3 days ago
9
I hadn't expected to strike gold so swiftly. There on my phone was a picture of one of the world's best-known and best-looking comic actors – Owen Wilson, no less – blond hair gleaming, cheeky smile just as appealing as it is on any film poster.
Did I want to date him? Well, I'd have to relocate to the US, ditch my children and outsource my cats . . . but yes, yes I jolly well did. I clicked 'like' and carried on flicking through the Michelin-starred array of men being paraded in front of me.
This might sound like a fever dream, but it's the day-to-day reality of being a member of Raya, the so-called 'celebrity dating app' and the one on which David Harbour – Stranger Things actor and the husband of Lily Allen – has reportedly been running a secret profile.
However, I'm afraid that, for me, the Raya experience has been one of initial euphoria followed by intense disillusionment. After my ex-husband and I separated four years ago, I was excited to be on the verge of a new dating life. We hadn't slept in the same room for two years, never mind enjoyed exciting sex.
I was in my mid-40s, solvent and with a reasonably glamorous job in PR, commuting between the Cotswolds and London. If I had to do so, I'd give myself a seven or eight out of ten. Highly datable, I thought to myself smugly, and the first place I intended to land was Raya, the sunlit grass-is-greener uplands of every middle-class divorcee.
Those reported to have used it include singer John Mayer and actors Ben Affleck, Paul Mescal, Chris Rock and, of course, Owen Wilson (three of this gorgeous bunch eventually appeared on my feed). Friends of mine, giggling over spritzers in the local members' club, insisted that I 'had' to join.
Well, it wasn't quite so straightforward. It's said that only eight per cent of applicants get past the stringent screening process, meaning lots are left on the waiting list for years – a long, sad roll call of 100,000 people, apparently.
But what the heck, I'd give it a go anyway. I filled in basic details about myself, along with my Instagram handle, and had to add a couple of referees – friends who were members. I rubbed my hands in glee. Roll on the celebrity dates.
The majority of men were dauntingly good-looking, except for those who were clearly super-wealthy and/or successful, says Anna Boyd (posed by model)
Not yet, said Raya. I was put on the dreaded waiting list, where I sulked for a good six months. Thankfully, it's constantly reviewed – and when I finally got a notification that I was in, about a year ago, I was jubilant.
But only for a while. Honestly, unless you truly believe that you look like a young Angelina Jolie (at one point her ex-husband, Brad Pitt, was rumoured to be on the app, though it was never proved), you're likely to find that Raya makes you feel inadequate.
The glimpses I've seen of other women suggest they are mostly younger, hotter and more successful than 99 per cent of the women I know and are also highly filtered. I refuse to filter any pics of myself, or lie about my age. What's the point?
Once on Raya, it works like any other dating app, via an algorithm, where professions, preferences and interests are taken into account. The profiles of other members pop up for you to like and then reciprocate. Or not.
You aren't allowed to take screen shots – you get an instant warning if you do so. But I was extremely disappointed with my hit rate – not even one a day – especially compared to, say, Hinge, where 'sentient' seems to be the main requisite and I still, with a mostly dormant account, receive a near daily flurry of virtual red rose 'likes' from men either half my age or twice my age.
On Raya, I garnered very little interest. This lukewarm approach made me feel as though I was on the fringes of the cool gang, where everyone else was having fun and I was old and boring, which is not entirely untrue.
There on my phone was a picture of one of the world's best-known and best-looking comic actors – Owen Wilson , no less
At one point it was rumoured that Brad Pitt was on the app, though it was never proved
Those reported to have used it include actors Ben Affleck (pictured), Paul Mescal, Chris Rock and singer John Mayer
I paid for the basic membership – £19.99 a month – where you can only view around 25 members at a time. If I liked someone, they also had to like me in order for us to match and vice versa. Then, ideally, we'd make contact. This happened a few times, but it was nothing more than an ego boost (not you, Italian erotic artist, not you), because what was I supposed to do next?
Most of the men were in the US and only a few in the UK. Barely one came up as being near me. Besides, I have a school run. How am I supposed to meet for dinner in London and also assemble the PE kit?
The majority of men were dauntingly good-looking, except for those who were clearly super-wealthy and/or successful.
They mostly gave their jobs as working in finance or 'producer/director', while the profile pictures fitted some sort of alpha male identikit. Here a pic diving off a yacht; there, one of him public speaking, or skiing, or with a group of male friends. Many were so clean-cut, they looked like serial killers –think Christian Bale in American Psycho.
Proving that the world is very small indeed (and this is why I am impressed that David Harbour managed to maintain any sort of anonymity), I also came across quite a few people I knew: two friends' ex-husbands and even one of my own boyfriends from the distant past. I'm pretty sure that none of them would have been over the moon to know I'd viewed their profiles, and I certainly didn't want to date them.
As anyone who has tried dating apps will know, there's a certain amount of effort involved, where you go through a process of messaging, maybe a phone call and then agreeing to meet (there is another element who send anatomical pics, but that's not, thankfully, a problem on Raya).
I found interaction incredibly limited. I messaged a couple of film types with whom I matched, but had no idea what to say. 'What sort of films do you direct?' I asked one director. 'Successful ones,' was the curt answer.
Another charming US-based director suggested that we meet up when he was in London for a couple of days. But for what (yeah, I know)? Out of interest rather than any real belief that we'd date, I liked any celebrity who appeared on my phone screen – Hollywood actors and musicians such as Chris Rock and John Mayer, as well as home-grown ones such as David Walliams. But not one liked me back. I suspect they're looking for something more glam than a middle-aged rural working mum-of-two. Or they aren't using Raya any more.
A friend who pays for the more elite Raya Plus, which costs about £45 a month, showed me her account. Here you can view more members at a time and see who has 'liked' you rather than waiting for matches. But there was also a caveat saying that some profiles were hidden for privacy, making me wonder whether there was some sort of VIP tier.
After a few months, I decided that, unless you're young, super-hot and based in LA, New York or London, there's no point. If you have children and live in the countryside, it's almost impossible. So I have come off Raya and joined Muddy Matches – which is dating for mature singles.
Let's see how that goes.
Anna Boyd is a pseudonym. Some details have been changed
English (US) ·