As I walk to the train station, I feel a surge of anticipation. As I mingled with the other morning commuters, I’m unusually aware of the middle finger on my right hand. Will someone mention it? Or even ask me out on a date because of it?
My excitement stems from the seemingly understated, if not particularly stylish, pale green ring I’m wearing. A ring to tell strangers that I’m single – and specifically looking for love.
The pear ring was developed by a UK dating company with the intention of persuading internet daters to approach potential real-life partners. It costs £19.99 and is described as “the opposite of an engagement ring”.
The concept is similar to college traffic light parties, where attendees wear a color to indicate their relationship status: red means “heard,” yellow means “meeting someone, but it’s not serious,” and green, well, green light.
It seems that the appetite for old-school dating is increasing. While an estimated 300 million people around the world have a dating app profile, a recent study found that nearly four in five daters feel burned out from online dating.
Lindsey Jane Gordon (pictured) from Somerset wears the ring twice a week for six weeks – but so far it hasn’t sparked any reactions and she hasn’t spotted a suitable man wearing one yet
Now, the rate at which people download and then delete dating apps is second only to online gambling apps. Officially launched in the UK and US in March, Pear also offers a purple ring for LGBT partners.
This month, This Morning’s Alison Hammond revealed that she had the green version when hosting the show, referring to it as her “single ring”, and the company turned on advertisements on billboards, London Underground and buses.
The hashtag #pearring now has more than five million views on TikTok. There was a Pear meeting in New York where only ring bearers were allowed to encourage contact between bearers. The first event in London takes place this weekend.
Rejection from a stranger feels more brutal when it’s face to face
Pear’s founders, who call the ring “the world’s greatest social experiment,” claim that if every single person in the world wore the ring, dating apps would be obsolete.
The question is: Do single people – especially women – really want to wear a piece of jewelry that expresses their unrelatedness to the world, with all the judgments that come with it? Would that make us feel empowered – or just desperate?
At 35, I’ve been single for most of my life and have been swiping apps for the last decade.
I don’t mind being single, but it no longer feels like an exciting adventure where you never know what—or who—is coming up. Also, realizing that most of my friends are now married was a little disconcerting. Am I really the last single girl at the party?
While I was once an avid user of Hinge and Bumble, I now find the apps boring. For the past year and a half I’ve mostly taken a break from dating. And to be honest, I didn’t miss it.
But shouldn’t I be out there anymore? Not wanting to dust off my Hinge account, one of the Pear Ring commercials on the subway caught my interest.
Could such a small thing really challenge the dominance of the dating app giants? And despite the promises of being besieged by handsome strangers, are there any less pleasant consequences for telling the world you’re single?
I decided to put the ring to the test for a few weeks.
The ring is intended to alert strangers to the fact that I’m single – and specifically looking for love. Pictured: Isolde Walters
The pale green rubber band came with a leaflet asking me to add the pear emoji to my social media accounts to show I’m single and open to DMs (direct messages) from strangers.
“Let’s make the pear the international symbol of being single,” the website warns. The choice of fruit probably indicates that I want to be one of two.
I duly added the emoji to my Instagram account and waited for the messages to flood. They didn’t.
The company does not refer to the number of rings sold so far. But when I first wore it on my morning commute, no one batted an eyelid.
I doubt anyone in my car would have realized the meaning of the ring even if they had discovered it. Part of me wondered if that was a good thing; I certainly wouldn’t have carried a sign that said “single” on my way to work.
The next time I was in the office, I noticed a co-worker’s gaze land shortly after. Journalists are usually one step ahead of trends, but she didn’t comment.
A few days later, one of my friends asked me if it was “wearable technology,” referring to smart rings, more discreet versions of smartwatches.
I wore it to a family friend’s wedding the next weekend. My sister’s husband was the only one who asked and looked closer to read the tiny inscription: “What is a pear ring?”
I explained it to him and he mockingly yelled, “Come on guys, she’s over here!” I winced, embarrassed – and very glad no one heard him. It occurred to me that maybe the privacy of dating apps would be better after all. . . It’s all well and good that people want to approach me, but did I want everyone there to immediately see a tragic figure who is desperately looking for a man?
But maybe I just had to be braver. After all, the last time I was personally asked out earlier this year was by a friend. I can’t remember meeting anyone before that I didn’t meet through an app.
The company does not refer to the number of rings sold so far. But when I first wore it on my morning commute, no one batted an eyelid
Officially launched in the UK and US in March, Pear also offers a purple ring for LGBT partners
Are we so afraid of flirting in person that we need permission in the form of a rubber ring? Apparently so.
According to a recent study by dating app Inner Circle, three out of four singles in the UK would rather meet their future partner in real life – yet on average singles only approach someone they like in person every 2.4 years.
The prospect of rejection from an attractive stranger certainly feels more brutal face-to-face than behind a screen.
And recent conversations about women’s experiences of sexual harassment and the MeToo movement may also have made men even more reluctant to take action.
Dating coach Kate Mansfield says, “We’re seeing a deep need for personal connection.” And yet there’s a tremendously increased distrust and distrust among women, and as a result, there’s a resistance among men to old-fashioned pick-up lines.
“In general, men are confused and therefore tend to hold back. Women then complain that men are too passive. It’s one of the key challenges of modern dating.”
So could the pear ring be the solution?
Lindsey Jane Gordon, 36, works in finance and wears the ring as an antidote to dating apps.
“I hate her,” she tells me. “I didn’t use it for seven months because I was tired of the endless chatting, never really meeting anyone, and the ghosting. . .’
