I read this one to Patreons in December, and it’s long, so here’s this post as audio if you prefer.
I have a message here for men. And before I get stuck into it, I’ll clarify (as I always have to) that obviously I don’t mean all men. In fact this time I don’t even mean ‘most’ men. I am speaking very precisely to single, straight/bi/pan men in London between the ages of about 30 and 50. My message is this: up your game.
I recently broke up with Hot Punk Guy. Again. Definitely for good this time. I won’t go into detail about why, for now all you need to know is that what he did was not illegal, it was just grim. Breathtakingly unworthy of the man I thought he was. It was also harmful to my mental health in ways I have to acknowledge somewhere, or you’ll wonder why my writing has become so dark and weird. I’m doing my best to get better, and I will. I might also tell the story at some point if I can write it wisely, but right now I’m not in the headspace to do that with restraint. I want to spit it from my mouth like so much blood after a sucker punch.
Let’s leave him aside, and focus on my message. Men of London who are close to me in age! If you are single and horny and kind and fun and emotionally intelligent enough to understand the basics of how to form an adult relationship, I want you to sort your shit out, get yourself ready and up your fucking game. Because I will be back on the apps in 2025, God help me. I’m gonna say probably Feeld and Hinge. I’ll also be speed dating (the dating challenges live on!), and hitting up people I know to see if they’ll arrange blind dates with men in their networks, or be down for casual sex or threesomes or whatever. But mainly I’ll be scrolling through profile after profile after profile, trying to find a boyfriend who is worthy of my time.
One of the outcomes of this particular break-up is that I feel quite paranoid and anxious. I’ve had moments when I dip into such intense self-loathing that I feel almost high off it. This is why I’m not on the apps right this minute, because basic care for my fellow humans leads me to conclude that I shouldn’t try and fuck them when I can barely bring myself to eat or sleep. But I’ll be OK soon, and the fact that it might take a month or two gives the single men of London time to do some work on themselves in preparation for my return to dating.
Up your game!
What if I valued myself
Although, as I say, I’ve been struggling, there are moments when the cloud lifts and I can see a glimpse of the person I used to be peeking back through at me. A person who, I’m sorry to say, I haven’t really been for a long time. When I first started blogging, I did so with arrogance – some might say ‘confidence’ – about who I was, what I wanted and crucially what I would not accept in terms of behaviour from lovers. As the years have gone on, I think in large part because I’m trying not to upset or disrespect the men I write about here on the blog, I’ve become a lot smaller. When men do things that shatter parts of my heart and my life, I work hard to only show you glimpses of the wreckage. I rush around, picking up the pieces of whatever it is they’ve smashed, and then I eat those pieces like handfuls of broken glass, desperately hoping I can process and digest it before any readers notice what a horrible mess has been made.
I commit to being kind to exes here on the blog, and broadly I want to stick to that. But weirdly I think I’ve internalised the false belief that being ‘kind’ to the men I have dated means being cruel to myself. Never publicly acknowledging the ways I’ve been hurt, or sometimes even that I’ve been hurt at all. Chowing down on all this pain even though it rips my throat to swallow it.
But before I trained myself to do this, I used to have self worth. If I look deep enough inside my heart I can still see a flicker of it somewhere. And that part of me – the one that still glimmers with the fire of confidence that burned brightly in my soul before unworthy men pissed it down to embers – wants to say this:
Up your game.
I don’t find myself fixating sexually on my ex, like I have with past loves and fuck buddies. In the very near future, when I am well, I am going to be extremely ready and incredibly, cunt-drench-eager to find a decent boyfriend. Emphasis on decent, I swear to God. Someone who treats me with respect and care and kindness.
I don’t need you to buy me gifts or dinner. I don’t care if you’re physically fit. I don’t need you to have hot tattoos or a strong jawline or nice teeth or a biteable arse. I sure as shit don’t need you to be rich.
I need you to be a good person with a moral compass, emotional intelligence and the ability to recognise and work on your own flaws. I need you to spend genuine quality time with me, not insist all our dates take place in front of a screen. I need you to listen when I speak, and care about the way I feel. Treat me like a person of equal value to yourself. If you’re horny, that’s a bonus, but as long as you kiss and touch me every day, and you want to have fun, playful sex once a week I don’t even care about quantity. These are the rock-bottom basics. And this isn’t too much to ask.
