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We have never been easier to reach, or more alone. On the quiet crisis no one puts in the calendar. We tend to avoid the word. Lonely sounds like a confession of failure, the kind of thing that happens to other people: the elderly, the isolated, the unlucky. Yet loneliness has quietly become one of the defining conditions of modern life, and it is reaching people who, by every outward measure, appear to have full and well-connected lives. Public health bodies now discuss it i

Here is something you would not expect a matchmaker to say. I do not believe in "the one." Not, at least, in the version the films handed us: a single fated person somewhere out there with your name on them, obvious the instant you meet, leaving no room for doubt ever after. I have watched that belief keep too many wonderful people alone to put much stock in it anymore. The quiet cost of a lovely idea The one is a beautiful story and a quietly harmful one. It trains us to wai

Why I became a matchmaker, and why I staked the whole business on actually finding people love. People are often surprised when they hear what I do for a living. Matchmaking sounds like something out of another century, or a television format, rather than a job an actual person chooses deliberately. So I want to explain how I came to it, because the reason explains everything about the way Love with Me runs. I know the long wait, because I lived it The plain truth is that I b

Slower, fewer, deeper. A practical guide to dating like you mean it. "Intentional dating" is one of those phrases that gets said so often it almost stops meaning anything. So let me be plain about what it looks like in practice, not as a tidy philosophy, but as a handful of behaviours you could start this week, whether or not you ever work with anyone like me. At its simplest, dating with intention is deciding to treat your love life as something you are doing on purpose, rat

Height, postcode, job title. How we learned to shop for people, and what it quietly costs us. Ask almost anyone what they want in a partner and you tend to get a list back. Tall. Funny. A proper career. Earns well. Lives close enough to be convenient. We recite these traits like specifications, and that is no accident. We were taught to. Ten years of dating apps trained us to picture love as a set of controls to be adjusted. Set the height range. Pull in the age. Tighten the

People want real connection more than ever. The apps stopped delivering it, so something older, and much more human, has come back. Almost every week, someone tells me a version of the same thing. They’re not heartbroken, exactly, and they haven’t given up on love. They’re just worn out. Worn out by the apps. By the endless scrolling, the conversations that fizzle into nothing, the strange feeling of putting in hour after hour and ending up no closer to anyone at all. If that