But Lindsey, from Somerset, didn’t anticipate how embarrassing it would be to go public with her single status.
According to a recent study by dating app Inner Circle, three out of four singles in the UK would prefer to meet their future partner in real life. Pictured: Pear advertisement on a London bus
“I was shocked that I was embarrassed to wear the ring even in front of my family, which is silly because they know I’m single and would be happy to meet someone,” she says. “I think it’s that feeling of, ‘Oh, you’re a little desperate!’
“By wearing this ring, I’m asking people to approach me and we’re told it’s not ladylike.” Women are meant to sit in the corner and be asked. I think that old-fashioned belief that you shouldn’t fuss around and say you’re available is ingrained in us.”
By wearing this ring, I invite people to approach me… and we’re told it’s not ladylike
She adds that her brother confirmed this dating paradox, dismissing the ring as “distressed” and acknowledging that it “could be really useful to know that it’s okay to approach a girl.”
Lindsey wears the ring twice a week for six weeks – but so far it hasn’t sparked any reactions and she hasn’t spotted a suitable man wearing one yet.
“I’m not really looking for the ring right now either,” she says. “Except when I’m being introduced to someone — I could scan their hands like you would for a wedding ring.”
Nadia, 33, a psychotherapist from London, bought the pear ring hoping it would encourage single men to approach her.
“You get a better feel for someone in person than you do on the apps.” First impressions and conversations tell you that you might have a second or third,” she explains.
Founder on third attempt at dating success
“If 1.2 billion single people around the world wore a green ring on their finger to show they were single, we wouldn’t need dating apps,” proclaims website Pear Ring. The start-up was founded last November by Brits Matt McNeill Love, 34, and George Rawlings, 32, who met at school.
It is the third dating service launched by McNeill Love, a former soldier and entrepreneur Rawlings. Her dating app Thursday — so called because it was only available for use on that day — launched in 2021 and has been downloaded 750,000 times. Her first app was called Honey Pot Dating, was based in London and had almost 10,000 downloads.
The first UK Pear Ring event for singles to meet is this Saturday at a bar in Clapham, south London, with another planned in Bristol in September.
Aside from one interaction on New Year’s Eve, it’s been ten years since a man has personally asked her out. The ring hasn’t changed anything about that so far – but she’s dealing with it “optimistically”.
“I hope the way I am and the way I act that the right kind of person comes up to me — not someone ten years younger trying to be funny.”
Nadia also welcomed the break from sheer administration of the dating apps, saying, “It’s one less thing to do.”
It’s a feeling I can understand. Wearing the ring is much easier than replying to messages in apps for hours.
However, some commenters have pointed out possible safety concerns for women wearing the ring – could it be seen as an invitation for more menacing guys? Although I never felt threatened, there were certain situations that made me uncomfortable.
At the wedding, for example, I sat next to a man who seemed ready to attack me. I didn’t return his interest and since he was immersed in wine throughout the three courses I found the situation stressful.
I wasn’t threatened in the slightest, but like many women I would normally include a reference to a fictitious boyfriend to deter such efforts – which isn’t so easy when you’re wearing a ring that signifies your single status.
It’s a potential downside if the ring actually does reach “critical mass” — the number of users it takes for a product to be useful.
Pear’s team didn’t want to say how many people would need to wear their rings for the concept to work. But even if suitable ring-bearers showed up, would I dare take the first step? And would men ever wear it?
I scoured social media for men with pear emojis on Instagram to find out — and that’s how my correspondence with Charles began.
From the comfort of my laptop, I sent him a few long lines and asked if he’d talk to me about his pear ring. “That’s a lot of words for ‘I noticed your pear and I’m into you,'” he typed back. That made me laugh and I asked him again if he would like to talk. “Just over a drink,” he replied.
Lindsey says she hates dating apps and hasn’t used them in seven months because she’s tired of the ghosting and endless chatting
Speaking to Charles, I realized that men and women approach the pear ring very differently. Pictured: Isolde and Charles and their pear rings
And we were gone. As I happily sent flirting messages back and forth, I felt the same giddiness I felt in the apps after I matched someone I thought I might like.
Considering this was the most promotion I’ve had in months, I’d say the Pear Ring has served its purpose (albeit digitally)! Charles and I arranged to go on a date. He picked me up in a chauffeured car from London’s Victoria train station and took me to the luxurious bar of a hotel in Mayfair.
I later learned that Charles, a financial adviser, was only 21 years old – he turned 22 the day after we dated – making me 14 years older than him. Apparently I was living Nadia’s worst fear.
When I asked him over a cocktail why he wore the ring at such a young age, he admitted it was the first time he had actually worn it: “I’m more interested in the events they’re going to be doing .” . I might wear it to go out, but probably not to work.’
I don’t see it as a sad symbol of being single, but as a glimmer of hope — that love might actually be possible without algorithms
Speaking to Charles, I realized that men and women approach the pear ring very differently. Lindsey, Nadia, and I carried it pretty much everywhere we went, throwing the big shot.
But Charles had no particular interest in wearing it himself; The biggest benefit for him was being able to identify women to turn to. It seems that traditional gender roles are as ingrained as ever.
Unfortunately, the chemistry between Charles wasn’t right and we ended the evening with a chaste hug. Still, it was the most comfortable date I’ve had in a long time — largely due to the lack of apps.
Although I’ve since taken the ring off, I wouldn’t rule out wearing it when going out.
I don’t see it as a sad symbol of being single, but as a glimmer of hope — that love might actually be possible without algorithms.
- Some names have been changed.