I am actually pretty fucking great
I am good at sex, for a start. I don’t mean this in a simplistic way – I don’t have a special magic tongue trick that’ll make you spaff buckets in less than a minute. I mean ‘I am good’ like ‘I am really really fun in bed.’ I am open and honest about my own kinks, and eager to try yours out too. I’m exceptional at creating a space where you feel comfortable exploring your own desires without shame. That, to me, is what it means to be good in bed, and I’ve had years of practice at doing it. You don’t need infinite stamina, a wardrobe full of sex toys or impeccable hand job technique, just do your best to meet me where I’m at. Open up, be vulnerable. Stop performing and start connecting. Make noises, communicate, listen, and recognise that what you’re getting in return is not to be taken for granted. I’m a fucking expert, lads: up your game.
I am worth significantly more effort than some of you have been putting in! I often get messages from dudes sidling up to try and fuck me, and 99% of these are so utterly, obviously beneath me it takes my breath away that this man had the audacity to hit ‘send’. Some guys slide into my DMs to try for a fuck with messages that consist of fewer than twenty words. Are you high?! That’s the energy you’re putting in to the swing you’re taking at a professional sex blogger? Up your game!
Last time I was single, I had a man in my inbox ask for advice on how to get a particular woman he was dating into bed, and in the final paragraph of that email he added a throwaway remark about how he was gonna be in town soon if I fancied a date with him too. Like I was a snack he could pick away at while waiting for his main course.
UP YOUR GAME!
The last time I was on Feeld my inbox was chock-full of the most pointless, spammy little messages: hey! How are you doing? How are you doing today? How are you this fine Friday? What’s up? What you up to?
Up your game!
Of the men who sent me actual proper messages, a fairly large proportion spent either half their profile or half their first message talking about their primary partner, giving a strong impression that they weren’t interested in me as a person, but me as a wank sheath for when their other girlfriend was busy. Up your game! I’m not hating on polyamorous people, I’ve enjoyed sex with many of the lovelier ones. But in my experience, a significant number of straight, polyamorous men on dating apps do not have anything like the emotional intelligence to manage an additional sexual relationship. As evidenced by the fact that they put no effort whatsoever into understanding the person they’re approaching to try and score one.
Up your game! Treat me like a person! Recognise my value! I am worth so much more than you’re offering.
Up your game: I am worth more than this
I don’t wanna pull this card out too often, but I’ve never truly slammed it down on the table before with gusto so indulge me: I am Girl on the fucking Net. I’m worth more than this! And if you’re thinking ‘wow, what an arrogant cunt’ then let me remind you that when I’m not blowing this oxygen into the dying embers of what remains of my self-worth, I spiral towards powerful depression and full-body highs of such abject self-loathing that I find myself struggling to eat. I’m fuelling this fire for the sake of my own health and sanity, so if you don’t agree that I deserve to be treated well, please step aside and make room for someone who does.
I once had a brief almost-a-date with a man who was definitely down to fuck, on a day when I was especially horny. He’s a musician and I’d come to one of his gigs on my own. That is how keen I was to get laid. After the gig, I invited him to a nearby park to smoke weed (my mating rituals are simple but effective). All he needed to do was be vaguely interesting, and in possession of an ounce of self-awareness. And yet! We got through two full joints while he held court about the book he was writing, without showing any interest in me whatsoever. He explained – to me, a professional writer, who has had not one but two of her own books published – quite a lot about the craft of writing a memoir! He did not ask a single question, or even really let me speak at all. In fact, he barely paused to take a breath. Even when he tugged on the joint he’d time the toke for halfway through a sentence so I couldn’t speak up without rudely cutting him off. I couldn’t even get out three small words – ‘fancy a shag’ – because he would not shut up for long enough. This guy knew I was a sex blogger, by the way, and he definitely wanted to bang. He walked me to the station like an eager puppy, hoping he’d be invited back to mine, then looked baffled when I gave him the weary hug that finally marked the end of his three-hour monologue. I went out that night to fuck, and instead I got fucking filibustered.
Jesus fucking Christ. UP YOUR GAME!
Therapists I have known across the years will be leaping from their seats and cheering as I write the following sentence but… I am worth so much more than this. Men of London! If you want to chance your arm at fucking someone who is as emotionally intelligent, creatively filthy, loving, kind and horny as I am, I need – and I sure as shit deserve – a bit more effort than you’ve been putting in.
