Travelling while single is (literally) a world of possibilities. Last minute flight to Greece? Why not. Torrid one night stand? Wish this would happen at home. Late night kebab? Don’t mind if I do. Menage a trois? I’ve no idea what you just said, but sure…
The only problem with solo travel, is that despite the incredibly rich pickings, most men’s flirting skills leaves a lot to be desired. Sure, our carefully curated Instagram captions depict us as suave, worldly bastards, but let’s be honest: we’re more McLovin’ than Romeo (and how many of those captions were outsourced to wittier mates?).
This was placed into stark relief when we asked 40,000 Instagram followers what they would say if Emily Ratajkowski—famous for her drop dead looks, beauty regime and not using a trainer—sat down next to them in economy. Now of course, you expect a variety of responses. But what we didn’t expect, from our usually articulate commentariat, were pick-up lines ranging from boring:
“Why do the seats look like lego bricks.”
“Nothing, she’d come on to me.”
“Sure, I’ll give you my autograph. No problem at all.”
To the absurdly creepy:
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’d like to strip you down and butter you like a slice of wonderbread, and shave your armpits, and pour honey all over your naked body. And for the next two weeks pretend I was a… hungry bear.”
“G’day sweetheart, you gonna eat those nuts?”.
“Soz, do you mind letting me pass so I can get to the shitter?”
To the brazen:
“Do you prefer a grower or a shower?”
Although we maybe (probably) should have realised the thought of sharing a plane ride (awkward middle seat “excuse me I need to go to the toilet” shuffle and all) with Em Rata would be enough to fry most men’s brains, there were at least a few promising responses.
Some had room for improvement, but if applied alongside some bumbling charm, might at least elicit a smile:
“Still dunno where he’s gonna land this thing.”
Others contained situational humour:
“Rock paper scissors for the armrest?”
The rest relied on innuendo:
“Mustard or ketchup?”
And one attempted to predict the future:
“Excuse me but that’s my wife’s seat.”
And one other was just brutally honest:
“I’d probably open with “gfdgbkkh fdsghjjh Ché ghjbbjb” and then piss myself.”
As you were.