One such example was in 2018, when one of the housemates, India Willoughby, a TV journalist who was once a man but had transitioned into a transwoman, asked her fellow housemates whether they would go out with a transwoman.

“I believe it’s your choice… I would choose not to,” replied the RnB singer Ginuwine. Willoughby then asked: “You would go out with a woman?” “Yes,” Ginuwine replied. “But you wouldn’t go out with a transsexual woman?” Willoughby hit back. “No,” replied Ginuwine. As the awkward conversation rumbled on, Willoughby suggested that Ginuwine give her a kiss, but he leaned back and said “no”.

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No sex please, we're brutish

By Louise Perry

This encounter provoked a social media storm at the time. Some believed Ginuwine was transphobic for rejecting Willoughby. Others insisted he had a right to his preferences. Some even suggested that Willoughby was sexually harassing Ginuwine, by stepping over boundaries he made clear.

Unfortunately, two years on, the ethics of refusing transsexual people as dating partners remains a fraught subject: questions such as “Is it transphobic for lesbians not to date trans women?” are being discussed online. Again, they tend to arouse strong reactions. Some lesbians, for instance, have expressed concerns that raising the question of whether they ‘should’ be attracted to trans women is a surreptitious attempt to pressure, manipulate and guilt trip them into shifting their sexual boundaries into unwanted sex in the name of being more ‘open’.

Of course, there are lesbians who are reluctant to date trans women because they believe they are not actually women (or at least not women in the same way biologically born women are) . But it’s worth remembering that lesbians have endured a long history of attempts to control their sexuality, whether through hideous practices such as religious indoctrination, conversion therapy or ‘corrective’ rape to “make them straight”. And why focus the attack on lesbians, when many straight men would also reject trans women as a potential mate?

This obviously provokes a wider question: when does a preference become a convenient cover for bigotry and prejudice? On some level, as this tweet declares, “dating is discrimination”. But the question provoked by that Big Brother episode was: when is discrimination acceptable, and when is it unacceptable?

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Can science ever debate trans issues?

By Jesse Singal

No one should dictate to others who they can or can’t date, love or sleep with. Historic attempts to do so  —  whether through slavery, arcane patriarchal customs or socially and religiously enforced ‘lifelong’ monogamous marriage  —  have led to oppression, trauma, unhappiness and neurosis. Think of the countless unhappy marriages many closeted gay people have had to endure — because they could not be honest about who they really wanted to love, because of the intense social stigma and shame attached to their sexuality. Without the freedom to choose who you date, the modern achievements of personal autonomy and individual liberty are negated.

That said, the question must be asked: are our dating and sexual preferences innocent? Where do they come from? Attraction is a biological impulse, but what lies behind it? Darwinists would say they grow out of our evolutionary origins. Since women are supposedly the ‘choosier’ of the sexes, they choose men who can ‘provide’ for them and protect them. Freudians would say our preferences originate from our childhood. According to the Oedipus complex, men unconsciously choose partners who reflect the most attractive qualities of their mothers (the Electra complex makes the same case about women and fathers.)

Frantz Fanon, meanwhile, would say that forces such as racism and colonialism play a big part in influencing people’s desires and attraction. A racist society constructs certain standards of beauty based on ‘whiteness’, which racial subordinates must conform to if they want to be respected as having any erotic worth. Whiteness equals desirability, so blacks must assimilate to gain recognition and respect. Historically, black women have bleached their skin and relaxed their hair to fit a Eurocentric image — which black men, in turn, have coveted it. As Fanon wrote in Black Skin White Masks:

I want to be recognized not as Black but as White. … who better than the white woman to bring this about? By loving me she proves to me that I am worthy of a white love. I am loved like a white man. I am a white man…Between these white breasts that my wandering hands fondle, white civilization and worthiness become mine.

Few people would need to read these theories to know that many of us have a ‘type’. You might prefer partners of a certain height, status, hair colour, body shape, and so on (there is even data to suggest that some people are attracted to those who look similar to them.) Such preferences may be oddly specific, and rather superficial, but they are mostly innocuous.

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Racial categories are reactionary

By Ralph Leonard

Some people seek a partner from a similar religious or cultural background — in the hope that this will make it easier for them to relate to one another, or out of a desire to pass on their heritage, traditions and values to future children. This is technically exclusionary for potential partners who lay outside this category — and may even be narrow minded — but such preference is not especially egregious. Still, can predilections mutate into something more sinister?

Because of globalisation, migration, social liberalisation and the rise of online dating, interracial dating has never been more prevalent; the stigma attached to it has mostly dissipated. In 2011 —  the last time such statistics were recorded — it was found that nearly 9% of people in England and Wales were living as part of an interracial relationship (up from 7% in 2001). Moreover, there is data to suggest a correlation between the rise of online dating apps and an increase in interracial relationships.

