Dating After 40: The Great Male Reckoning (or Lack Thereof)

Let’s talk about what it’s really like dating as a woman in her 40s.

Not the cute, wine-sipping, “Sex and the City “ version. I mean the actual, soul-sapping, swipe-fatigue, “why did I shave for this?” reality.

First, there’s the Never-Settled Crew. These are the men in their 40s who have never been in a long-term relationship, red flags flapping like it’s a North Korean military parade. They say things like, “I’ve just been focusing on my career,” or “I haven’t met the right person,” but let’s be honest: they just didn’t want to grow up. They’re still emotionally 26, spiritually allergic to compromise, and think “communication” is a podcast topic, not a skill you practice in a relationship.

Then we’ve got the Divorce Dwellers. These are the men whose wives finally left them, often because they were, frankly, dead weight. They now want a woman to heal them, house them, and hype them up, but haven’t done a single goddamn hour of therapy. Instead of doing the work, they slap a vague “emotionally intelligent” badge on their profile because they once cried during The Shawshank Redemption.

And don’t even get me started on the Baby Desperados. These are the ones who woke up at 43 with a sudden desire to procreate. They’ve ignored every woman who wanted kids during their prime dating years and now want to play catch-up with anyone who still has viable eggs.

Hi. It’s me. A woman in her 40s. My eggs have retired and are living quietly in a coastal village. I am not your Hail Mary fertility plan.

So what’s left?

Men in their 50s. Who often haven’t been to therapy, are set in their ways, and expect a 32-year-old with no baggage and double-jointed enthusiasm. They are either emotionally unavailable, sexually confused, or consider “I’m a good guy” an actual personality trait.

And yes, the truly good men, the ones with empathy, depth, and a working understanding of a washing machine, are almost always married. Because someone else with excellent taste snapped them up ten years ago. And stayed. Because they’re good men.

So here we are. I’m not bitter. (Okay, maybe a little. Pass the gin.) I’m just tired. Tired of being emotionally fluent in a dating pool full of emotional toddlers. Tired of carrying the labour of connection, of soothing egos, of lowering my standards just to get a text back.

Tired of being the prize in a room full of men who don’t even know they’re supposed to be competing.

What do I want? A grown man. One who knows who he is. Who has done the work. Who understands that “partnership” doesn’t mean a live-in life coach with benefits.

But at this rate? Unless he’s a widower with a dog and a decent therapist, I may just marry my vibrator and call it a day.