Can you ever date a person with terrible taste?

As the cold nights envelop us in their chilly tyranny and seasonal depression sinks its claws in, the mind often turns to Richard Curtis-style romance and cosy companionship. But love and lust are strange beasts, and never more so than among a group of self-proclaimed creatives and tastemakers. Between the ‘visionaries’ and the perpetually emerging artists, it’s easy to get lost in the chaos, forgetting personal standards in favour of finding someone to PDA with in a corner of the Turbine Hall. And with cuffing season upon us, it can be easy to dismiss poor taste in favour of finding someone to accompany you to the onslaught of openings. But the real question is: what happens when your date’s taste – or complete lack thereof – has you cringing harder than a Saatchi Yates employee without a second home?

Perhaps it’s an occupational hazard, but on multiple occasions, I’ve found myself succumbing to the hazy small talk of a first date, only for the glow of a couple of glasses of wine and low pub lighting to be dimmed when I reveal, “I am a writer – mostly about art” and am (un)ceremoniously shown some kind of Basquiat knock-off or, God forbid, iPad art. There’s a time and place for empty promises of pitching that debut solo show – e.g. the girls’ bathroom at a Frieze Week party – but I’m not a very good liar, and it’s hard to hide my dismay as my paramour reveals their artistic inclinations. Suddenly, I’m transported back to the CSM Foundation Fine Art Show circa 2019, wearing a polyester leather print coat concealing a water bottle of vodka.

Despite these protestations, I am not a snob. We’ve all dabbled in bad taste, and I remain haunted by some of my artistic endeavours and clothing choices. But there’s something to be said for the taste-gap relationship. Age-gap? Chic! Clout-gap? A tale as old as time! But taste-gap? That’s a trickier beast. Taste is a reflection of who you are once you scratch the surface, and a fundamental misalignment in this area doesn’t bode well for a long and happy relationship. But proceed with caution, dear reader—a bad eye is for life, not just for Christmas. The main offenders generally fall into two categories: the Peckham-dwelling, primary-colour-favouring abstract painters and the guys who got too into Takashi Murakami and plan their weekends around a trip to Maddox Gallery. Both are concerning in their own special ways, and I would advise against getting seduced by either. One moment, you’re feigning interest in their latest work, and the next thing you know, you’re googling “Cheap Keith Haring prints” for a Christmas present and checking out the Andy Warhol biography at the Barbican Library just to have something to talk about.

Sienna McNiven, a notoriously tasteful Leathersmith, has her own take on this dilemma. “I think I’d rather date someone with bad taste than no taste at all,” she says, recalling one particularly harrowing experience. “I once dated someone whose flat had next to nothing in it – just a chair, a bed and a cushion with the Channel 4 logo on it. It wasn’t minimalism; it was more like ‘why would I need anything that isn’t a necessity?’ He also hated all music except the West Side Story soundtrack.”

Many sources were keen to speak off the record of their dalliances with unfortunate artists. As one “only if you keep me anon” recalls “We were complete opposites, I still look at his art Insta account now sometimes and cringe. I could not date a bad artist again. I think it’s a form of self-harm.” The emotional toll of being constantly surrounded by uninspired and objectively ugly work is not to be understated and thankfully this ill-fated dalliance fizzled out quicker than Evolved Ape NFTs, with our case study moving onto greener, chicer pastures. Another anonymous insider paints a similarly surreal experience: “The most alienating thing happened to me when I found out my partner’s ex had written the worst poetry imaginable. Out of some sense of politeness or obligation, he wouldn’t admit it was bad.” And I must concur – how can you build a life with someone who extols the virtues of spoken word IG reels? It’s only a matter of time before they’re buying Brooklyn Beckham’s what I see and adding multiple KAWS figures to their eBay watchlist. Personally, I’d rather not live in fear of opening a David Yarrow book on Christmas Day.

Billy Parker – an artist, curator, writer – shares a defining moment that underscores how deeply taste can impact relationships. “For me, a bedroom is either a chapel or a tomb,” he explains. “A person’s true taste is revealed in the objects they sleep with.” Billy recalls a time when he dated a low-key pop star. “We met while he was filming a music video with Loyle Carner in the crumbling 1920s mansion I was living in. On our first date, I had to take at least five separate photos of him with fans. That got me excited to see his bedroom and judge his taste. But when I finally did, I was shocked. Expecting an artist-writer-musician den, I entered his Hackney Wick room to find an unmade bed, Aztec print curtains, a chipped Ikea pine chest of drawers, and a mandala tapestry on the wall. I can forgive a lot, but never a mandala tapestry. That was the beginning of the end.” Yet, even when taste is lacking, Billy believes there’s room for something more. “Taste is funny,” he says. “I find it hard to differentiate between good and bad taste. Watching someone desperately try to ‘have good taste’ is just as unattractive as a statement wall hanging from Urban Outfitters.”

To this, I couldn’t agree more. There is nothing more soulless than the constant need to accrue the next best thing, forgoing personal flourishes in favour of something straight off a GCSE art student’s Pinterest board. The important thing about taste is to have some, and have conviction in your own. Confidence in ugly art, clothes, or furniture is interesting and endearing; disinterest in everything is not. As with most things, snobbery is often rooted in insecurity and it’s undoubtedly true that the traits we find repugnant in others highlight something we’re running from in ourselves. How’s that for armchair psychology? Anyone who wants to be seen as educated, intelligent and in the know will inevitably become more neurotically attuned to how their partner sees the world – and, more importantly, how they present themselves to it. Because in the end, taste is just another way of showing who you are. Or, at least, who you think you should be, so it’s probably best not to be too precious about it. After all, we are all the mandala tapestry in someone else’s story.