The ghosts of dating, past, present and future

Ladies, who remembers their first date? Do we still date, or is the concept a bit dated? Is it really the new millennium, or do we have the wrong date? Whatever! The Y2K scare is a distant memory and the “Noughties” are in full swing (baby!). Our innocence was lost during the sexual revolution of the 60s – but are we any closer to figuring out all this “dating etiquette”? Time to glance back over our shoulder at where we’ve been - and perhaps catch a glimpse of where we’re going.

50s Date

Who our role models were: Donna Reed, Sandra Dee, Marilyn Monroe

What we wore: Calf-length, full skirts, hats and gloves.

Where we went: Formal balls, dancehalls, the back stalls (of the “pictures”)

When he impressed us: By opening doors (and owning his own car).

How the date ended: With a chaste kiss under the porch light

Why we worried: “He slipped me the tongue, will he still respect me?”

50s Dater: Anne, 68, Corporate consultant/Siddha yoga teacher

When I started going out at 15, square-dancing parties were big. The “New Look” was also big. Big, flared skirts with layers of starched petticoats, which meant hours of ironing. In university, we progressed to big, formal balls. I had a few male friends to escort me but you had to wait to be invited. I spent most nights either at a ball or sitting by the telephone waiting for an invitation. I had my first real boyfriend at 18 - an English sailor ten years older. Mum took him aside and warned him: “absolutely no kissing and cuddling”. After a typical date we might invite a boy in for coffee and play records. There was some canoodling but I was a good Catholic – fear and shame kept my legs crossed. Mum was a widow and she encouraged me to pursue an education to ensure my independence.

Nevertheless, a woman had to marry by her mid 20s - or risk looking desperate! I married at 22 in 1957. We had a great life and a big family, but in 1973, my husband died after a long illness. Suddenly I was single in the midst of the sexy 70s … at an age where I was positively oozing sexuality and ready to break all the rules. Men I’d known for years were waiting to take me out. We had candlelit dinners, romantic picnics … even the occasional dirty weekend.

It was all very grown up, but also an emotional minefield. I’m through with dating nowadays. My life’s full enough without the complication. Besides - been there, done that … and had a ball!

60s Date

Who our role models were: Gidget, The Flying Nun.

What we wore: Bright-coloured minis, hipsters and midriff tops with pom-poms and fringes. Boots.

Where we went: Dance parties, Pool parties, Pot parties.

When he impressed us: By opening our minds and owning a hotted-up car.

How the date ends: With a steamy grope under the lava lamp.

Why we worried: “He slipped an acid trip under my tongue, will he look after me if I freak out?”

60s dater: Denise, 54, Business Consultant

I had boyfriends from the age of 14. A big group of us hung around each other’s places and we often had dance parties. The ground rules were obtuse but specific – a girl could be in a boy’s bedroom, but never sit on his bed. It was like – to occupy that “space”, even innocently, might put us in that “space” in the boy’s mind. Nevertheless, there was “extreme petting” happening. It seemed an accepted part of growing up. Of course, there was a line you weren’t supposed to cross. In the small town where I grew up, it was more like the 40s. The boys never made a move for fear of losing my mother’s respect. I attended university in the city, so I experienced the swinging 60s after all. Some girls never stepped out of line, and some were extremely wild. I was somewhere in the middle. Dating to me was purely about having fun. Luckily, I knew which doctor would prescribe The Pill.

I remember teaming a bright orange wool pantsuit with bright red cowboy boots or lime green elf boots with a pink dress. I felt conservative - perhaps I was in denial.

I never saw the point of illicit drugs, although they were everywhere. I married in 1969 at 20. We broke up after 21 years but we’re still friends and business associates. Being single for the last decade, I think things were a lot simpler in my day. The bloke paid for dinner; we didn’t have huge expectations of his sexual performance or care much about what it “meant” to have sex. You wire sex and love too closely and it just stuffs things up. The 60s were about experimenting and having fun. Hey, the clothes said it all!

70s Date

Who our role models were: Mary Tyler-Moore, Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

What we wore: Mini, midi and maxi skirts, hippy gear, slacks and humungous wedgy heels.

Where we went: The Drive-In, The Pub and The Disco

When he impressed us: By opening the back of his panel van to reveal a mattress, curtains and quadraphonic sound.

How the date ended: With a skinny dip under the moonlight

Why we worried: “He slipped his tongue in an odd place, do I have to reciprocate?

70s dater: Donnelle, 50 PA

My parents died when I was young and I spent most of my life at boarding school, so I grew up without any conventional boundaries. After college I moved to Sydney’s southern beaches and spent my weekends on the beach bathed in baby oil, seeking the perfect tan. I had great friends. We went out most nights but we didn’t have many one-to-one “dates” much. We might pile into a car and go to the all-night drive-in, (with a couple of us in hiding in the boot, to get in free). Alternatively, we’d go to the pub after work, then hit the disco and arrive home in time to shower, change (out of the halterneck and satin slacks) and go straight to work.

Was I sexually moral? No more or less than anyone else. I didn't look to my peers, or have a mentor. I was a free spirit. It was not a time of great introspection – we just accepted life as it was and enjoyed the ride without going to extremes. I married at 23 and had two great kids. I’ve taught them to think for themselves, the same way I did. I became single again in the 90s, so I realise just how lucky we were in the 70s – feminism gave us a brand new freedom, it was pre-AIDS and you could still get around at night without fear. In retrospect I think I was also lucky I never fell off my platform shoes and killed myself!

