Lez Miserable: Ten online dating mistakes to avoid if you don't want to die alone

For starters, never describe yourself as "bubbly" or "normal".

Online dating has become as big a part of lesbian life as bikes and hummus. Nearly all the gay women I know do it, or have done it. While I’m not going to pretend to know much about chatting up women in real life, I’ve been doing it from behind a computer screen for a while now. Sometimes successfully. My advice to fellow users of OkCupid and suchlike is this - if you you’re not keen on the idea of dying alone, never, under any circumstances, do any of these things:

1. When you message someone for the first time, ask, “How’re you?”

We’ve never met. How am I? I could be in hospital, dying of botulism and you’d mostly be thinking, “Right. So no sex then?” In fact, nothing says, “I’m only interested in your rude parts” quite like the “How’re you?” first message. If you’ve read through someone’s carefully constructed dating CV – a comprehensive list of their interests, views and quirks – and the only thing you can think of asking is “how’re you?” you’re either really lazy or really horny. Or both. Be warned: no one wants to have lethargic sex with you.

2. Describe yourself as “bubbly” in your profile.

Who remembers Panda Pops? They were big in the 90s; Neon-hued, tooth-dissolving, liquid shame. I wasn’t allowed them. Describe yourself as “bubbly” and you sound like a human Panda Pop – sickly-sweet and fizz-brained. Remember, you’re looking for a date, not a babysitter. “Bubbly” people also sound like they say “fudge” when they bump into things.

3. Wear sunglasses in your profile picture.

A message from someone whose face is half Ray-Ban warrants an automatic no-reply from me. You just seem like one of those people who wears sunglasses on the tube. Or in winter. Or in the shower.

4. Or use a shot of your cat as your profile picture.

If you happen to prefer eating cornflakes alone in the dark to sex then go right ahead and do this.

5. Try extremely hard to appear enigmatic.

A lot of people fill the “about me” section on their dating profile with complete nonsense. Stuff like: “Anachronism. Drifter. Poet”. In fact, the word “drift” and any derivative thereof should be avoided at all costs. You’re not that feather from the opening credits of Forrest Gump. You’re about as mysterious as a tuna sandwich. Also, you can be exactly 98.7 per cent sure that anyone who self-identifies as a poet is not a poet. But they probably have a lot of really meaningful tattoos and a Moleskine notebook. Remember, you’re trying to hook up with someone and maybe have uncomfortable sex; not win the Booker Prize. It doesn’t get more lowbrow than online dating. Try to come across all esoteric and Sylvia Plath-esque and you will make eyes roll right out of their sockets.

6. Ask the person you’re messaging with if you can add them on Facebook.

The premature Facebook add is deadly. Give someone access to all those pictures of you drunkenly humping park benches, before you’ve even met them IRL, and that date just isn’t going to happen. Ever.

7. Mention that you like going out and staying in.

You enjoy existing. Congratulations.

8. Include a picture of you with your tongue between two fingers.

This is particularly lesbian-relevant. I don’t know where the two-fingered tongue salute came from or when it’s planning on leaving. Very soon, I hope. Look, tongue girls, you’re gay – you enjoy giving head to women – I get it. It’s not the vulgarity of the finger-tongue gesture that irritates me; it’s the try-hardness. It’s like a straight woman including a banana-eating picture on her profile. Unnecessary. Cease and desist immediately.

9. Describe self as “normal”.

“I’m just a normal girl…”. What does that even mean? There’s something glaringly un-normal about declaring yourself normal. At the same time, it strongly suggests that you’re duller than beige curtains and you tweet stuff like, “Going to bed now. Lol.”

10. Send messages that begin, “Hey sexy…”

You know those pop-ups that say things like, “teenage Russian girls want to date you”? What makes you think those are good templates for actual communication with someone you fancy? It makes you look spammy. Stick to “Hi”. 

When in doubt, stick to "Hi". Photograph: Getty Images

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

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The triumph of Misbah-ul-Haq, the quiet grafter

How Misbah redeemed Pakistani cricket.

It was an incongruous sight: the entire Pakistani cricket team doing press-ups on the revered pitch at Lord’s, led by its captain, Misbah-ul-Haq. This unusual celebration marked not merely a Test match victory over England on Sunday but something greater: the rehabilitation of Pakistani cricket.

