University is a time for social and intellectual exploration, but I’ll never forget the moment I woke up to the realisation that I had inadvertently slept with a Tory. He seemed normal enough — bright, funny, good-looking — but once we had been seeing one another for a while, the topic of the 1984 miners’ strike came up. After explaining that he had been entirely on the side of the government, he continued with a long rant in praise of his idol, Margaret Thatcher. As a child of socialist parents, who had proudly worn a “Milk Snatcher” badge in primary school, I was dismayed and appalled. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that anyone attractive could be right wing. It didn’t end our relationship, indeed we had many long and pleasurable arguments over our respective beliefs, but those were more innocent times.
“Most dating sites now offer an option to state political beliefs
Gallons of ink have been expended since last June’s Brexit vote on the analysis of how Britain’s ideological climate has changed, but what of the politics of the bedroom? Until recently, asking someone how they voted was nearly as crass as inquiring how much they earned. Even after my university wake-up call, I continued to be friends with people for years without having any inkling of their political views. Now, with Trump and Putin looming large, we are more politically alert than we have been for generations — has sexual attraction also become politicised? When once political earnestness might have been dismissed as rather dull and worthy, might a difference in voting habits now mean we automatically swipe left?
In the past, religion and politics were subjects that one simply didn’t discuss. At least, not in mixed company. The 1860 manual The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette firmly reminds readers that they should retire from the dining room at their hostess’s signal, leaving the men to get shouty over the port. The taboo no longer pertains, and it has created a social and sexual minefield, particularly as social media and dating apps advertise people’s views before they ever meet in person. Or not. I recently went on a date with a man introduced by mutual friends. Naturally I Google stalked him first, but it wasn’t until we met up that I discovered he was a white supremacist (I should have known something was dodgy when he suggested we meet at a branch of Garfunkel’s). Since he was nice enough in other respects, should I have been glad that he unselfconsciously revealed such a massive dealbreaker so early on?
Most dating sites now offer an option to state political beliefs, which seems to assume ideological affinity as a prerequisite for a relationship. The dating app Hater — slogan: “Meet someone who hates the same stuff” — features a picture of Donald Trump as its first example. Equally, though, vigorous debate could well lead to other energetic indoor activities; lively, engaged views might now be seen as compelling and intelligent. In America, Match.com recently published a survey claiming that 80% of respondents found politics to be an appealing first date topic, with only 6% suggesting that opposing views would mean no second meeting. A lack of strong opinions was found to be positively unsexy by 39%, suggesting that political apathy might be the new halitosis. But still, would you actually do a Trump voter?
Maybe the answer is yes. In his gloriously steamy novel In Praise of the Stepmother, the Nobel prizewinner Mario Vargos Llosa delineates what he calls “the erotics of repulsion”, whereby the hideous becomes sexualised, the abject desirable. Maybe there’s something deliciously dirty about sleeping with the enemy. I once met David Cameron at a party, and experienced a filthy little frisson when I realised he was surprisingly f******* for a Conservative. Actually, I may have said so. He certainly looked jolly surprised.
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Brexit has proved toxic, if not fatal, for many couples. The charity Relate reports that one fifth of its counsellors have attempted to help couples resolve problems brought about by the referendum. There can be something intensely distressing about discovering that someone you love dismisses your most profound opinions.
But as polling day approaches and the interparty mudslinging continues, maybe allowing that differences can be sexy could be a welcome relief. When we argue, marshalling our intellectual resources to win our points, we display passion, wit, sparkle, surely the most alluring attributes to bring to a first date. Reconsidering our prejudices through disagreement might be the first step to a blissful resolution, as Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy prove. Having the courage to defend our beliefs, when they are not actually noisome, is a positive quality. In this urgent moment, there seems something regressive and simpering about political neutrality, a denial of our fundamental selves.
My Tory boyfriend and I parted on good terms, with neither of our views having shifted one iota. I wonder how he voted in the Brexit referendum, but I also remember the blood-heating qualities of a good row. Conversely, shared sympathy can produce some very curious erotic effects. After his brilliant speech on Article 50, I actually caught myself fancying Kenneth Clarke. The world of politics might presently feel bleak, but perhaps dissent contains some delicious surprises.
Conversation killers
1 That time you fainted doing Tough Mudder. Also, how many steps you’ve done today/your new meditation app
2 Your crowdfunded start-up idea for a sock subscription service. No one cares
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3 You mother/father/third cousin/pet dog and how you ended up in therapy because of them