Yet, there is a paradox. Christian Rudder, co-founder of the dating site OkCupid and author of the 2014 book Dataclysm, which uses data trends to analyse human behaviour, has argued people’s use of online apps doesn’t match up with their professed attitudes. Most people will say, when surveyed, that they are open to dating someone from a different ‘race’; in reality, they tend not to be. According to Rudder’s data, collected between 2009 and 2014 from DateHookup ‘Let’s Meet scores’, women in particular generally preferred men of their own ‘race’.

More brazen are those who, on dating apps such as Grindr, Tinder and Bumble, nonchalantly state their racial preferences on their profile. It’s not uncommon to see caveats like, “Not attracted to Asian men”, “ I don’t date black women”, “I only date white girls” — and it’s difficult to argue that this has nothing to do with racism, which has historically played a role in influencing ideas of who is desirable and who is not.

White women  —  or a particular image of white women  —  have been placed at the top of this aesthetic hierarchy as the paragon of human beauty, with black women languishing at the bottom, portrayed as ugly, unattractive and overweight, and Asian men stereotyped as ‘sexless’, meek and less endowed compared to other ‘races’. American research seems to confirm this, indicating that Asian men and black women are more likely to be excluded than their opposite-sex counterparts as potential dating partners on dating apps.

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The ruthlessness of the sexual marketplace

By James Bloodworth

Herein lies the uncomfortable truth about our so called ‘dating economy’: discrimination is the name of the game. If you are considered attractive or ‘high value’ according to dating market logic, then you have myriad opportunities to meet new people, pursue novel erotic experiences and find romantic fulfilment. You don’t have to be restricted to people within your ‘community’. You can make your own choices and exercise your sexual autonomy to the fullest extent you desire.

But if you are considered unattractive and ‘low value’ then you will be excluded from what Henry Miller called ‘The World of Sex”, a place of freedom and adventure, erotic fufillment and pleasure, and love and companionship. To be deemed undesireable and ‘unfuckable’, of having no erotic worth at all is painful and soul crushing. This shouldn’t merely be sneered at as the delusional whining of losers drunk on entitlement. Human beings need to be loved by others, to pleasure and be pleasured by others, to develop intimate connections with others, to have fun with others. Being the social species we are it demands it. People are not wrong to want it and feel alienated when it proves extremely hard to achieve, because they are not desired by others for being who they are.

In modern society, our erotic selves and sexuality and our innate need for companionship are so intertwined with our personality that to not have the opportunity to fulfil them because you are a sexual minority rejected by the dominant culture, a racially stereotyped, or a socially awkward person is immensely alienating. These conditions will only be heightened even more with the economic decline and further atomisation resulting from Covid-19 and the restrictions meant to contain it.

Yet, discrimination is simply a fact of dating. It doesn’t matter if you are solidly monogamous, polyamorous or a promiscuous nymphomaniac: distinctions are made between those they are attracted to and those they are not attracted to. Dating is not a democracy and nor should it be. This is because choosing potential romantic and sexual partners is rather different from making friends or acquaintances, since these are people who become part of our intimate space, who we may share our bodies and the most personal aspect of our lives with. But, while we have a right to our preferences, we should also be able to critically reflect on why we desire what we desire and what influences it.

Nearly 60 years since the dawn of the sexual revolution, we find ourselves in a frosty romantic hinterland of wants and taxonomies, animated by power-play rather than passion; kink rather than personality, and in which only the most callous can survive.

Since it’s all become so much work, it’s no wonder nobody much can be bothered to have it anymore. The British National Surveys of Sexual Attitudes and Lifestyles (Natsal) — one of the world’s most thorough sex surveys, conducted once a decade since 1991 — released its latest findings for the period up to 2012, showing that British sex lives are on a long downward drift. The numbers of both men and women who had not had any sex in the past month rose to nearly 30 per cent; in 2001 it was 23% of women and 26% of men.

What’s most striking is that sex is dropping off among what was traditionally the horniest demographic — young men. The proportion of Americans aged between 18 and 29 who reported having no sex in the past year more than doubled between 2008 and 2018, to 23% — a bigger proportion than among the over-50s, according to the 2019 University of Chicago General Social Survey.

Over this same period, the share of men aged 18 to 29 who had not had sex in a year nearly tripled to 29 per cent, while the rise among women was a modest eight percentage points, to 18%. The male pullback from sex in America echoes well-documented trends in Germany and Japan. In 2010, Japan’s population of herbivores — men apathetic towards sexual relationships — accounted for 61% of those in their 20s and 70% in their 30s. And as any number of British women repeatedly flummoxed by male apathy or disregard will tell you, it feels the same here too.

