At 5.45am on 14 February this year, I was in my kitchen making spaghetti bolognese and questioning my life choices. As a performance artist, I’m used to putting myself in unusual scenarios, but nothing quite like this. I was getting ready to go on 100 dates over the next 17 hours. I’m normally nervous to go on just one.
I’ve lived in London for 10 years, and had somehow managed to spend all previous Valentine’s Days here involved in some romantic escapade. But this year would be the first in a while that I would be alone on the day. To avoid being alone with my own thoughts, I came up with the idea of having 100 dates in a day. Selfish in its initial conception, the project ended up providing a space to explore genuine online connection.
The prospect of finding 100 people to go on a virtual date with me was nerve-racking. I announced an open call on my Instagram, and asked friends to share it. The rules were simple: people had to book a five-minute slot any time between 7am and midnight. The dates would be livestreamed, and participants had to treat it the way they’d treat a normal date. I would have five minutes in between each date to go to the toilet or get food.
To my surprise, so many people signed up that I had to make a reserve list. As I was more interested in exploring human connection online rather than finding love, anyone could sign up. Even my parents booked a slot, as well as with strangers.
I could barely sleep the night before. I kept reminding myself that if I felt uncomfortable during a date, I could just shut my laptop. By 7am, I’d set up my camera and had changed into my go-to date outfit: a black strappy top, jeans, a jacket and red lipstick. I’d prepared food for the day, which sat all around me: croissants and orange juice, chocolate-covered strawberries, spaghetti bolognese, and even a heart-shaped prawn cocktail for two.
I was full of adrenaline when I opened my laptop and saw my first date waiting. She was a woman named Jenn, who is a client of mine in the design world. We’ve always got along well and the date was no different. Later, I had dates with people from Australia, America, Singapore, France, Germany, Spain, Canada, the Netherlands and Italy. There were comedians, teachers, designers, artists, singers, scientists, a professional surf coach – and many more.
I believe the youngest date I had was 21, and the oldest was my friend David, an 80-year-old writer from Surrey. The effort people put in to make the dates special blew me away. People came with cards, balloons and flowers. Some made me laugh, others even made me cry; one guy serenaded me by singing my favourite song on the piano.
I was less relaxed when one of my exes appeared. It had been eight years since we last saw each other, back when I was 20. I’d texted my friends in a panic, dreading seeing him, but in the end it was nice to catch up. I did have to deal with being stood up – six people didn’t show. There was only one date where someone was being creepy, and I was thankful that the livestream made his behaviour public.
The dates finished at 2am. I shut my laptop and cried my eyes out. I was looking for authentic connections, and I found them. People appreciated the companionship on Valentine’s Day – even the viewers. The digital world can be lonely and alienating, but this project brought people together. A lot of people who watched the livestream said it made them feel less alone.
In all, there were about 10 people I’d consider dating again, but I haven’t got back to anyone so far. I feel it’s important to keep my work as an artist separate from my personal life, and maybe dating people from the project would cross that line. Though it made me realise that successful performance art is really about creating experiences that resonate with people, and for now, I think I’ve done my job. But who knows – maybe there will be 100 second dates at some point.
• As told to Elizabeth McCafferty
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