Yet its fabulousness was so bombastic and its message so pearly-toothed that it was bound to burn itself out.So here we are, caught between both enduring tropes. A decade ago, many single women took their lead from modish sex columnists, girls with a one-track mind who referred to their male playthings with impersonal labels such as Himself, Mr C or the Horseman.Her influence became such that women began to fret about not being choosy enough.It’s hard to fault the lure of this second wave of spinsterhood, with its Latin jazz soundtrack and cocktail umbrellas in its hair.
Thus began a global sweep of bawdy banter over brunch; cocktail hour with a liberal sprinkling of sex chat. For the new spinster, unencumbered life is every bit as fabulous, frivolous and filled with possibility.The singletons of the Noughties, freshly anointed with cultural capital, gleefully regaled their peers with tales of misadventure and sexual japes. But we’re playing our cards a little closer to our chests.The word “spinster” used to conjure up a vivid and not entirely flattering picture.In rural Ireland in the 20th century, spinsters were something of a social curiosity.The new century brought not a white knight on horseback for the spinster, but a redesign on the back of the Celtic Tiger. Where her foresister appeared repressed, Spinster 2.0 was a role model, an exotic libertine in glorious Technicolor.
The no-man’s land of singledom wasn’t a fate to be wary or fearful of; it was a lifestyle choice and an aspirational one at that.