The state of gender in a given society can always be read through the sex lives of its citizenry, and in that regard we are in the grips of a paradox. On the one hand gender differences are being eroded by warriors of woke, who see them as oppressive social constructions. And away from identity politics, the gulf between men and women has never been smaller, by technical, legislative, cultural, professional and social measures.

Yet as they encounter each other in the chambers of Tinder, Bumble, Hinge and OkCupid, the climate between men and women is frosty. Everyone is cross and fed up with everyone else for being so rubbish that they have to keep swiping.

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How motherhood put an end to my liberalism

By Mary Harrington

In 1996, Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones helped women realise that half the human race (men) might usefully be called “fuckwits” when it came to dating and romance. The dynamics of internet dating, with its illusion of graspable sexual paradise, has either created a new tsunami of apparent fuckwits, or it has made the sheer extent of them inescapable.

Meanwhile, the boredom and jadedness stitched into heavy use of apps (“nope”, “like”, “nope”, “nope”, “nope”, “like”) has produced a ubiquitous undercurrent of queasy unpleasantness. The result is that men, formerly seen as an alternating source of fun, trouble and heartbreak, become “men: ugh”. Women, once the promised land for many a Romeo, become bitches, gold-diggers, game-players, and, most significantly, for a depressing bloc known as “women: meh”.

This sexual stand-off, characterised by simmering distrust and putrid fatigue, oozes off internet dating portals. I’ve often found myself, after a night of binge-scrolling, surprised to remember that dating is filed under “romance”, which is supposed to be — at least at the start — a little about positive, fuzzy feelings or the potential to develop them.

Rather than sought after, one feels lectured, harangued and responsible for doing something terrible simply by existing. Anxiety levels rise, one feels nervous and in trouble. I remind myself, as if waking from a nightmare, that it’s ok; I never have to even meet these men, and never have to speak to them.

Here are some examples of the different types of anger a woman will encounter on a casual swipe-fest: explicitly cross, jaded, and wearing up front the belief that we are all too often more trouble than we are worth. It’s a style characterised by commands and bullet points.

So Joe, “27, entrepreneur” advertises as such
“- No drama (deal with your insecurities before we can engage in good convo)
– Similar morals (which we’ll more than likely suss out in person)
– Good head on your shoulders and is a pure grinder (someone who gets the essence of hard working from the ground up)
– NATURAL HAIR (colouring is cool)
– And most importantly, can dance
– If I’m not your type then do not swipe right’
– DO NOT WASTE OUR TIME WITH DEAD CONVO. BRING SUSTENANCE TO THE TABLE”

Why am I being shouted at? “No drama!” Sometimes I’m dramatic. And dancing — I can’t dance! Stressful scenes flit across my mind. Wellbeing plunges.

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A boy in a dress is just a boy in a dress

By Debbie Hayton

Then there’s “Alo”, 23, who goes down the line of total mockery of the process (and by implication, those they expect to meet). Alo had stated as his profession “prime minister” (funny enough) and in the personal info section simply put “I downloaded this as a joke”. Right then. And there are countless more Joes and Alos.

These men were young — but things don’t necessarily improve with age. Among those old enough to remember the more earnest, excitable world of print personals, there’s still that telltale trace of aggression and of having been burned before by all those terrible women out there. Take Craig, a 41-year-old American who barks terrifying facts and veiled warnings at the women foolish enough to dawdle:

“Neuchatel 3/10-3/12
Cambridge 3/12-3/15
Vienna 3/16-3/19
Brussels 3/19-3/23
Non-monogamous Dom.
Old luddite; I don’t Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat etc. I will meet in person and buy you a drink. Furthermore, single dad, career, travel, etc. I have a complex schedule and place a high value on my free time’”

How you get from here to any encounter that relates to what was formerly considered erotic, intimate, loving or even sexy, beats me. Women have held out more than men against the end of sex — rates of female sexlessness have risen less — but in the end, even we will give up.

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I have seen the damage cannabis does

By Peter Hurst

A number of us already are, with women simply coming offline, choosing friendship instead. In 2017, the Canadian writer Sarah Ratchford wrote a piece called “Why I’m Giving Up Men and Just Staying Home” which explained the disillusionment with modern, digitally-enabled masculinity. “Alongside the wage gap and the emotional labour gap, the antics of softboys, f-ckboys, fading and ghosting constitute a pronounced communication gap,” she wrote.

She describes her choice to pack the whole thing in and focus on friends, and discusses the similar choice of a friend called Paola. “Now, because men can’t seem to hack interpersonal relationships, Paola identifies her friendships as her primary relationships — and she doesn’t see that changing.”

Getting laid has never been so complicated — nor so chilly a business. Attempts to pretend gender binaries don’t exist, the obsession with kink and labels, and the belief that you can gorge as much as you want, in just the way you want, from a digital cornucopia of sexual options, has spelled doom. It’s the end of the affair — with sex — at last.