Interviews I Can Do — Dates I Can Not

Undercover on a date, rather than under covers on a date

It begins — as many bad ideas do — at a bar in St Andrews.

It’s a warm Thursday evening on 9 October, and the Physician hums with that particular midweek optimism.

I’d never been on a blind date before. I told myself this article was my editor’s idea, though in truth, I’d pitched it. I’d joined Events to get out more, make memories — and occasionally humiliate myself in print.

I checked my watch: 6:48pm. I’d been waiting thirteen minutes. My date was fashionably late; I was unfashionably early. Rather than sit alone with the weather app for company, I started chatting to the organisers, sisters Saanvi and Kaina Guliani —  the duo behind Peared, the student-run dating company running Trivia and Tapas, the blind dating event. Interviews I could do easily; dates I could not.

“The problem with St Andrews,” Guliani told me, “is that there are too few men and too many gorgeous women. The men here have too many options.” For me, it was, in fairness, not the worst problem to have.

I nodded vigorously, still waiting for the two shots of Fireball I’d downed beforehand to kick in.

The dating scene in St Andrews has always been a peculiar ecosystem. Brunch with my female friends often devolves into lamentations over how little they’re approached. The ‘good ones’ are all taken, and even the ‘medium-ugly ones’ have somehow developed standards beyond their station — a luxury easily afforded in a town that’s 60% female.

I was sceptical about Peared at first. In a town where everyone knows everyone — and their exes — who on earth would pay £30 (£28 plus fees) to be set up? Contrary to the waves of greasy-haired hermits I was expecting, the attendees were, on the whole, disappointingly normal.

The event began with introductions. My date and I learned, as students in St Andrews inevitably do, that we were only two degrees of separation apart. Then came the trivia round — “to break the ice,” I was told. It worked. There’s something disarming about debating dental hygiene and dating habits with a stranger you’ve only just met. The cocktails helped, of course.

I scanned the room with journalistic eyes — jackets were coming off, knees bumping under tables, and laughter getting louder by the minute. Peared’s job, I decided, was done.

My date, when she arrived, was perfectly lovely. We covered the usual first-date orthodoxy — exes, future careers, fate — before I resorted to my personal brand of flirting with Americans: impressing them by drawing a map of the 50 states from memory. Somewhere between the trivia and the tapas, I forgot that I was supposed to be covering the event. The food was modest, but the company more than made up for it. Afterwards, we wandered out for ice cream, sat by the fountain on Market Street, and watched the world go by.

Despite my journalistic negligence, I did manage to form a few impressions. Objectively, Peared is breaking the mould of the St Andrean dating market. Low-stakes public events keep things relaxed, and the hand-matched compatibility forms lend it a personal touch that apps can’t replicate. I watched several couples leave together, still chatting, still laughing, eager to take things beyond the night’s structure.

The Guliani sisters have big ambitions. They want Peared to be more than just an occasional event — they’re building a community. Plans are already underway for coffee runs and speed-dating, with a Halloween mixer confirmed for 29 October. The ‘double date’ tickets proved surprisingly popular — as with tapas, romance is best shared.

That’s not to say the night was flawless. My missing second drink still haunts me, and I’m unconvinced the forms quite capture what people actually want. ‘Go with the flow’ and ‘relationship’ are, in my experience, not compatible options. Still, for £30, two drinks (in theory), and a shot at love, it’s hard to complain.

I didn’t find love (yet), but I did find a story — and, apparently, my most compatible match in St Andrews. Maybe that’s worth something.

At the very least, I won the trivia.

In St Andrews, that’s as close to a happy ending as you’ll get.

Photo by Joss Wildgoose Bulloch