When I first moved back to London after 3 years at Exeter university (yaaasss), I remember a particularly posh friend peering at me with a mixture of pity and confusion when I announced I would be living in Fulham. Apparently the wrong end of the King’s Road was, to her at least, a bit of a travesty: “gosh, so far out, how dreadful – will you take the underground?” Now. I’m not a postcode snob per se, but… ok maybe I am. Bear with – I’ll explain.
I was brought up very middle class in a five bedroom house in Richmond, complete with a cat called Oscar and dad’s own version of the Chelsea Tractor (hybrid. Obv). Mum loves to recall the hours she spent fending off Tamagochi death by poo in the check-out with all the other stay-at-home mum’s, and the latest text I have from dad reads: “don’t open the Brazil nuts, they’re going back to Waitrose”. I mean. Michael McIntyre would have a field day.
Growing up, half my friends really embraced the whole snobbery thing, with random double barrels popping onto to the ends of names almost daily. The other half went completely the other way, investing in Evisu jeans and the infamous Burberry check whilst wilding proclaiming them to be fakes.
I settle somewhere in the middle.
One thing I can’t seem to shake is an absolute refusal to date outside of my South West bubble. I once spontaneously moved into a Soho loft with a guy (note: he had been living in Battersea when I met him, so it was ok) and then discovered I didn’t really like him in soho. Now. I’m not saying it’s Soho’s fault, but….. it certainly brought out a side of him that was quite decidedly not South West.
I got thinking about this the other day whilst recalling a very hit-and-miss experience of Huggle (Huggle is my dating app choice because it uses a clever technology to check you into the places you visit and then matches you with people who go there. Which is perfect if you want to meet people who share your lifestyle, and also if you simply want to be nosey and see who else is about) to my tanning guy. On which note, isn’t it amazing how truthful you get when you’re butt naked?! Anyway. I was mid-lament when he suddenly went, “babe I’ve figured out your type – you’re a postcode snob”. He has a point – the last four or five guys have been English, Irish, South African; brunette, blonde; neck-craningly tall, my height in heels.. The truth is, the only thing that unites them was that they lived South West.
I think if I really think about it, it’s a safety thing. I know South West, am fully versed in transport and such like, can always suggest a wining place to go. Take me East, and…… deer in headlights. Infact the first time I went truly east with mum, she learnt across the dlr carriage and told me in a stage whisper “Olivia, this is where the slums used to be”. So you can see where I get it from.
But, with the whole millennial trend of searching for perfection – in us and our Significant Other – there is also a very millennial solution.. Huggle is simply genius, because it matches you with like-minded souls who share your interests, postcode snobbery and all. So if you’re the type who hangs out in Madisons or the ned, then you’re more likely to match with a banker than a hipster, unless of course you also hang out in Shoreditch coffee shops. As an SW girl, Huggle naturally matches me with my kind of people. And when I fancy a change of scenery, Huggle faithfully churns out a new set of options to match my fickle, changing mind.
I’ve recently started dating a banker who lives in Hoxton. The E2 postcode might ordinarily have served a veto. But -thanks to Huggle – I now know he owns not a single pair of skinny jeans, avoids places run by man buns, and loves Isabel’s nearly as much as I do. It might just be love at first Huggle.
Disclaimer: This post is part of a paid collaboration with Huggle