Writer Monika Barton has coined a new dating theory – ‘The Pokies Theory’. ‘After an uncomfortably long period of dating, I developed the Pokies Theory to help rationalise the maddening, addictive nature of the beast,’ she writes…
Welcome to our series, The Love Diaries – a space for you to share your experiences, advice, fairy-tale endings, setbacks and heartbreaks. We’ll be hearing from industry experts giving practical advice alongside Capsule readers (You!) sharing your firsthand experiences with love – from the woman who cheated on her husband with a work colleague, one woman’s temptation now the love of her life is finally single (although she’s not), and the woman who forced her husband to choose between her and his girlfriend.
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If you’re single, swiping and deep in the dating trenches, you’re feeling discouraged as often as you’re dodging “it’ll happen when you least expect it” from well-meaning married mates.
Modern dating is a rollercoaster of heady highs and very low lows. There’s rejection, shame, delight, excitement, and dimly lit, sticky-floored venues at 2am.
Modern dating is playing the pokies.
Whether you’re on the apps or meeting in the wild, you’re gambling. You’re feeding the machine your time, sanity, dignity and actual money (in this economy???) and most of the time, it seems like the house always wins.
Lemon. Lemon. Gym selfie. Lemon. Man holding dead fish.
After an uncomfortably long period of dating, I developed the Pokies Theory to help rationalise the maddening, addictive nature of the beast. You can do everything right, but ultimately, dating is a numbers game that relies on dumb luck.
The Variable Reward
People get hooked on slot machines because of the thrill of the unpredictable payout. Psychologically, our brains release a dopamine spike in anticipation of a prize, more so than when actually receiving it.
You swipe left. Lemon. A hot guy chats you up, but his phone screensaver shows his wife and child. Lemon.
Then… ding ding ding! You find yourself spending New Year’s Eve with a tall, blonde surfer in the Coromandel, where you literally see a shooting star during extracurricular activities in the sand dunes. Jack. Pot.
Your brain finally relinquishes those endorphins it’s been holding hostage – an entirely different set of chemicals from the ones that motivate the chase.
You think, ‘Well, I’ll be damned – this machine actually pays out’.
But you have to leave the Coromandel eventually, and soon you’re back to shuffling around the back room of the proverbial pub, jangling your coins in a plastic bucket and wondering how you got here.
The Silver Lining: Bad Spins? Good Stories
If you play long enough, you learn that terrible dates come with elite consolation prizes: The stories. These are a kind of high-value currency of their own – just ask your friends in long-term relationships. Not to mention the lessons learned. How better to set yourself up for a successful love story than to experience all the things you don’t want in a partner first?
There are many types of mediocre payouts and downright disasters, but here are a few of mine:
- The Almost-Jackpot: The man who looked exactly like my celebrity crush Jake Gyllenhaal, but lived in Europe and called me wifey despite not wanting a relationship.
- The Spin of Shame: The date that ended with me trapped in a sleepout, forced to slink out the back and pee like a stray cat so his parents and siblings wouldn’t spot me during family band practice
- The Machine Malfunction: The guy who called me ‘Cinnamon’ all night because he couldn’t remember my name, before setting my new linen trousers aflame on my bedside lamp.
- The High-Roller Hazard: The Illinois cowboy who turned out to be an actual underground gambling millionaire – a pull of the lever that found my best friend and I in an LA high-rise with a hairless cat, a suitcase of cocaine, and a gun.
You’d think you would hit ‘Cash Out’ and walk away after spending most of your weekend stuck in a sleepout or smelling smoke and realising your literal pants are on fire. But you don’t.
There’s always that nagging feeling that the next spin might be the big one.
At this point, reader, a couple of necessary disclaimers.
- Gambling addiction is bad. Both IRL, and in terms of this metaphor.
- You and I both know The Pokies Theory is a coping mechanism of the ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’ variety. We’re not fooling anyone – it’s tough out there.
- Please, notice when you’re not having fun anymore. Delete the apps for a bit. Go out with your girls without scanning the room for a love interest. Reach out to a professional to chat things through if you’re struggling.
Hitting the Jackpot
When you’re stuck in the casino, it’s easy to forget there’s a whole world outside. They genuinely design them so you get lost. You’re a little drunk, you forget what time it is, and occasionally, who you are entirely.
For ages, The Pokies Theory helped keep me sane, but the real grounding force was my friends. The ones waiting with McDonald’s post-sleepout-hostage-situation, dropping off supplies when I was sick, planting surprise flowers in my garden, going on hot girl walks to bitch about… everything.
Your loved ones and your love for yourself are what remind you where the exits are when you feel all dizzy.
And then, after five years of playing the game, a sequential anomaly met me at a Kingsland beer garden. After more than a decade living overseas, my now-boyfriend moved back home to NZ, downloaded Tinder, and matched with me. I was his first right swipe, his first match, and his first date back on Kiwi soil.
He says he’s one-from-one. I’m more like one-from-one-hundred – and frankly, that’s a conservative estimate.
He sauntered up to the machine, popped in a single coin, and walked away with the grand prize (me, obviously) on the first try. Infuriating.
And here’s the wildest part: Even once you’re boo’ed up, you’re STILL gambling.
No one ever knows for sure if a relationship will work out, no matter how many times you refer to them as ‘your person’ in Instagram captions/at dinner parties when no one asked/in your wedding vows.
(Sorry, I may still have some residual bitterness here.)
(But also, it’s true.)
The chances of meeting someone you truly vibe with and who vibes with you in the same way are already statistically offensive. The odds of it lasting are even worse.
But yet, we take a chance, and that’s brave.
Winning isn’t finding someone who guarantees you’ll never get hurt again – that machine doesn’t exist. It’s being willing to place a bet, knowing you’re resilient enough to handle the outcome either way.
Besides, if it all goes up in flames like my aforementioned linen pants, just make sure your friends have your Maccas order on lock – the story will be absolute gold.
