The myth of 'Mr Right'

And why he won't solve all your problems

Last time I wrote about how to feel better about being single when you don’t want to be – part one. This time I’m writing about the idea of Mr/Ms/Mx Right, and how he/she/they won’t solve all your problems, even though you really think they will.

I have dated many Mr Wrongs. I’m sort of loathe to list them, but I will mention a few before I talk about the concept of Mr Right, because it might make you chuckle.

There was Mr Posh who did yoga, didn’t drink and reminded me of a dark-haired Tom Hiddleston – all well and good until I realised he was dating multiple women in London and New York.

Then there was a guy my friend nicknamed The Strawb, for the colour of his hair, who would leave mid-date to meet his drug dealer.

Dating 25 Mr Wrongs does not a Mr Right make

Mr Brexit voted to leave the EU (he told me on date three), Mr Tall turned out to be a racist and Mr Curly kept asking to borrow money. (I’ve already covered Dog Man and Sweet Nothings Man, who you can read about here).

Mr Late turned up late, drunk and in his football kit – need I say more. Other sporting bores (it was really all they could talk about) included Mr Tennis, where the waiter could see I was so uninterested mid-date he asked me out, Mr Running, who celebrated his 50th by doing three marathons in three days, and Mr Climbing, who I didn’t have to see again because there was a global pandemic.

Unfortunately, dating 25 Mr Wrongs does not a Mr Right make - and I’m sure they all found me Ms Wrong for many reasons too.

The myth of Mr Right

Mr Right is a concept that was cemented in my teenage brain around the time I studied Jane Austen at school. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” is the famous opening line from Pride and Prejudice, Austen’s novel first published in 1813.

And so, the book cemented the Regency era idea that rich, single men must get married, for society has decreed it so. In society’s eyes, not much has changed since, though of course it’s not just rich people who ‘have’ to get hitched.

In Austen’s Emma, the eponymous heroine has a sudden realisation that Mr Knightley – who she had been trying to palm off on someone else – is her Mr Right. “It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr Knightley must marry no one but herself!” Austen writes.

Reading this, my expectation was that aged around 29, I would meet my Mr Right, and the realisation that I had found him would similarly dart through me.

It was prime-time in the relationship stakes, so I put pressure on myself to look for a man.

Aside from the concept of Mr Right making me reject men I dated very quickly (I decided that I would ‘just know’ within 10 minutes of meeting someone whether he was Mr Right, or yet another Mr Wrong), I also thought such a man would solve all my problems.

Feeling lost after the death of my father more than a decade ago, I simply wanted someone to look after me. I wanted a boyfriend, a wonderful man who would sweep me off my feet, accompany me to fun things like parties and less fun things like wisdom tooth extractions, who would generally fill the hole in my heart. But instead of finding Mr Right, I dated a succession of Mr Wrongs.

I now know that grief is a long process, and I probably wasn’t in the right mindset to jump headfirst into dating then. But I was 31, and two years past my Austen-inspired age deadline. It was prime-time in the relationship stakes, so I put pressure on myself to look for a man.

I spent years going to events alone, then leaving alone and feeling mainly sad and resentful about doing so. I decided that if I had a boyfriend I wouldn’t have to do anything alone. I went to things with my Mr Right-finding antennae out and ready, and would quickly size men up, feeling disappointed when none of them took my fancy or had a wedding ring on.

JOGO

Somehow, over the past few years things have shifted, in part due to accepting myself more, caring less about going to events alone and focusing more on doing things I enjoy.

The other evening, I went to a Mexican night at the co-working space I’m a member of but didn’t bat an eyelid about showing up by myself. If anything, it probably meant I spoke to more people and could choose exactly when I arrived and left. Call it the Joy of Going Alone, or JOGO.

Waiting to be happy and fulfilled only when a man comes into your life is not a way to live. Deciding what you want to create in your life and having some agency in it is a way to be content.

Things I like

We are still animals

TED talks are being promoted on my Instagram feed, so I clicked on one and now I’ve watched about four in a row. I was most interested in anthropologist Helen Fisher’s 2006 talk ‘Why we love, why we cheat.’

She says there are three drivers in love: lust, romantic love, and attachment, and these mean it is possible to be in love with more than one person at a time - which can cause problems.

“I don’t think, honestly, we’re an animal that was built to be happy; we are an animal that was built to reproduce,” is the most telling quote from the talk. “I think the happiness we find, we make. And I think, however, we can make good relationships with each other,” she concludes. That’s a relief.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely

I was reminded of this quote from the 19th century historian Lord Acton when watching a New York Times interview (free to watch on YouTube) with Adam Neumann, the erratic but once revered founder of sub-letting company WeWork, which pulled its first attempt at going public in 2019 after massive losses.

The interview, by Andrew Ross Sorkin, just got nominated for an Emmy, and is well worth a watch to see Neumann address allegations around huge payoffs and wild parties, as well as how he tries to charm Sorkin with his slick sales patter.

Thanks to Zdeněk Macháček and Unsplash for the image at the top of this post.