I am worth a bit of effort
When I tell you to up your game, I am not just talking about dating and attraction. If you are my boyfriend and you say you love me, then I deserve to be loved in practice, not just words. I deserve to not be lied to or gaslit. I am worth a bit of restraint on your part not to yell at me in anger or talk down to me or crack on to my friends when you’re drunk. I am worth getting up off the sofa for, not insisting every evening’s activity be ‘Netflix and I suck your cock’. I am articulate and introspective and very very good at examining and explaining how I feel in any situation – that’s the kind of precious gift I’d kill to have from any lover, so it’s worth your time to listen, no? Make some fucking space!
I’m not just good at sex, I’m good at relationships, too. This isn’t an accident, I put a lot of work into it. I decided long ago that I never wanted kids, and 11 years ago that I wanted to write about love and sex for a living. So relationships – romantic and sexual – are not just something I do outside of the 9-5 grind. They are my focus, my career, my hobby and my fucking raison d’etre.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m often at my happiest when single, I genuinely adore my freedom. Plus I’ve already been offered some deliciously ruinous fucks by casual connections who are happy to pop into my life in between heartbreaks. However, it does feel like something of a waste when I’m going through life only getting occasionally fucked. Me! Girl on the Net! Having nowhere to pour my reserves of energy, ideas, plans, desires, lusts, etc. Having to fuck people with condoms, for crying out loud, when what I deserve is a decent boyfriend and all the bareback sex I can cram into my ravenous cunt.
This is not on me (or you)
It is not unreasonable for me to admit this. I have to say that to myself, over and over again, like a mantra. Because even as I type the words I feel a giant wave of something that might be false shame: how dare I tell you all that not only do I want this, I literally deserve it? What an arsehole! But I’m doing it anyway, and I think you should too. Because you do deserve it. I’m not saying ‘you deserve it’ like you deserve housing and healthcare and other things that I believe should be human rights – I’m not a fucking incel about it. I’m saying ‘you deserve this’ like ‘if somebody wants to fuck you, you deserve to have them treat you like a person’. Recognise your value.
I think you should pick the best things about yourself, write them down, then read them over and over. Say them aloud in a mirror. Remind yourself of who you are and what you are worth. When people treat your love like it is cheap, worthless trash, it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that they are right to do so. Believing that you are trash too. Of no value. If someone tells you they love you, but treats you like absolute shit, sometimes you train yourself into believing that this is just what you deserve. Especially if you’re also in the habit of trying to process the wreckage without ever showing your pain. This person who loves you treats you like shit, and it’s embarrassing to show other people the extent of that, and therefore how utterly worthless you must be.
But you aren’t worthless.
And sometimes in order to guide yourself out of the pit of believing you are, you have to stoke the embers of your self-confidence. Remind yourself that this didn’t happen because you aren’t good enough. It happened because other people did not know how to behave. There was no amount of love I could have poured into my relationships that would have magically prevented the men who harmed me from doing the things that they did. That’s on them: not me.
Maybe they should up their fucking game!
If I’m in a relationship with you I will spend a not insignificant amount of my time trying to come up with brand new ways to make you smile. Or laugh. Or, yes, sometimes spaff buckets in less than a minute. So please, if you want to be on the receiving end of that, understand that you need to make an effort in return.
I am not telling you that you have to be as good at this as I am. I don’t expect any man to be as good at this as I am. Come sit a little closer so I can whisper this in your ear: I have rarely met a man as good at this as I am! And by ‘this’ I mean broadly ‘love, sex and relationships’. Connection. Making people feel comfortable in the bedroom and in life, being honest and open about your own feelings and creating space for the other person to share theirs. Emotional introspection. Understanding. Thinking of your partner and practicing love for them on a daily basis. Responding to problems by listening first and foremost, then engaging in constructive dialogue. Offering reassurance and compassion when they’re struggling. Embarking on sex as connection, not mere performance. Asking questions to tease out someone’s thoughts, ideas, fantasies, future dreams.
Again, if you think this is arrogant, I need to remind you (in fact, remind myself) that none of this happens by accident: I am better at it than the average person because I have thought about it and practiced it for years. You wouldn’t tell your mate they were arrogant for saying they’d beat you at pool if they’d been a member of their local pub team for over a decade and you’d barely picked up a cue! So it shouldn’t be weird of me to acknowledge the simple truth that this thing I have thought about and read about and worked at for most of my adult life is something I do better than the average dickhead on Feeld.
I don’t expect any man to be as good at this as I am. I am more than willing, and very very able to hold your hand through the difficult bits. But in exchange, I expect you to try.
Up! Your! Game!
