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At 27, my romantic life consists mainly of odd hookups (odd because it’s bizarre to have sex with someone you wouldn’t want to stand naked in front of with the lights on); unconsummated dates that usually just waste my beer money; and noncommittal sexual friendships.It’s way better than languishing in a bad relationship, and my life is rich in other ways. Work can’t stroke your hair when you’re waiting on medical results, much less tear your clothes off. When an acquaintance of mine, Sofi Papamarko, started her Toronto matchmaking service, Friend of a Friend, she was deluged with so many female applicants that she had to temporarily close registration for women and start hustling for guys.Papamarko’s female clients tend to be “dazzling across the board,” she says, while many of the men “don’t have their lives nearly as together.” Yet her male clients often seek traditionally feminine virtues: young and pretty over successful.
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We account for 59.5 percent of university graduates in Canada, outnumbering men significantly in fields like the humanities, health, law and education.
Women now make up 52.4 percent of Torontonians aged 25 to 34. If you don’t engage, Michelle adds, “they’ll go to the next booth.
Ottawa and Halifax are 51.4- and 51.3-percent female, while Vancouver hovers around 51 percent. It’s like a factory.” Laura gestures at the table next to us. “I saw them evaluating us.” The table in question is occupied by James and Chris, two ordinary-looking men dressed in business casual, and Greg, wearing a black T-shirt and a gold chain.
Montreal and Winnipeg ring in at 50.8 and 50.7 percent, respectively. “It’s so much easier to be a single guy than a single girl in Toronto,” says Chris. Chris and James work in banking, but the same pattern abides among the so-called sensitive types: writers, artists, people with humanities degrees, 64.9 percent of whom are female.
“I get away with so many things that I probably shouldn’t get away with.” By now, three women, a little more done up than Lindsey, Laura and Michelle, have encircled Greg, delivering hugs and shots. After Earls, we head to the hipper Dundas West strip.
There are plenty of cute girls around, in toques and vintage furs—plenty of cute guys, too.
As last call encroaches, we finally get hit on: a man invites us to admire his attractive wingman, pointing out that his own face resembles that of “a toilet salesman”; a soused Australian buttonholes me by the bar and, without so much as offering me a drink, asks whose bed we’re off to. I once believed that if I kept becoming a better and more accomplished person, I would at least find the mate I deserved; at best, I’d have my pick of cute, funny guys for a lifetime or a month or a night, which, to be fair, is the subtext of every teen movie I’ve ever seen.
Her friends Laura and Michelle—equally accomplished, equally attractive—are sitting in a booth at Earls, a restaurant–cum–pickup joint for Toronto’s Financial District crowd.
” says Lindsey, a gamine, dark-haired 31-year-old who works in corporate sales.
That lament is old by now, inspiring cover stories (Kate Bolick’s “All the Single Ladies” was anthemic) and drunken rants: we work hard and succeed in ways our grandmothers could never have hoped to, figuring love and family will eventually come, should we want them.
But, for women seeking men, the stats are not favourable.