When I was 14, I had a recurring fantasy. I woke up in a hip bachelor pad, put on a flashy suit, got into my fancy car, stopped off to get a breakfast sandwich, ate it as I drove to work, and walked into a high-profile job as a talent agent, representing celebrities and making millions. And I was happy to have my own living space, without a spouse or children.
I’m 46 now, and my reality looks quite different. I don’t wear flashy suits, I don’t own a fancy car, and my job consists of helping students become better writers. It’s not as lucrative, but it’s far more rewarding. But the commonality is that I am single, and I do have a place to myself. I don’t know if it’s hip, but it’s all mine. And like the character in that fantasy, I’m happily single.
My parents had always said things like “when you get married…” and while nobody in my peer group had ever talked about marriage, “getting a girlfriend” was the end goal of most of my male friends. I had assumed I would eventually get married because that was what most people do.
Life had a different plan for me. I’m happily single by choice, but it was quite a journey to get to that point. I was shy around girls as a teenager, but this shyness dissipated in my late teens, where I enjoyed a brief relationship, as well as my share of one-night stands. In my twenties, I signed up for a few dating websites. I met a lot of interesting people and dated a few of them, but nothing ever really evolved, at least not in a traditional sense. This pattern continued well into my thirties, when I did have a couple of longer-term relationships.
In 2015, one of these relationships ended. After this last breakup, I was feeling low about being single at the age of 36. It seemed all my friends were married or coupled. One afternoon, I found myself typing “Being single as an adult” into Google. It was at this point that the name of “Bella DePaulo” came up. I clicked on her name and read about her work, which discusses societal perceptions of singlehood: Sad. Lonely. Inferior to coupled people. I learned the term “singlism”, which Bella defines as the stigma society holds against singles. I felt like a victim of it.
I reflected on the well-meaning but patronising comments from family and friends, such as “Oh, one day, you’ll find the one” or “Why are you still single? You’re so awesome!” There was also the more blunt, “You need to find someone,” which came from a friend who had married immediately after graduating from university. I had internalised such comments, thinking it meant I was defective, which led to me feeling down about singlehood.
At the same time, I was introduced to this new way of thinking about singlehood, Bella had started a Facebook group, Community of Single People (CoSP), which consists of people who enjoy being single but aren’t too fond of the stigma society places on it. Over the past nine years, I’ve made close friends and professional connections through that page, which, on a subconscious level, I found I valued way more than romance. We have similar values, namely freedom. Some of us like to have deep conversations about ideas; we travel solo and like solitude in our living spaces. It was gratifying to find kinship with like-minded people. That’s led to me developing a second career around writing about singlehood, which led to publications, including my book, How to be a Happy Bachelor.
While women face their own stigma around being single, we men have our own challenges, which my book addresses. The image of the “hip bachelor” may add a degree of social capital in some circles, but stereotypes include being “perpetually horny,” “slovenly, “and “creepy.” I’ve been referred to as a “playboy,” even though, in my view, nothing about my lifestyle suggests I fit this description.
Sadly, I have also been mistaken for a MGTOW (a hate group that goes by the acronym Men Going Their Own Way) or an incel on social media when I have spoken positively of my experience as a single man. But I can proudly say I don’t identify with either of these groups.
One of the benefits of being a single man is that I enjoy a variety of platonic friendships with women. These relationships do not involve sex or romance. I recently had the opportunity to share an Airbnb with a female friend. We slept in separate beds and enjoyed time together (and apart). But I occasionally do get the question: “Are you sure not sleeping with any of these women?” “No,” I respond firmly. From my observations, most of the men I know who are in romantic relationships with women are unable to form platonic friendships with other women, simply because they feel their partner might become jealous.
I do enjoy dating sporadically, but I look at it like this: I’m committed to a healthy diet, but occasionally, I want to indulge in that bacon cheeseburger with chips. I also enjoy dating and romantic connections, but I don’t want it all the time. Overall, I just realised I like being “unattached”.
As I reflect on the romantic relationships I’ve been in, I realise I wasn’t fully engaged; I was only in them because society tells me it’s a requirement. And I think my partners left because they realised that about me. I work with people all day, so when I come home, and I’m greeted by my cat, it’s paradise.
But I don’t do life alone. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been intentional about making friends who are happily single by choice. I recently organised a meetup group for people who are single and childfree who live in my area; we have dinner once a month, and it’s nice to have a space where I don’t have to hear conversations about wedding rings or pregnancies. We talk about things like restaurants, live music, and the places to where we’ve travelled (solo for some of us). I’ve made some great friends from that group, as well as from the Community of Single People Facebook group. Even if I don’t see them or talk to them often, I consider them some of my closest confidantes.
Most of my friends and family are supportive of my lifestyle, at least to my face. However, someone may occasionally say: “Oh, but you’ll die alone!” I usually respond by telling them politely what singlism is and cite their comment as an example of that. That’s the last time I hear such comments from that person. My response may seem blunt to some, but I’ve become passionate about equality for singles since that fateful day in 2015. It continues to frustrate me that people who are married receive special privileges from the government and society at large. I believe the world needs to understand the message that singlehood is just as valid, whether someone dates or not, so I’ve made it my mission to spread it through writing about it, living it, and giving talks about it.
This crusade can feel futile at times. But during one of my talks, I asked my audience about microaggressions they’ve received, and several shared instances like the ones I’ve cited earlier. When I mentioned “singlism,” several people nodded their heads; it felt as if a collective lightbulb shone over the audience. Those moments tell me that my living single is completely unselfish, contrary to popular belief; I’m truly helping others through my example.