Up your game: Minimum standards
Here’s what that looks like in practice. First: fill out your fucking profile. Add detail about who you are and what you want. When you compose your first message to that cool woman on Hinge who – remember – might turn out to be that sex blogger you’ve wanked to so frequently… make sure you ask her a fucking question! Not ‘how are you this fine Tuesday?’ but something considered and personal about whichever part of her profile caught your eye. If nothing in her profile intrigued you enough to want to enquire further: MOVE ON. Get out of the way! Stop wasting my fucking time!
When you’re on a date: ask questions. Listen to what your date is saying then ask follow-ups about the things which grab your attention. If nothing they say interests you? Be honest with yourself about that and see above: MOVE ON!
When you’re at the next stage, where you’re starting to form a relationship, make an effort and approach that with honesty too. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not – monogamous if you’re actually a serial cheat, for example. Don’t try to perform kink in bed if you aren’t feeling it. Don’t assume what I’m thinking or feeling, or expect me to read your mind in return: communicate! Listen as much as you speak! When I tell you to ‘up your game’, part of that means working on your self-awareness, so you learn what you want and how to talk about it. Do some emotional introspection. Unpack your baggage so you understand exactly what’s there, and learn how to deal with it so it doesn’t spill out and hurt the person you’re dating. This shit is not always easy, but it’s important. And I’m worth it.
When I say ‘up your game’ I mean that I’m 40 years old now, and I don’t have time for men who make extremely basic bitch relationship mistakes: not being fully over your ex before you start dating again; not being honest about what you want and who you are; interfering with my friendships; shouting at me in arguments because you can’t control your temper; talking over me about topics in which I am demonstrably more of an expert than you.
Up your game!
Stop wasting my time
You might be able to surmise from this rant that I am not looking forward to dating. I used to love dating – I found it fun and exciting to have the chance to meet new men each night, maybe tumble into bed and get a passable fuck and a fun story out of even the most casual encounter. These days that’s not what I want. I am not interested in racking up numbers or gathering silly little stories with no depth – I want the connection, intimacy, filth, power and joy that comes from fucking someone with whom I feel truly comfortable. Someone I can trust.
A few years back I wrote a post about what I really want: I want to fuck someone for decades. I want to be with somebody long-term who treats me kindly, is fun, and gets stuck right in to sex and love and joy the way that I do. Someone who is willing (and able) to build a lasting relationship in which both of us actively work to create something beautiful. You don’t need to be great at it like I am, you just need to make an effort and avoid making basic mistakes.
Treating me like a spare girlfriend. Asking me to arrange a threesome on our third date. Sitting through four hours of drinks and dinner without asking a single question, not even a ‘how about you?’ to throw it back when I’ve asked something interesting. Pretending to be someone you’re not. Belittling me. Nagging for nudes. Yelling at me. Lying to me. Critiquing my physical appearance. Throwing childish tantrums in front of my friends and family because you didn’t get exactly what you wanted. Making pointed comments about the ways your ex girlfriend was better. Issuing controlling diktats about how and when I may speak. Being so incapable of basic introspection that you let every single one of your insecurities spill out and burn me like acid.
I should make it very clear that this post contains a variety – a smorgasbord – of shitty acts performed by many different men: my most recent ex is not responsible for all of them, or even most. But in his very own words:
“You didn’t deserve any of this.”
Correct. I fucking didn’t.
Men of London: treat me better! Up your fucking game!
I have never been in this position after a break-up before, where I’m already thinking about the next man. Usually it takes time to unpick all the love I had for the last one, process and digest and overcome it (because love’s an addiction) before I’m ready to usher someone else into my heart. But this time all the love I had shattered in less than a second – I don’t have to cure myself of the feeling like I have in the past. Besides, I’m very keen to find someone who I can fuck for decades, and my time on this planet is limited, so I’m sick and tired of those who keep getting in my way. I am Girl on the fucking Net! I write my best stuff when I’m in love! I am itching for the chance to explore deeper connections, more creative sex, and brand new methods of practicing love with someone who brings that same energy. If you can’t do these very basic things – not ‘easy’ necessarily, but basic, obvious things like ‘just being honest’ – then please step the fuck back and let someone more worthy have a go.
If think you might be that worthy someone, and you are willing to leap over the very low bar of being up front about your needs and desires when you fill out your online dating profile, then I say to you: get ready. Sort your shit out, get your act together, and be prepared to bring your A game from now on.
I will see you very soon on Hinge or on Feeld. And if you want to be the lucky man who wins this shining prize, you’d better understand how much it’s worth. And make an effort.
Up.
Your.
Game.