sexual history, including a graphic description of a foursome with some travellers he had met on a couchsurfing site. I had always assumed these were meant for people who needed a cheap place to stay, but apparently at least one doubles as a hook-up app for casual-sex enthusiasts who hate hotel room charges. Eventually, after a long speech on female independence, he told me that he only paid for dinner when the girl was “very attractive”, so I plotted my escape while we split the bill. I thought he would be happy to call it a night, but no such luck. As I scrambled to find an emergency Uber, he grabbed hold of my foot, asking if he could lick my “sexy” toes all night. I declined his offer and spent my journey home wondering if it’s possible to shower your own skin off.

There have been plenty of other disappointing dates over the years, including Andy the monosyllabic advertising consultant, Will the food thief who wouldn’t let me finish a sentence, and a Greek racist who would only eat white dairy products. Other encounters have felt more like the icebreaker at a banking conference than the start of a Romeo and Juliet remake.

Online dating is useful for older singles like me (I’m 34), whose married friends are too busy cleaning up toddler poo to act as wing woman. These days, everyone I meet in real life is already in a committed relationship. Yet, after 18 months on the scene, I’m struggling to develop any excitement about people I’ve never seen in the flesh. I often end up ghosting people after exchanging a handful of messages. When 90% of dates lead to disappointment, revulsion or a vague sense of doom about the future of the human race, dancing to Taylor Swift in your bedroom and rehearsing an imaginary Oscars speech seems like more fun.

We all know a bad workman blames his tools, so I decide to speak to my friends about my dating patterns. Never ones to hold back, they tell me that I am too judgmental, writing off good men for all the wrong reasons. Instead of giving someone a chance, I’ll leave after the first date because he can’t use apostrophes or doesn’t turn my stomach into a butterfly-filled frenzy of passion. They also tell me I’m too forgiving of narcissists and commitment-phobes, willing to make excuses for “complicated” blokes who frequently lose the ability to send text messages.

Persia Lawson, dating coach and author of The Inner Fix, says that if you are repeatedly drawn to emotionally unavailable people, it is probably a defence mechanism. “People say they’re looking for a committed relationship, but when an available person comes along, they dismiss them due to lack of ‘spark’,” she explains. “In reality, they’re terrified of real commitment. There’s a sadomasochistic pleasure that comes with dating emotionally unavailable men.”

As a dreamy flibbertigibbet who grew up with Disney movies as her primary source of spiritual guidance, it is tempting to wait for a prince to climb my hair and carry me off to an all-you-can-eat cheese restaurant. But instead of going 100mph or avoiding people who don’t take your breath away the second you meet, Persia recommends taking it slow. “Try rotational dating, where you meet different people for coffee, walks or a trip to the cinema or a museum. Anything that doesn’t involve late nights and alcohol is good, as drinking can influence your dating decisions in an unhealthy way and give you false confidence.”

Her advice makes perfect sense. You wouldn’t expect to develop a close friendship overnight, so why do we expect so much from the people we date? Some of the best and most solid relationships develop over time, without instant infatuation to cloud your judgment.

What I've learned about men from countless hours of Tinder | Lane Moore Read more

According to Lawson, it’s also important to be honest and avoid playing games. Provided you don’t turn up to a first date with wedding dress patterns and a list of possible names for your as-yet-unconceived child, there’s no reason you can’t be upfront about what you want.

But when you have spent 15 years chasing players who have the emotional intelligence of a toothbrush, how do you change your ways and start choosing better men? Lawson says that rather than looking for the person I fancy the most, I should focus on shared values. “You need to have standards for yourself, but don’t be unrealistic or superficial. It doesn’t matter if a man isn’t three inches taller than you or a woman isn’t a certain weight. You can have preferences, but focusing on them too much is part of love avoidance and you keep people out by having strict specifications. The only thing you need to ask is how your date makes you feel about yourself as person. Do you feel comfortable? Do you share the same values? Do you want the same things?”

Taking Lawson’s advice, I refresh my dating profile on Bumble and get swiping. After exchanging messages with a web developer called James, we agree to meet after work at a local pub. There will be booze involved, but I have set myself a deadline to come home at 9pm and finish some work. This also doubles as the perfect escape plan in case he turns out to be a homicidal maniac who collects human hair in jam jars. Although I have zero expectations, the date is a success and it is the most comfortable I have felt with a man in months. He is laid-back and has a good sense of humour, the kind of guy you could introduce to your friends without having to get them drunk first. When we say goodnight, he’s reserved and polite, a stark contrast to the men who have kissed me, declared their undying passion and then disappeared into the sunset in a cloud of sexy cologne. There was no instant chemistry, but we exchange a few messages the next day and he’s keen for us to have dinner together when we’re both free.

In the meantime I arrange a coffee date with Luke, who works in advertising. Within the hour it’s clear that, while he’s a perfectly nice guy, there’s very little common ground and we don’t share the same sense of humour. I’m grateful I took Lawson’s advice to arrange a coffee date rather than dinner or drinks, where we might feel compelled to spend longer in each other’s company. We exchange a few messages afterwards, but it soon fizzles out.

After a second successful date with James at an Indian restaurant, I arrange to meet up with an actor outside the V&A museum. Usually I would be wary of flamboyant men, but he seems chatty and outgoing, totally different from the dry-humoured type of guy I usually go out with. I’m not sure if I fancy him, but I’m so impressed by his encyclopedic knowledge of Britney Spears albums that I am up for another date.

The next week, James and I enjoy a few more PG get-togethers, before agreeing to meet up at the London Wetland Centre to see the otters. To his credit, he doesn’t complain when I insist we queue up in the cold for a good view at feeding time, and we spend the rest of the day sharing newly acquired trivia about mustelids. He also gets bonus points for not pretending to be with someone else when I jump up and down, squealing: “Look how cute the otters are!”

I don’t know if my refreshed approach to dating will lead to happily ever after, but keeping an open mind is helping me to enjoy the process again. For now I’m ready to forget the fairytale myth and enjoy online dating for what it is: a chance to meet interesting people and explore new parts of town. If something doesn’t work out I will, in the wise words of Dory the fish, “just keep swimming” until I find what I’m looking for. Perhaps my Disney education wasn’t completely wasted after all.

Some names have been changed.