Seven years earlier, the Sri Lankan team bus was en route to the cricket stadium in Lahore for the third day of a Test match against Pakistan when it was attacked by Islamist militants. Gunfire killed six police officers and a driver; several Sri Lankan cricketers were also injured. That was the last Test match played in Pakistan, which, despite protestations, opponents consider too dangerous to visit.

A year later, Pakistan toured England for a Test series. The News of the World alleged that in the final match at Lord’s three Pakistani cricketers had conspired to bowl no-balls in exchange for money. All three received bans of five years or more for corruption. The entire squad was lampooned; police had to shield its members from abuse as they arrived home.

Misbah was on the periphery of all of this. Aged 36 at the time, he was dropped from the squad before the English tour and seemed unlikely to play international cricket again. But the turbulence engulfing Pakistani cricket forced the selectors to reassess. Not only was Misbah recalled but he was made captain. “You have to ask yourself,” he later said: “‘Have I been the captain because they supported me, or because they had no alternatives?’”

Pakistani cricket prizes and mythologises teenage talent plucked from obscurity and brought into the international side. During his decade as captain, Imran Khan picked 11 teenagers to make their debuts, often simply on the basis of being wowed by their performance in the nets. Misbah shows that another way is possible. He grew up in Mianwali, a city that was so remote that: “The culture there wasn’t such that you thought about playing for Pakistan.”

At the behest of his parents, he devoted his early twenties not to his promising batting but to gaining an MBA. Only at 24 did he make his first-class debut, strikingly late in an age when professional sportsmen are expected to dedicate all their energy to the game from their teenage years.

Pakistani cricket has always been “a little blip of chaos to the straight lines of order”, Osman Samiuddin writes in The Unquiet Ones. Misbah has created order out of chaos. He is unflappable and methodical, both as a captain and as a batsman. His mood seems impervious to results. More than anything, he is resilient.

He has led Pakistan to 21 Test victories – seven more than any other captain. He has done this with a bowling attack ravaged by the 2010 corruption scandal and without playing a single match at home. Because of security concerns, Pakistan now play in the United Arab Emirates, sometimes in front of fewer than a hundred supporters.

Misbah has developed a team that marries professionalism with the self-expression and flair for which his country’s cricket is renowned. And he has scored runs – lots of them. Over his 43 Tests as captain, he has averaged at 56.68. Few have been so empowered by responsibility, or as selfless. He often fields at short leg, the most dangerous position in the game and one usually reserved for the team’s junior player.

Misbah has retained his capacity to surprise. As a batsman, he has a reputation for stoic defence. Yet, in November 2014 he reached a century against Australia in just 56 balls, equalling the previous record for the fastest ever Test innings, held by Viv Richards. The tuk-tuk had become a Ferrari.

Late in 2015, Misbah tried to retire. He was 41 and had helped to keep Pakistani cricket alive during some of its darkest days. But the selectors pressured him to stay on, arguing that the team would need him during its arduous tours to England and Australia.

They were right. His crowning glory was still to come. The team arrived in England following weeks of training with the national army in Abbottabad. “The army people are not getting much salaries, but for this flag and for the Pakistani nation, they want to sacrifice their lives,” Misbah said. “That’s a big motivation for all of us. Everyone is really putting effort in for that flag and the nation.”

Now 42, almost a decade older than any cricketer in England’s side, Misbah fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition by playing in a Test match at Lord’s. In Pakistan’s first innings, he scored a century and celebrated with push-ups on the outfield, in homage to the army’s fitness regime and those who had had the temerity to mock his age.

When Pakistan secured victory a little after 6pm on the fourth evening of the game, the entire team imitated the captain’s push-ups, then saluted the national flag. The applause for them reverberated far beyond St John’s Wood.

“It’s been a remarkable turnaround after the 2010 incident,” Misbah-ul-Haq said, ever undemonstrative.

He would never say as much, but he has done more than anyone else to lead Pakistan back to glory. 

Tim Wigmore is a contributing writer to the New Statesman and the author of Second XI: Cricket In Its Outposts.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt