Why should I be a caretaker for an old man? What would you give me a flat? A car? she blurted, without a hint of softening, staring at me as if I were not a man in my prime but an outofdate product on a clearance rack that the shop had forgotten to discount in time. In that moment, for the first time in years, I wondered whether the world had finally turned upside down: at fortythree I was already being labelled oldtimer, and the price of a relationship was being placed on the table outright, with no flirtation, no games, no coyness.
I was fortythree. I had never married; there had been two cohabitations, each lasting about two years, ordinary, lively, without drama, simply ending as mature adults. I had always regarded that as a plus no alimony, no exspouses, no emotional baggage, no endless comparisons or fights. Yet, in todays reality, that seemed less a merit than a suspicious anomaly, as if never having been married meant something was wrong with me, a hidden defect that had missed certification.
I decided, honestly, that it was time. I wanted a family, a woman by my side, beautiful, wellkept, young I will not lie, I preferred someone under twentyeight, both pleasant to look at and able to provoke a jealous comment from friends: Where did you find her? I saw nothing shameful in that; after all, I was a man who earned, owned a flat in Manchester, drove a respectable sedan, had a steady income, didnt drink, didnt smoke, kept himself in order. In my mind I was a decent prospect on the market.
But the market, it turned out, had long ago adopted different rules, and under those rules I was not a buyer but a commodity and not even a especially soughtafter one.
**The first date**. A twentysixyearold named Poppy, met through an app, wed been texting for a week. She laughed at my jokes, wrote youre so interesting, its easy with you, and I began to think this could be a normal acquaintance, free of ulterior motives, just a human connection. The moment we met, however, the conversation swiftly slipped onto another plane.
She looked at me, evaluating, and after fifteen minutes asked:
What car do you drive?
I answered.
Do you own a flat?
I answered.
How much do you earn?
And then I realized this was not a date but an interview, and I wasnt even a candidate but an asset being tested for liquidity. The most striking thing was her calmness; she asked the questions as matteroffact as one might ask, Tea or coffee?
When I turned the table and asked, What are you looking for in a relationship? she smiled and said, Comfort. So a man can meet my needs. That was it no embarrassment, no hints, just a price list.
**The second date** was even more revealing. A twentyfouryearold named Harriet, gorgeous, impeccably groomed the sort of pictureperfect woman I thought was worth the effort. We met in a restaurant; I paid for dinner, as proper. At some point the talk drifted to the future.
I said, I want a family, children, a stable relationship.
She looked at me and replied calmly, And what can you give?
At first I didnt grasp the question.
What do you mean?
She went on, You want a young woman, right? Then you must understand she has choices. Why should she pick you?
That began the conversation that finally turned my world upside down.
Youre older, she continued, so you have to compensate with resources a flat, a car, money, a certain lifestyle. Otherwise whats the point?
I tried to argue that it wasnt just about money, that there were feelings, compatibility, respect, but she simply shrugged. Those things are secondary. The basics come first.
And then, in that very calm tone, she said, Why should I be a caretaker for an old man? as if stating a fact, not a complaint. She added, If you want a young woman, you must match her expectations. I left that evening feeling as though I had been dismantled, examined, and priced on a market board.
What made it worse was that these werent isolated incidents; it was a system.
**The third story** broke me completely. I had been chatting with a twentysevenyearold named Evelyn. Shed initiated the conversation, asked questions, flirted, and I began to think perhaps not everything was as bleak as before. Then she sent a voice note:
Listen, lets be honest. I need a man wholl support me. I dont want to work myself to the bone. If youre not ready, dont waste either your time or mine.
I asked, And what do you offer in return?
She laughed. Me? Myself.
That was the moment something clicked inside me. Myself as a product, a service, an allinclusive package that required payment upfront. The absurdity was that they genuinely didnt see anything wrong with it.
They show no shame, no concealment, no games they state the terms outright, and if you dont meet them, youre simply written off, without emotion, without regret, as an unsuitable option.
And the most ironic part?
I had sincerely believed the problem lay with women that they had become spoiled, that their demands were inflated, that they were mercenary, that they cared only about money. But the more dates I attended, the more I listened, observed, and analysed, the clearer it became: it wasnt only them.
I had walked onto this market expecting to choose, yet I was the one being chosen. I wanted a young, attractive, convenient partner. They wanted a secure, stable, profitable one. I chased looks; they chased resources. I wanted to please the eye; they wanted to meet needs. In that logic everything was honest, just unpleasant.
Because suddenly it turned out I was not unique, not special, not the one, but one of many being compared, evaluated, and discarded.
The most painful moment wasnt a rejection; it was the realisation that I was no longer seen as a man at all, but as an offer with conditions, limits, a production date. Perhaps I was simply late.
Perhaps I should have built a family earlier, before everything was labelled a deal. Perhaps I lived too long in the illusion that time was on my side.
Now the reality is what it is. In it, to obtain what you desire you must either fit the criteria or alter your own expectations. And I am not yet ready for either.
That, I realise now, is the most unsettling revelation of these recent years.