Overheard in Dubai

Overheard in Dubai and Why I Don’t Date Here

January 2026 Edition

Or, How I Accidentally Became a Dating Anthropologist

All I wanted for Christmas was a tall, dark Italian man.

Instead, I got field research.

This is not my dating life. These are the stories my girlfriends in Dubai tell me over coffee, wine, voice notes, and the occasional, “You are never going to believe this.”

Which is why my love life currently has a Do Not Disturb sign.

Fully enforced. Zero interruptions.

Let’s get one thing straight. I hate dating apps. They feel like online shopping, but for disappointment.

And Raya in Dubai is not a dating app. It is a talent agency for male influencers. Gross.

Every profile says the same thing: Entrepreneur. Investor. Creative. Global.

Translation: no job, no address, excellent lighting.

Photos include a jet wing, a yacht rail, a watch shot, and one moody black and white portrait suggesting depth. There is never a couch. There is never a bookshelf. There is never proof of residence.

Dubai Raya men fall into four categories:

The Jet Photo Guy

Lives everywhere. Resides nowhere. Claims London, Dubai, New York. No fixed address.

The Gold Everything Guy

Gold watch. Gold chain. Gold Lamborghini. Rents a studio in JVC. Owns one fork; probably gold-toned. The car has better living conditions than he does.

The Spiritually Vague Man

Does not believe in labels. Believes deeply in loopholes.

The Married Man Who Thinks He Is Invisible

“He’s private.”

He’s married.

“We’re exclusive.”

You and three other women he met on Raya. Plus a prostitute.

“He doesn’t wear a ring.”

Neither do most married men here. This is not reassurance.

“He doesn’t like labels.”

He loves loopholes.

“He said he’s separated.”

Separated like laundry. Still living together.

“He’s traditional.”

Great. How many sister wives are we talking about. What’s their monthly allowance? Where’s the compound? Traditional means something different here.  

Four months is the danger zone. That is when the truth arrives.

One friend dated a man for months. Four times a week. Constant texts. Good mornings. Good nights. Plans. Consistency. Effort.

Then he invited her to a family party.

She walked in thinking this was a milestone. She walked out realizing she was the only woman in the room who did not know he had a wife.

No confrontation. No scene. Just instant clarity and self respect.

This was not confusion. This was organization.

In New York, men think something better might come along. We call it Bigger Better Deal Syndrome.

In Dubai, the better deal already exists. She has a marriage license. Sometimes several. And yet, they are still shopping.

Dating here is deeply transactional. Everyone pretends it is not.

If allowances, NDAs, and flight schedules are involved, you are negotiating terms.

People say, meet someone organically. At a bar.

Reality: most men who approach you at a bar in Dubai are married. No ring. Immediate confidence. Zero hesitation.

Ask if they are married and you will not get a no. You will get a story. Separated. Complicated. Private. Traditional.

They pursue relentlessly. Texts. Calls. Follow ups. Circling back. And my favorite - a business lunch invite when they realize you won’t take the bait. Like you are a deal they refuse to lose.

Because it is not about access. It is about validation.

A friend once said, “You can leave your money on the bar. No one will touch it. You can leave your Chanel on the bar. No one will take it. Don’t leave your man at the bar.”

So no, I do not date in Dubai. Not because I am jaded. Because I am informed. Also, I don’t share.

The Do Not Disturb sign stays up.

And honestly, it is the healthiest relationship in the room.

Stay tuned for next month’s post:

Overheard in Dubai: My Standards Moved Here. My Patience Did Not.