Can we change our ‘type’ when it comes to attraction?

Or are we stuck with what we like?

Mar 30, 2025

Some names in this piece have been changed to protect people’s privacy.

The “I can fix him” seed was planted in my head from a very young age, probably coinciding with the release of Green Street in 2005. Watching that film at thirteen years old, I decided that what I really wanted in life was a football hooligan boyfriend who - despite kerb-stomping Millwall fans on a Saturday morning - would inexplicably be very pleasant to me.

In the years that followed, I would watch as many of these kinds of films as I could - Football Factory, The Business, Snatch, Layer Cake - completely enamoured by the unemotional, aggressive male leads. I found it fun to fantasise about how they might change when faced with true love (obviously teenage Alanna would do a much better job of making them fall in love than Sienna Miller), to picture how their hard interior would melt away, but ultimately allow them to retain that masculine, protective exterior.

Writing about it now, nearly twenty years later, makes me wince. While I’ll always go a bit doe-eyed over Tom Hardy playing various bad boys, the reality of such a relationship can no longer be glossed over by my pubescent brain. The cultural and political implications are too loud, and the rose tint far too pale. I’m imagining how I would act now if the so-called love of my life came home every night, brooding and covered in someone else’s blood. It would be a fucking nightmare! I’m trying to do my skincare and read in bed, what do you mean you need stitches??

Charlie Hunnam as “Pete Dunham” in Green Steet (2005)

In my twenties, I was single for seven years. While there’s no singular reason for this (possibly luck, the emergence of disposable dating app culture, and other stuff), I do think my ‘type’ was at least half the problem. I still wanted the men from these films, but in real life, they wouldn’t mould into a shape I could love. Quelle surprise, most straight men who are standoffish or aggressive are not pearls waiting for me to crack open their shells. They’re just dickheads.

Eventually, I decided it was time to grow out of the type I’d attached myself to as a teenager. But deciding to do something and really doing it requires a different kind of will.

“I think it’s much easier said than done,” says Jen, 32 from Hackney. “As dating apps are such a huge part of how we meet potential partners now, I find myself swiping yes to the same type of guy—one which has never served me well in the past (think no bedframe and casual cocaine use). But any time I’ve tried to deviate from my type, I end up not fancying them.”

It’s true that the nature of dating apps forces us to focus on surface-level attraction, which is so closely linked to our familiar ‘type’. While apps like Hinge now give us an insight into a potential partner’s political views, relationship goals, and whether or not they want children, it remains very difficult to gauge a person’s heart through a screen, forcing us to fall back on their least reliable asset: looks.

So, what’s the solution? Well, we already know that there’s a hunger to meet people in real life again. The dating app Thursday has had great success with organising larger, in-person meet-ups that do away with some of the initial guesswork. So, yes, getting out there into the world is one useful way to break up with your type.

The other, less immediate solution is to age. In an article for Forbes, journalist Mark Travers explains, “In young adulthood, physical attraction and shared interests often take precedence, reflecting a focus on immediate connection, excitement, self-discovery and independence. As individuals progress into their late 20s and early 30s, priorities can shift towards emotional support, reliability and shared life goals, driven by the desire for stability and long-term commitment.”

It was certainly around my late twenties that I made the decision to stop hoping to fix people or coax affection out of them, and instead began to focus on what a fulfilling life looks like for me, and work backwards from there.

It was the same for Maya from East Sussex. “I like naughty people in general, so I used to go for quite obviously naughty men. But my advice now is to go for a partner you’d actually be friends with—I learned that at age 46. My partner now is possibly the naughtiest of the lot, but in a creative way. We get on so well and, three years in, I still think he’s hilarious, and I feel more understood than ever before, or by anyone.”

She goes on to say, “Ageing is amazing. I’m fuming that ageing is sold as a negative thing. In my experience, it’s bloody great—the shedding of layers to reveal more and more of who you are. Although I suppose that only happens if we actually evolve and don’t stay still (in the same skinny jeans and ankle boots).”

Ultimately, pigeonholing our capacity for love into a singular type does us a disservice. Yes, there will always be certain traits, hobbies, faces, bodies or accents that we find hot, but we’re not at the mercy of our attraction, and we have the agency to adapt if it’s not serving us.

I’m reminded of a moment last year when a friend and I went on a birdwatching tour in a Sussex nature reserve. Our guide, a good-natured middle-aged man in cargo shorts, could identify any birdsong in a heartbeat, just by listening. Every time he did this, my friend and I would catch each other’s eye and smirk. Later, at the pub, we laughed about how much we’d changed over the years.

“Remember when we used to have the hots for Cook from Skins? Now we feel the same for the wildlife expert.”

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Alanna Duffield