Red Flags, Reset Buttons & a Mob Wife Moment

Sophie Allatt
Nov 29, 2023
5 min read

Updated: Apr 3

November, darling, you’ve been chaotic, cosy, mildly traumatic—and just messy enough to remind me that life doesn’t always need to be perfectly curated to be perfectly memorable. There’s been scandal, reset buttons, horrendous dating moments, and toddler-induced chaos, all wrapped up in oversized scarves and chai lattes. If autumn is the season for shedding, then this month I’ve left behind the remnants of old hopes, bad dates, and any tolerance I once had for men who think the phrase “alpha male” is something to aspire to.

Because nothing quite screams “this is why I’m single” like a truly diabolical Hinge date with a chauvinistic American finance bro who got messily drunk, kept darting off to the bathroom, and behaved like he was auditioning for the role of London’s Most Eligible Bachelor (spoiler: he didn’t get the part). There are red flags, and then there’s setting the whole place on fire.

Oh, and just to round things out nicely? I also experienced my first proper “everyone is having babies” moment at a family-friendly pub in Horsham. Surrounded by Peppa Pig on full blast and a forest of prams, I found myself clinging to my oat flat white like it was a life raft on a sea of snack crumbs and sensory overload.

The Hinge Date From Hell: A Cautionary Tale

Let’s set the scene.

He suggested a bar in Mayfair. Red flag number one. But, in the name of being open-minded (and mildly bored), I said yes. Outfit? Cute. Expectations? Low. Regret? Immediate.

From the get-go, it was giving… investment banker with main character delusions:

Speedy drink orders, like it was a race.
Tall tales about height, career, and (I kid you not) how he “ran a team of men.”
A staggering level of overconfidence paired with a whiff of pure chauvinism, dressed up as “taking charge.”
Comments that started as banter but had the undertone of someone who thought 1950s gender roles were “actually kind of hot.”
A strange fascination with his own reflection in the back of a cocktail spoon.

And then came the bathroom breaks.

At first, I was generous. Maybe he drinks too much water? Maybe he has a nervous bladder?

By trip three, we all know what’s up.

By trip five, I’d mentally checked out, planned my escape, drafted a note to self never to trust anyone who wears cufflinks on a first date, and started wondering if I could claim the date on my tax return as a charitable act.

He ended the night slurring his words, still convinced he was “nailing it,” while I sent an SOS text to a friend and Ubered myself straight into a long bath, a face mask, and an even longer WhatsApp voice note recap.

Conclusion: Never again. Also, Finance Bros of Mayfair—your PR is in the bin.

The Soft Reset: Mum, Dad & Screaming Toddlers in the Pub

Naturally, after witnessing the depths of the dating pool, I fled London and sought refuge at home. You know that feeling when you return to your family home, and suddenly everything smells of comfort and slight overcooked toast? Heaven.

Home being tea, toast, and a long Mum chat about how “he probably peaked in secondary school.” Dad, ever the king of understatement, simply said, “Sounds like a muppet.” Classic Dad.

There’s something about going home that always resets me:

Hot cuppas at the kitchen table with the radiators just a bit too warm.
A walk with Dad where we mostly talk about the weather and it still means everything.
Pub lunches with no makeup and all the carbs.
Falling asleep under a too-heavy duvet that smells like childhood and a hint of fabric softener.

Then came the Horsham moment.

A trip to catch up with old friends, which turned into an unofficial toddler rave at the local pub. I walked in and was hit with:

iPads playing cartoons at full blast.
Sippy cups scattered like confetti.
One rogue child screaming because someone stole her crayons.
A soundtrack of baby giggles, Peppa Pig, and one frazzled dad whisper-shouting “just eat your nuggets!”

I love my friends. I adore their kids. But it was a full-on visual representation of why I’m not rushing toward parenthood just yet.

I left that pub with slightly ringing ears and a fresh appreciation for lie-ins, spontaneous plans, candlelit silence, and the fact that my sofa has not been wiped down with baby wipes or apple purée.

Mindset: Letting Life Be Messy & a Bit Loud

November has reminded me of a simple truth: it’s okay if things don’t make perfect sense right now.

Not every chapter needs to be polished. Some are meant to be a little rough around the edges, and that’s where the real grit (and humour) lives. If life was always glossy, we’d never have these brilliant voice note stories.

This fortnight, I’ve been leaning into:

Laughing at bad dates instead of questioning my life choices.
Letting weekends be unscheduled and imperfect.
Enjoying the contrast between city chaos and home calm.
Saying yes to the plot twist—even when it involves an American finance bro with suspiciously shiny shoes.
Not needing every moment to be productive or 'useful'—sometimes you just need to eat cake in a towel on the sofa.

Also: every Hinge match now gets a screening process worthy of MI5. Consider me traumatised but empowered.

Style: The ‘I’m Only Wearing Comfy Things Now’ Edit

It’s giving hibernation, but chic. I’ve reached the phase of the year where if I’m not enveloped in some sort of soft material, I don’t feel safe.

Current fashion forecast:

Oversized knitwear that could double as a sleeping bag.
Tailored coats that say “I’ve got my life together” (even if I don’t).
Cashmere scarves wrapped like armour.
Knee-high boots for those rare “I feel spicy” days.
Moody makeup: berry lips, flushed cheeks, dark liner, ‘I’m fine’ energy.
Loungewear so plush I’ve considered wearing it to brunch.
A soft beret I wore once and now romantically associate with ‘mysterious woman on a bridge in Paris’ energy.

Also: heels have been banished until further notice. I’m entering my flat-footed, flat-white, flat-out comfy era.

Beauty & Wellness: Survival, but Make it Glowy

Right now, it’s about not letting winter defeat me. My face is begging for moisture, my mood is soothed by lighting three candles at once, and I’m genuinely considering buying one of those sunlight alarm clocks.

The plan:

Slather on barrier creams like my life depends on it.
Move gently—think walks, Pilates, and impromptu kitchen dancing.
Sleep more, scroll less (ambitious, but we try).
Start packing the pre-Sri Lanka supplements—bring on the magnesium and SPF.
Drink herbal teas as if they hold ancient wisdom.

Also: bought a silk pillowcase. Can confirm: makes you feel like a woman who journals before bed and never eats crisps straight from the bag. Lies, but comforting ones. Might buy a matching sleep mask just to complete the fantasy.

Pop Culture, Trends & What’s Happening Right Now

The Mob Wife aesthetic is peaking. Fur, liner, and the aura of someone who’s dated a man named Tony.
Mariah Carey has defrosted and we are powerless to stop her.
Christmas markets are unavoidable. So is the mulled wine.
Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce are still the world’s favourite rom-com.
TikTok is obsessed with ‘Wholesome December’ prep. I’m here for it.
Everyone is baking again. Banana bread has re-emerged like an ex in your DMs.