Why finding love should take a village

Does the search for love have to be an individual pursuit?

It’s official—London is the worst place for romance. But you didn’t need Time Out’s 18,000-strong study to tell you that—just look at all the duds I’ve had the displeasure of meeting, like the one who took me to a chicken shop for my 30th birthday (KHF, in case you’re wondering). Finding love sometimes feels like trying to lure the attention of a cat; the more you want it, the further away it gets.

And singletons are tired. Dating apps are in their flop era, house parties where love once blossomed are seldom had (thank you, renting crisis—who even owns a house to have a party these days?), and WFH has made office romances more difficult (though, should we really be trusting a Proximity Crush in the first place?). More and more people are now turning to their nearest and dearest to ask to be set up, which at least adds a layer of vetting not usually possible through apps and the like.

If it takes a village to raise a child, as the African proverb goes, then why not love too? Why does seeking romance have to be an individual pursuit? Recently, I came across a clip of Trevor Noah’s What Now podcast where he talks to noted therapist Esther Perel, who explained why we need to bridge the disconnect between our romantic life and ‘real life’. Esther explained—much to Trevor’s amusement—that our dates should look like inviting a potential suitor to events with friends: a picnic, a party, drinks, a group activity. Why do all the vetting alone, watch out for yourself, and trust that you aren’t being clouded by your own feelings when we can lean on our loved ones to help us? Esther pointed out that this segregation is stopping us from relying on our networks, who may be better judges of character than we are. This community-centred model of love can also mean increased safety for women (though the opposite can also be argued if she is being asked to join a group of strangers—which is all the more reason to date in public spaces surrounded by people).

In Islam, this concept of accompanying suitors is a necessary component of the courting stage—in the form of a wali, or chaperone, usually a family member. While their presence doesn’t have to be an oppressive force (the wali can be in the general vicinity, at a separate table to give privacy to suitors, etc.), it adds a layer of protection for both parties and ensures nothing untoward can happen. Many Muslim women choose to bring a wali (usually a male relative) or alternatively, a female guardian on their ‘dates’. Though I personally have not enlisted the support of a wali, I know many who have, including my cousin’s wife, who brought her brother to every single meeting before they wed.

In the era of apps and the general do-it-yourself milieu, wali-supported courtship has fallen by the wayside for many Muslims, including myself, for various excuses we give ourselves: the logistics of planning a three-person date, who to ask, embarrassment over being perceived while trying to court. But love is too big, too important, to leave solely in the hands of two affected people. While capitalism and neoliberalism (more on that later) might have us thinking we’re independent, self-reliant people who only need to serve ourselves, the reality is the opposite—humans are wired for connection and dependence on our networks, from the moment we’re born to our old age and in death. In Islam, it is our family members and loved ones who perform our last ghusl—the washing of the body and wrapping it in a shroud.

There’s a reason why there’s a loneliness epidemic (this has a gendered element, which I might discuss in another post). Not only are there few spaces to socialise and forge new communities, but finding romantic love has also become a minefield. The individual has to handle rejection, attention, emotion management, abuse, hope, and then rinse and repeat, over and over again, until successful—if at all. Finding love this way feels like a high-stakes part-time job that only you know about.

But the system is deliberately built this way. Love under neoliberalism operates insidiously, recasting people as human capital and capital-enhancing agents. Last week, my lecturer made a joke that if you say ‘neoliberalism’ in the mirror three times, a SOAS student appears. And in the spirit of being a SOAS student, I have to point out that under neoliberalism, personal relationships are affected by market influences, whereby we’re considered autonomous, self-defining individuals who take care of ourselves and are less reliant on state support. Love in the age of neoliberalism is not a new idea, but it certainly rings true—not only for established relationships, where economic precariousness blurs love and need, but also for those at the early stages of romance.

At worst, this neoliberalism has turned us into consumers; when one situation is broken, we look for the next one—which is the fundamental premise of dating apps that gamify love. It’s no wonder Hinge and Match.com are getting sued, considering how they use slot machine-like styling on their apps to encourage people to swipe, swipe, and swipe again, lest the next match should be better (no, seriously, the lawsuit explains how Match.com “employs recognised dopamine-manipulating product features” to turn users into “gamblers locked in a search for psychological rewards”). But the grass will always be greener if you think it is.

The dater has to handle rejection, attention, emotion management, abuse, hope, and then rinse and repeat. Finding love this way feels like a high-stakes part-time job that only you know about.

I don’t think inviting more people into your search for love will necessarily be a silver bullet to the issues faced by the modern dater, but it can help the process feel less lonely, less onerous. And for the Muslims reading, let’s not forget Allah’s wisdom behind mandating a wali—as with everything He has ordained, it’s for our own good. Bear in mind, too, that we are raising the next generation of walis, so let’s bring up guardians who are protective but compassionate, stern but soft, and always loving.

So perhaps Esther’s advice to integrate suitors into our communities—rather than creating a separate stream for them—might be a way to make sure our lives run cohesively, that the sting of a break-up and the burden of chasing ‘the one’ is eased by the love and camaraderie of our support systems. If they meet your matches early on, then at the very least, it can save you from showing a poor-quality photograph of them, with your pleas of “they look better in real life.”