80s Date:

Who our role models were: Jane ‘feel the burn’ Fonda, Sue-Ellen Ewing, Alexis Carrington

What we wore: Big hair, big shoulders, big jewellery. Dancewear and flannellette trackies

Where we went: Pubs, Chinese Restaurants, Bali.

When he impressed us: By opening his wallet, flashing his gold credit cards and owning a sports car.

How the date ended:

Why we worried: “He’s got a loose tongue, he better not tell his wife.”

80s Dater Lynn, 42 Secretary.

Mum was terribly strict about dating. I was only ever allowed out with boys if it was in a group, say to the movies or a Chinese restaurant – never one-on-one. This isn’t to say we never mucked around with boys, just that we had to be discreet! By the time I was “old enough” to date, I’d started work and accumulated a great bunch of girlfriends. We tended to go out exclusively in a pack. We weren’t even “on the hunt” either. We just loved each other’s company; loved drinking, dancing and flirting. Our mantra was to party hearty – but steer well clear of being tied down. The term “boyfriend” was a nasty word. Sure, you’d meet guys and occasionally take one home but I never met a guy whose company I enjoyed over my girlfriends’. Quite often if a guy started hitting on me, he’d find himself buying seven sambuccas (with a coffee bean, of course) for me and my friends. Then he’d have to shell out for seven hotdogs from the vendor outside the pub at midnight.

Of course, as time wore on, girls did start dropping out and getting married. I was one of the last to take the plunge. It bothered Mum more than it bothered me. When I did finally meet someone special, I asked him out on a date. I got married at the ripe old age of 24 ½, having sown my wild oats but never once disillusioning my dear old mum.

My daughter’s 16 now and is just starting to date. I’d rather she waited till she’s 25. After all, what I don’t know – I don’t wanna know!

90s Date:

Who our role models were: Madonna, Princess Diana, Courtney Love

What we wore: LBDs, op-shop rejects, retro chic.

Where we went: Raves, Nightclubs, House Parties

When he impressed us: By opening his wallet to retrieve a condom and refusing to drive while under the influence.

How the date ends: With mind-altering tantric sex under aromatic candlelight

Why we worried: “He’s got a pierced tongue, will I get caught in it?”

90s Dater: Kim, 30, Journalist.

I started dating my first boyfriend at 16. We went to the movies, or “for a drive”. I decided to wait and see how serious he was before having sex. He seemed patient, although he did ask the ubiquitous: “are you frigid?”. A year later, I discovered he was screwing around, so I deduced “waiting” was a waste of time.

I had a long relationship straight after that, so my next experience of “dating” was in 1994. A friend set me up with one of her brother's friends. He asked me to pick him up, saying he’d “sort out where to go from there”. I tried to be “all casual” about it, wearing jeans (I'd changed 18 times). He had no plans. I stopped for petrol and he helped himself to a Coke, on me. That did it! But I didn’t know how to dump him. He drove us to this secluded spot and before I knew it, he was naked and pleading: “Kiss me all over”. I was speechless. He goes: “Are you frigid?” Ugh!

The 90s were a free-for-all. It’s good not having pressure to be married but singledom became something of a blood sport. I’d tell my friends I was going on a date and they’d say: “Use a condom” or “Hope he's hung like a bull”. The next day they’d ask: “Was he a good root?” I’d love to turn back the clock - to the days when a guy paid for dinner, walked you to the door, kissed you and promised to call soon.

00s Date

Who will our role models are: Rachel, Monica and Phoebe

What we’ll wear: Whatever’s comfy – after all we’ll probably stay “in”.

Where we’ll go: www.virtualnightclubs.com

When he’ll impress us: By opening our jpg. file then gushing about how gorgeous we are and demonstrating that he knows his way around a “C” drive.

How the date ends: With a bad case of typer’s cramp and him under your spell.

Why we worried: “He talks with a silver tongue, but what if he’s really a perverted, murderous, psycho-geek?”

00s Dater Jeanette, 28 Customer Service.

I first met someone who I considered myself to be “dating” on the internet about seven years ago. It was really intense. He was from overseas and we just, um, clicked. I’ll never forget his first phonecall. It was just like a real date … I got that same adrenalin rush at the sound of his voice. We met on the net every day for nine months, phoning each other three times a week. I was upset when it ended. I vowed I would never get so involved again - unless he lived nearby.

I have heaps of male acquaintances on the net. Some write me poetry, which is really sweet. I’m very shy around strangers. On line you can relax and just be yourself. You don’t have to let your sweaty palms get in the way of meeting new people.

Of course, some guys are only after cybersex. I like flirting but I don’t go overboard. Occasionally my friend and I get on my PC together and we’re more adventurous then but only for a laugh. It’s easy to fend weirdos off – just hit the “ignore” button. I used to be on line about three hours a night (about as long as people usually watch TV). I found it relaxing after work and it beats hanging around in a smoky bar where you can barely hear yourself think.

I’ve made great friends on the net and it’s really improved my verbal skills. The written word is back in vogue – just like in Jane Austen’s day. People are learning to put their thoughts into words openly. It can only be good.

Two years ago, I met a man on the internet who only lived 30km from home. We were married last month.