Our lovelorn lass discovers that dating apps can be very good but also very Badoo

BADOO is my new favourite thing. I spend my life muttering evils about the dating apps I’m on but this one is genuinely ace.

There are two main reasons for my new crush – laziness and the horn.

I’m not sure why men who are looking for love feel the need to show you the goods – but I’m not knocking it

First up, laziness. On most dating apps, I panic every time I match with a guy then need to say hello.

I agonise pointlessly over whether to say “Hi” or “Hey” or “Hiya”.

Like a puberty-dodging buffoon, I nail-bite over the best use of an emoji. (In fact, there isn’t one – we should ban the bastards.)

But Badoo has nixed all that crazy misery by messaging men for me.

This is the perfect app for a girl who can do little more than swipe

That’s right. Dating is now so lazy, you don’t need to participate in the process at all.

Just let the Badoo algorithm do its thang, nudge your thumb twice (swipe right, press the “yes” button to message) and kick back with a beer.

Hell, you could almost be in a vegetative state and still make solid plans for a Friday night.

So with newfound confidence, I swipe right and “message” guys in the same breath.

I’m not saying the men on Badoo are any more likely to be Mr Right, but at least you can see if they really are fit

Badoo automatically sends my blokes a variety of openers, most of them super-chill with a waving emoji.

Within seconds, the replies are coming in thick and fast.

Now for the second reason Badoo is rocking it: The horn.

Those clever little filthpots have introduced a video messaging function on their app.

‘This is me without pants’ moments

The PR lot reckon this is a lovely, civilised way to vet potential dates before meeting up.

But my dirtbag siren started up the second I heard about it.

Because clearly most people will use the function purely for “This is me without pants” moments. I decide to put that premise to the test.

I get talking (sorry, Badoo gets talking) to Andy and ask how his day has gone.

Andy is a carpenter and uses “Babe” at the start of every reply.

We tap-dance around the usual pleasantries until I suggest: “Hey, do you fancy a video chat? I’ve not used this on here yet.”

Andy-Babe replies with a photo of himself in just briefs sitting on a bed in front of the ugliest curtains I’ve ever seen. Urgh!

There is no way I can indulge in live video sex chat without breaking off to howl: “Good god, man, redecorate!”


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I ditch Andy-Babe and switch to Allain. This spelling of Alan troubles me but I soldier on and, finally, suggest we video-chat.

He says he is in bed (“Here we go,” I think) but can get up and speak five minutes from now.

I dash into my lounge, frantically get the lighting to its most flattering – just this side of pitch-black – and wait.

Allain calls . . . and he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing jeans with no top and has a very good bod.

I suddenly feel painfully shy, but take a deep breath and start talking . . .

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