The Sunday Times: Why are they still single?

Four women look at reasons why they haven't found the right man.

I'm too picky: Gemma Soames, 29, journalist

When my last boyfriend and I broke up, I knew that he would be happily shacked up again within a couple of months, and that I would most probably be single for about another six years. Six months down the line and, so far, so prescient. While he nests in rural bliss with his new girlfriend, I am drowning in the shallows of mysinglefriend.com, being propositioned by two Pauls and four Richards — one of whom also goes by the alias “the Jaegermeister”, and none of whom I can quite bring myself to actually meet.

I am one of those people who is single more often that not. Always have been. Yet, in spite of people’s protestations — and “You can’t possibly be single” really is up there in the annoying stakes. For starters, what is one meant to reply? “Because the world is mad”? — the fact that I don’t have a boyfriend isn’t surprising at all. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Because my kind of boyfriend is really hard to come by.

He needs to be (just) tall enough. And (just about) good-looking enough (but not so much so that I exist as the B-side to his fabulous, good-looking life). Then we need to factor in successful, solvent and driven. But (and this is where it tends to get tricky) he also needs to be long on genuinely good jokes, with a decent sideline in bad ones that only I find funny. He needs to speak good restaurant, to have no special dietary requirements and to always be discerning without ever being fussy. He needs to have never — not even for one drunk minute — sported directional facial hair. He needs to appreciate that a Dutch accent is hilarious. And he needs to be clever without ever making me feel stupid.

He needs to “get” but not “know” fashion. He needs to look like he moisturises, but have never actually done so, and be ready to look after me, yet totally let me get on with looking after myself. He needs to not own one single pair of side-buckle shoes. Or appear to use hair products. He needs to be brave enough to meet my sister, and to be able to say “Screw it. Let’s treat ourselves and go to Paris” without ever seeming one bit too flashy. And, when he’s around, he needs to be the only person in the room I’m really interested in talking to. And that, I fear, is the edited list.

My friend Jessie once pointed out to me — as I complained, again, that someone wasn’t quite right — that being so picky might not be the best idea. “Babe, you’re not Gisele” is how she broke the news. And she has a point. But this is how it is. I am picky, and I’m not prepared to compromise. I’d rather eat wasps than share my Sunday-night sushi with a man who wears tomato-coloured trousers.

I’m sure that, one day, my list will be whittled down by real life to “human and dog-loving”. And I may well end up happy with an unemployed, side-buckle-shoe-wearing, shea-buttered-up hair-gel aficionado. For now, though I’m holding fast. Because, from where I’m standing, settling for anything less just doesn’t seem an option. And I have a sneaking suspicion that he might be worth the wait.

I'm too independent: Edwina Ings-Chambers, 39, beauty director

Why am I single? Oh, you sound just like my mother. And yes, okay, maybe the fact that I have a tendency to prevaricate is a small part of the reason. Mostly, though, I think I’m single because I’m not bothered about being part of A Couple.

I don’t mind going through the mundanities of life on my own; in fact, I prefer doing the supermarket sweep on my tod, rather than turning every domestic chore into proof that I’m part of a bigger picture. I come from a large family, so I already know that I’m part of something greater than myself. And I like being able to organise myself without recourse to anyone else. Flying solo may mean I have all the pressure, but it also means I have all the freedom.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t like to find another half one day, and in reality I’m still waiting for

The One, for the Big Love, for the Real Deal. If I’m going to fall, then I want to be swept off my feet. More than that, I want a relationship that isn’t about making the small things more tolerable, but about making the bigger things more achievable — I want someone who encourages me to be unconventional, to risk everything on one turn of pitch and toss, someone who makes me dare. I don’t need my hand held through the day-to-dayness of life, I need one offered to catch me as I leap over the chasms and pitfalls of chasing my dreams. Right now, the best I can muster is to make the leap blind, scrabble on the scree on the other side and brush off my grazed knees by myself —and that’s if I manage to build up enough courage to take the leap at all. It can be painful — and even lonely.

