An advertisement for my Mr. Right

After another humbling scroll through my Hinge likes, I asked myself a series of questions that have become all too familiar: Are there any viable prospects out there? Are my standards too high? Am I destined to die alone? 

Sounds dramatic, but as a chronically single, hopeless romantic, it’s hard not to jump to the conclusion that no romantic interest will ever live up to my expectations. This may come across as demanding or deluded, but I believe my Mr. Right is out there waiting for me. Maybe you can help me find him. 

First, my Mr. Right must be a gentleman. 

In a world where the term “cracked” is used daily, and men barge past women to be first in line at the bar, I can’t help but wonder if chivalry is dead. Mr. Right, however, will assure me that chivalry is alive and well. 

Mr. Right holds the door open for me, offers to carry my bags and gives me his coat when I’m cold. Mr. Right is respectful. He’s satisfied with a peck on the first date and would never dream of recounting anything intimate that happens between us to his friends. 

This is the bare minimum. It’s no fantasy — I’ve seen boyfriends behave like Mr. Right, and they’re often in the healthiest relationships with girlfriends who absolutely adore them. 

But somehow being chivalrous became an insult through the use of one word: “simp.” 

Simp is internet slang for someone, particularly a man, who’s excessively attentive or submissive to the person they’re romantically interested in. It’s now used as an insult for anyone who’s just attentive and caring to their partner — as if this is something to be embarrassed about. But what girl really wants nonchalance? 

I’ve watched enough 2000s romantic comedies and romantic TV shows to know that caring is hot! Just look at how much credit Noah Calhoun from The Notebook (2004) and Conrad Fisher from The Summer I Turned Pretty have received for their years of yearning. If you’re not willing to build me a big white house with blue shutters and a wrap-around porch, you’re not the one. 

My Mr. Right is also a people person. He’s personable, easy to talk to and gets along with everyone. I never have to worry that he won’t be able to hold his own in a conversation, nor that I’d have to babysit him if I bring him as my plus one. He communicates using his words and not through brain rot; I can have genuine conversations with him. 

This knack for conversation also extends to the dreaded ordeal of introducing him to my family. Between my dad’s poor jokes, my mum’s continual questioning and my older sister’s protective glare, I need to know he won’t fold under pressure. 

I haven’t been pestered about my love life for the past few years just to bring home someone who leaves my family thinking, “Really? Him?” Mr. Right must leave a glowing impression on everyone he meets. After all, he’s an extension of me, and I’m not having my image tainted by a poor choice of partner.

Most importantly, Mr. Right must add value to my life. He’s ambitious, goal-driven and encourages me to be the same. We’re products of those who surround us, so my partner must inspire me to be better.  

Of course, there are many other qualities I’d love for Mr. Right — a sense of humour, outdoorsy, athletic, good with kids, nice biceps…

But I can’t get too specific, I’ve got to give these men a fighting chance. The characteristics described above are fundamental to my Mr. Right, and although they seem fairly basic to me, I’ve yet to meet a man who meets these standards. 

I’m more than comfortable with my own company (except for late Sunday nights), but, if by some miracle, you or someone you know meets these criteria, feel free to send me a message, bouquet or calling card.

How to contact me, you ask? If you’re really Mr. Right, you’ll find a way.