THE SINGLEPOREAN - Superficial first dates are my biggest ick

After one of the worst dates of her life, this writer realises that true connection isn't about impressing each other.

I stood awkwardly in front of a gaudy collage of naked women in various suggestive poses. To my left, the exit sign glowed brightly, beckoning. To my right, my date was mansplaining why, out of all the artworks in this cavernous exhibition, this was his favourite.

My eyes glazed over, arms folded across my chest. “Purgatory” felt like the word of the evening. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about a second date. After we left the art gallery, he flagged down a passing cab, hopped in, and left me standing on the street with an unceremonious “goodbye”.

I would have done the same, except he beat me to it.

That was in 2014. That evening still tops my list as one of the worst in my brief dating history. Young, easily impressed, and perhaps a little naive back then, I had assumed that a date at an art exhibition – his choice, not mine – meant he had culture in spades.