If I yearn for anything, it’s having someone whose very presence reasons away my fears. But I do not see having a relationship as something that defines me, and I’m not prepared to treat it like a career — as many tell me I should. Apparently, I ought to set my mind to being a man-catcher, invest the same kind of focus, time and determination into meeting men that I invested in building my career — and fast, before I end up on the proverbial shelf. The snag is, I never even approached my career like that. I didn’t have a plan, I just worked hard and followed my instincts, and I don’t think that’s quite the strategy they mean. Likely I’ve watched way too many old movies for my own good, and can recite far more Bogie and Bacall exchanges than any modern woman should admit to. Yet I’m happy to sit it out and wait. He may not look as I imagine him — no raincoat or fedora, perhaps — but I’m happy to take the long view on romance and I’m willing to risk how it plays out. That much I can do alone.

I'm an alpha female: Lulu Le Vay, 38, music agent

At (a youthful) 38, I’m single. Single in the not-hitched-and-no-kids kind of way. Writing the word “single” next to “38” could make you shudder, but not when you remind yourself that more then half the women in London are without a ring on their finger.

In truth, I’ve been flying solo most of my life. I’ve always been able to attract and meet men, but I’ve not yet been able to make any of my relationships work in that happy-ending, soft-focus kind of way, if such a fantasy exists. If anyone is asked to describe me, the adjectives flow down a similar current: independent, feisty, strong-minded, high-achieving and, at times, intimidating. I’m not going to — and shouldn’t have to — apologise for it. Secretly, I quite like it.

I grew up with nine brothers, so I had to defend my corner. In short, I’m an alpha female. Sadly, the heavy scent of a strong, independent woman often proves too much for most men. My last serious relationship ended a year ago. I did genuinely think, for a few fleeting moments, that I might have met my life partner. But there was an imbalance. I had just landed a new contract and his business had just folded. After six months, it all went tits-up.

Since my twenties, I’ve prioritised making something out of my life. I’ve put the pedal to the metal pursuing a career I love, which gives me purpose, earns me respect and has helped to create the life I now have around me. I own a gorgeous flat with gorgeous things in it. I have a nice car. I’m a member of a fancy gym and I wear designer dresses. I do what I like, when I like. It endlessly surprises me how some men find all of the above tricky to deal with. In the last year alone, I’ve encountered a slew of lovely but insecure men. “Your flat is amazing, what must you think of mine?” they ask. “What can a man like me offer a woman like you?” “You’re far more successful and educated than I am.”

Well, boo-hoo. Could you all just man the hell up? Instead of being intimidated, step up to the challenge and let’s be an alpha couple.

I’ve been having too much fun: Francesca Gavin, 30, arts writer and curator

When I came out of the cosy quietness of my last long-term relationship, I became aware my party days were running out. There was only a limited time to play and do stupid things without looking like that ageing thirtysomething slurring at the bar. You’re only young once. And I was in no rush to find a new relationship.

I’m naturally sociable, and, while I was aware of the underlying superficiality of party life, I had no problem making the most of it. I’m very adaptable. I’m also freelance, and had no reason to force myself up in the mornings. And the invitations poured in. I dived head first into the art world, with its flow of openings, dinners and biennials. I spent days sunbathing by Shoreditch House’s pool, drinking passion-fruit chilli martinis. I went to dirty clubs in east London so often that a Hoxton cab company started giving me a discount. I wrote a book about creative people’s homes around the globe and spent a year exploring Tokyo, New York, Paris and Berlin, making friends and work contacts, having decadent nights at hotels and dive bars, kissing creative boys who looked cute, but were emotionally underdeveloped and on the young side. In short, the past couple of years have been a never-ending trip of hedonistic fun. Not surprisingly, I’ve remained single, bar a few flings. It is rather hard to forge a relationship when you are in and out of the country. I meet tons of men, but they’re the ones preoccupied with going out — who just want a good-time girl. And my life can sound ridiculous to a bloke doing the nine to five. When it includes drowning in prosecco at the Bauer Hotel, in Venice, before stopping in Paris, then heading to Basel, how do you respond to “What have you been up to?” without sounding like a show-off?

I’m beginning to rein things in, though. At heart, I’m rather old-fashioned, and would be happy to settle down. I’m tired of finding myself in inappropriate romantic situations. And I am bored with the hangovers and the worry of what all this fabulousness is doing to my health. But the grass is always greener. I heard a story about a 70-year-old Parisian lady in the Marais, going to bars in her furs and being escorted home by twentysomething men. It didn’t sound that bad a future.