Will the Olympics change our politics for good?

Voters should not be underestimated.

We British can give ourselves a rather tough self-assessment. For instance, only one in four of us (24 per cent) think Britain is a good place to invest and just 13 per cent of Brits think we have a strong economy. Among global consumers looking at Britain from a distance, the figure rises to 42 per cent for investment in the UK and 48 per cent thinking we have a strong economy. Indeed, across a whole range of topics we find people around the world seeing Britain in a pretty positive light, compared to how we British see ourselves.

Of course, that pessimism is not that surprising, especially given the economic situation.  According to the Ipsos MORI Issues index, the economy and unemployment are constant anxieties for many people – the economy has been top of the country’s agenda every single month since September 2008 - and increasing numbers are worried that government and public services will not be able to do enough to help people in the years ahead.

This year, however, Britons have been looking to the Olympics for a feel-good effect to brighten up the national outlook. Just before the Games, seven in ten said they thought the Olympics would help to improve the mood of the British public, while politicians such as Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, speculated about a possible boost to the UK economy thanks to the Games.

This brief pause between the Olympic and Paralympic Games provides a good moment to see if a feel-good effect has really materialised.

Our recent post-Olympics poll shows that in the light of the Olympics success British people do say they are now more positive about a whole range of organisations and people involved in public life. Four in five (81 per cent) said the London Games had a positive effect on their opinion of the BBC, seven in ten (70 per cent) of the Royal Family and around three-quarters (74 per cent) said it had improved their opinion of Londoners.

Even Londoners themselves say the Olympics has left them upbeat, with 83 per cent saying the Games has improved their view of their fellow citizens of the capital. Londoners are also most likely to say it has given them a positive view of their public transport system with 65 per cent saying they have become more favourable towards it.

Has this feel-good factor also reached perceptions of the Westminster village? On the face of it, yes. Benefiting particularly from the halo effect is Boris Johnson, with 61 per cent saying it has improved their view of him (even higher among Conservative voters).  Nevertheless, he is not the only one; the overnment and the three main party leaders have all seen their approval ratings go up over the last month, according the latest Ipsos MORI Political Monitor. Satisfaction with David Cameron is up six points, Ed Miliband up eight points, and Nick Clegg up five points.

But the question is, is this a real change in the political landscape? Approval ratings for all the party leaders are up, but it does not seem to have had a great impact on voting intentions.  Labour retains a clear lead over the Conservatives, despite their share dropping two points on last month to 42 per cent. A third (32 per cent) say they would vote for the Conservative Party and 11 per cent for the Liberal Democrats, both just one point different from July.

The public also remain as sceptical as ever about politicians and their motives, and there is much change in public perceptions of the coalition. Two in five (42 per cent) say the coalition is providing stable government (compared to 39 per cent in July), just over a quarter (27 per cent) say it is working as a united team (no change compared to the 26 per cent in July) and just over half (54 per cent) say it is unlikely to last until 2015 (compared to 52 per cent in July). To top it off, we also find this month that a clear majority of voters think that all three main political parties put the interest of their party before the national interest.

It is also worth questioning the extent to which national occasions such as the Olympics really do have an impact on people’s perceptions of politics – perhaps because their very nature as unifying events, above the usual cut and thrust of daily politics, means that people do not see them as so relevant to their judgement of the different parties.

The Diamond Jubilee this year is a very recent example, which despite leading to very high satisfaction ratings with the Royal Family seemed to have no significant impact on voting intentions.  Looking back to the Royal Wedding in April last, there was no positive effect for the government immediately afterwards (nor was there from the wedding of Charles and Diana in July 1981 in our polls from back then). Satisfaction with the leaders actually fell slightly, with the exception of Mr Cameron’s rating which remained the same from April to May. 

Even the Golden Jubilee celebrations of June 2002 seem to have had no obvious impact on voting intention, with Labour holding a consistently strong lead over the Conservatives during that period. There was a seven-point rise in satisfaction with the way Tony Blair was doing his job but that was relatively short-lived dropping off in the month afterwards.

When England won the rugby world cup in November 2003, there was a four-point rise for the sitting Labour government in December to 40 per cent but certainly no lasting effect as it was straight back down in January. There was hardly any change in satisfaction ratings for the then leaders either. And England’s procession to the semi-finals in 1996 – for better or worse – didn’t seriously impact Labour’s stranglehold in the polls. 

And, of course, perhaps that is just as it should be. The public should not be under-estimated; they know what is important to them when making their judgements about politicians, and it is those factors that the parties will need to return to when normal political life resumes.

Gideon Skinner is head of political research at Ipsos MORI

Vice-President of Brazil Michel Temer, Pele, David Cameron and Mo Farah at No 10 Downing Street. Photograph: Getty Images

Gideon Skinner is Head of Political Research at IpsosMori. He tweets as @GideonSkinner.

Getty
Show Hide image

The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad