Why Am I So Single? is a reminder that nobody gets you quite like your single friends

I’m walking to work through central London one morning, bleary-eyed after some impromptu Tuesday night drinks and clutching a flat white like it’s my sole reason for being, when I see before me – in bold, glittering, six-foot letters – the question I keep asking myself: “WHY AM I SO SINGLE?”

Having your lack-of-relationship status shoved in your face, for whatever reason, before 9am feels like an emotional assault from the universe. Reeling from the audacity, I took a closer look and realised that this wasn’t a message sent to me personally from above, but the location of a new West End musical.

Feeling particularly sensitive after receiving the silent treatment from someone I’d been having a ‘good’ conversation with on a dating app – I’ve started referring to the men I’ve matched with collectively as Casper, my friendly ghosts – I snapped a photo and sent it to my (single) friend, with the caption: ‘Someone’s written a musical about us.’ An instant response: ‘They better be sending us a cheque.’ At least we’re funny.

That’s the thing about being single. Often it’s really, truly great; and sometimes it can feel like you’re the last person left on the romantic shelf. In a world that likes to consistently remind you that you’re a party of one, it’s all about finding the people who can relate for those days when it feels tough. From my experience, nobody can do that better than your single friends.

After all, ‘why am I so single?’ is the question that has permeated conversations between me and my girls for as long as I can remember: dissecting bad dates over brunches; sending each other TikToks to decode our attachment styles; and envisioning our futures living in a single women’s commune over too much wine at dinner.

Don’t get me wrong, our conversations span topics far beyond love and dating. But we exist in a society that romanticises life as a pair and actively encourages that as the route to happiness, so of course it’s at the forefront of our minds. We can’t escape this singlist attitude: every romcom under the sun ends in a couple’s embrace; family gatherings always lead to a well-meaning aunt pointedly looking around to see if you’ve brought a partner; and even the M&S Dine In For Two deal supposedly requires a second participant. (Side note, can someone invent a Dine In For One meal, still with a full-sized bottle of wine? Thanks so much.)

So, still thinking about the looming title of that musical, I'd googled it on my way home to find more. Rather than being a damning reminder from the universe that I am the modern equivalent of Bridget Jones (without the men fighting over her, sigh), the show’s premise actually seemed quite inviting: two friends, Nancy and Oliver, ordering pizza and drinking wine while taking it in turns to discuss their lives through the lens of love. A form of entertainment that doesn’t centre around romance, but platonic bonds? My friend and I booked in for later that week.

It might sound strange, saying that a musical feels like a therapy session, but this actually does. (This isn’t an ad, to be clear, just a girl in the 2024 dating scene appreciating a refreshingly real reflection of single life, for once.) What creators Lucy Moss and Toby Marlow, who are also behind hit musical SIX, have managed to portray is the internal dialogue of almost every single person I know. It creates a safe space for every worry, gripe and frustration that might have gone through your head: wondering why you haven’t met anyone yet; lamenting on the horrors of ‘the apps’; enjoying the freedom of single life while simultaneously being jealous of those who’ve found ‘the one’. (Special mention goes to an unbelievably good tap number about people who don’t text back and a genius ode to how Ross and Rachel ruined our perception of love with their drawn-out happy ending.)

As the show progresses, it touches on more sensitive and deep-rooted topics – from what it really feels like to be stood up to reminiscing on the great love you know you’d always go back to, should they ever decide to call. It explores all the reasons we might indeed be single (including, um, it being our fault – I’m trying to do the work, I promise) in the witty, direct and ultimately loving way that only a friend can deliver. Because that’s what lies at the heart of this show: friendship, and how pivotal it is to have that unwavering support in a world that says the only kind of relationship that matters is a romantic one.

The further I get into my thirties, the louder these reminders become. As to be expected, after years of us all being in the dating trenches, some begin to couple up and things get serious. Nights out as a friend group become less frequent, as other commitments begin to take up those valuable weekend slots. Wedding invitations increasingly begin to roll in (often paired with a contingent plus-one ‘if you meet someone in time’), and people begin to move away from the city you used to run around wildly together to start afresh. It’s beautiful, and it’s how life works. But it’s also the subtle closing of a chapter that we don’t often acknowledge.

Watching my friends fall in love is the most special experience. And while I’m first in line to help to plan their weddings and smoosh their gorgeous babies to my chest as if they were my own, from time to time I can’t help but – however selfish this may be – look fondly back on a time when we belonged only to each other. Watching Why Am I So Single? reminded me of when we’d lie on our designated ends of the sofa and order waffles on a whim at 10pm on a Thursday; of Friday nights spent singing our hearts out on pub dancefloors until the lights came on and Saturday mornings in the kitchen, with one of us scrambling eggs while another poured the coffee. These moments still happen, every now and again, but not as often. And I likely mull this over more than they do, because my life hasn’t taken the same direction as theirs yet.

That’s the thing about single friendships: they’re transient by nature. They have to be. They can’t last forever, because not everyone remains single forever. Eventually, hopefully, we will all meet someone (if that’s what we’re looking for), and our friendships will evolve and grow and adapt with us. My friendships now are proof of that. Most of my close friends are in long-term relationships, and while the frequency and circumstances in which we see one another might have changed, the love we share – rooted in genuine connection, total acceptance and years of figuring life out together – will always remain. They’re still the people I turn to, without fail, and having friends who have been through the dating cycle and actually managed to meet someone is a helpful reminder that it can happen, and their advice is often invaluable.

My single friendships have built the foundations for my greatest relationships: the platonic loves of my life; some of whom are still single, and others who aren’t. What watching this musical has taught me is to cherish every moment of my single friendships during their lifespan, and to be extra grateful when new ones begin to form, bringing with them a host of new experiences.

What Why Am I So Single? so deftly portrays is the camaraderie of singledom. Those moments when you’re feeling particularly bruised and bitter and tired of the like-match-chat-date-ghost cycle, and you need the empathy of those who are in the trenches with you. Watching the two best friends onstage was a beautiful reminder of what a unique, bonding experience it is to go through that stage of life, and a reminder just how fun being single can be – especially when you’re in it together. It’s something we don’t often see portrayed in the media; the antithesis of being single meaning you’re ‘less than’, or ‘without’ a missing piece.

So the next time society reminds you that there’s apparently half of your heart out there, waiting to be found – when you’re sat behind a couple nuzzling noses on the bus or spending the night in with a Dine In For Two for one – try not to take these markers of your single status to heart. Instead, maybe take a minute to realise that this stage of your life has carved out a space for true friendships to develop: the ones in which you share comparative screenshots of Hinge profiles to to confirm whether someone is actually as tall as they say they are; where you can be your most whiny and needy and vulnerable, because they’ll always do the same; and who you can count on to be at the other end of the phone when your next Casper disappears into the ghostly dating abyss.

Our single friendships build us up when life knocks us down, keep us going when we want to give up and, most importantly, bring us joy, laughter and endless stories to keep us entertained when we’re potentially wheeling around our commune together at 90. I might be romantically on my own, and at times even lonely, but because of my single friendships, I know I’m anything but alone.