These are the boys trying to pull on Toffee and they’re even more tragic than you’d expect

Didn’t find a single member of the royal family smh

7 years ago | UPDATED 6 years ago

Guides

Everyone's heard of Toffee by now – the notorious private school-only dating app that background checks anyone who signs up. So no state-educated plebeians can get in, God forbid.

Nobody thought it would actually work. It's hard to believe something so backwards, regressive, and elitist even exists in the 21st century. Surely no one actually uses it? But surprisingly, there's an abundance of Montgomerys, Archibalds, and Hugos out there who are using Toffee to sow their wild oats.

Aptly named, Toffee is essentially Tinder for toffs – and only those who have gone to private school can apply. You have people on there looking for a relationship, people on it for fun and people searching for others with "common interests". In truth, the app itself is hardly any different from Tinder – it's the men on it that make it truly special. So I spent a week getting to know them all.

Setting up

I downloaded it and was met with a welcome screen: Ah, "where did you go??". The rallying cry of every ex-private schooler. I selected my school and was then told that I'd need to wait for my application to be approved whilst in the meantime they presumably stalked me on social media to "validate" my identity. Wild.

I felt a bit like a wolf in sheep's clothing, to be honest. I'd gone to a private school, but I still felt like there'd be a massive gulf between myself and anyone on the app. Not to say that ex-private school students are a different breed entirely – but I was wary of anyone who seriously thought downloading this app was a good idea and actually paid a fiver a month for it.

About 24 hours later I was accepted and got to create my profile which, unlike Tinder, gave me the option of curating my "social calendar" (did I go to Henley or Ascot?) and my "interests" (did I prefer the city or the country?)

This felt rogue

Weirdly there was also a "perfect menu" section – with a toe-curlingly pretentious starting template including Chateaubriand and Mont D'Or cheese – but when I tried to leave it blank, the app made me put down some answers. So I spent ten minutes trying to think of a favourite food of mine that was passably posh. Plus I wasn't sure whether cheesy chips and gravy was a starter or a main, or even counted as a cheese course.

Now came the fun part – chatting to toffs. Instantly, it became clear that the men of Toffee were a different breed to the men of Tinder. Every other picture featured Hunter boots, Barbour jackets, shooting rifles – the kind of thing you'd probably actively seek to hide from a Tinder profile. If not, there was always the "city breed" of posh boy – pictures with ridiculous cocktails, up the Shard, with some flash car. Possibly all three at once. So, yeah. It was quite different from Tinder.

After setting up my profile, I began swiping.

Jacob, Great Ballard School

Lamest thing on his profile: He had his favourite food down as "trio of game"

Conversation highlights

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What's not to love about a guy who seriously, without so much as a glimmer of irony or self-satirising, puts down "trio of game" as their favourite main course? I asked him what kind of "country pursuits" he was into as though that was a genuinely subtle way of saying he still illegally hunts foxes.

Joe, Shoreham College

Lamest thing on his profile: He claimed his ideal dinner party guests would be "Jeremy Clarkson or Lewis Hamilton or the England cricket/rugby team or Michael McIntyre"

Conversation highlights

I took the opportunity to tell him how much I enjoyed lacrosse, upon seeing his sports-heavy profile. He took the opportunity to bash state schools and list all the animals he liked killing.

Daniel, Bede's Senior School

Lamest thing on his profile: He also had Jeremy Clarkson down as an ideal dinner party guest because apparently he is "quick off the mark and not afraid to offend"

Conversation highlights

The vibe I got was sort of typical Tinder fuckboy – who's also a Tory. The conversation quickly turned political. "Abused for not loving Corbyn" or "had your political views challenged"? And yeah Daniel, I'm sure you got unmatched solely because you went to boarding school. Posh prejudice is a thing, right?

Callum, Glenalmond College

Lamest thing on his profile: He said he was going to eat me for dessert

Blimey

Conversation highlights

Ever the confident man, he claimed in our opening chat that he was posh. I asked him about it. He made sure he subtly distinguished himself from "the working class", nice.

Chris, Rugby School

Lamest thing on his profile: His favourite starter is "beef carpaccio"

Conversation highlights

Next was Chris, and I confess I found myself disappointed not to have come across a single Tarquin or Montgomery at this point. Noting the Henley backdrop, I just had to ask him how he enjoyed this year's regatta.

Really slumming it in the Phyllis Court Club, aren't we Chris? Such a shame you weren't a "special member" and couldn't watch the rowing by the riverside. Honestly so gutting that you had to watch it in the comfort of a lucrative members-only rowing club.

Joseph, Dulwich College

Lamest thing on his profile: Apparently his favourite dessert is "booty"

Conversation highlights

Joseph had the right idea about this app – his bio was very accurate "hunting for my next trophy wife", as his chat proved. This is literally the only answer I will accept as the reason for why anyone is on this app. A great idea. The right idea.

Ed, Truro School

Lamest thing on his profile: Not enough of his dog

Conversation highlights

I found my next match in Ed, whose only redeeming quality was his cute dog. We hit it off immediately, sharing anecdotes about shooting. Scintillating stuff. But then it all went a bit weird, like I'm sure you are a victim of a nationwide "lefty" conspiracy. I'm sure your essays are perfect and your tutors aren't trying to help you out with constructive criticism. That definitely isn't the case.

Ian, Denstone College

Lamest thing on his profile: He looked scarily posh in all his pics

Conversation highlights

The bank holiday rolled round, and I'd planned to shuffle round the house in a dressing gown for three days – but Ian had other ideas, clearly. He opened by asking what I was doing this weekend, which sounds normal, only he managed to take a normal, simple question and twist it into something so cringe it hurt to read.

No, Ian, I am not heading to The Alps for three fucking days. Are you okay??

So, if you're wondering what Toffee's like, and if you're missing out, here's the truth. A version of Tinder where somehow the lads have shitter chat, are borderline elitists, and you have to pay £4.99 for it a month. Which reminds me – I'm off to cancel my subscription.