What happens on race days stays on race days

He's not just Fitzy and Wippa's newsreader or a panellist for The Morning Show, FOX Sports, and the ABC – Matt de Groot is also Be's newest columnist. He'll be taking us on a deep dive into the world of dating and relationships... from a guy's perspective.

Another Melbourne Cup day is done and my heart immediately goes out to those who woke-up the next morning having fallen victim to the curse of the ‘race day hottie.’

That is, seeing a guy or girl at the races and being convinced they are a 10, when in reality they are at best a hard 6.

It’s an unfortunate inevitability for any race day. But I get it.

On race days it always seems the sun is shining brighter, the grass is greener, and champagne falls from the sky. There is an atmosphere of well-styled, pre-boozed excitement that can only be matched by a wedding.

It’s a spicy recipe of guys suiting up and gals frocking to the nines; add to that 35 glasses of GH Mumm and all of a sudden you’re walking around a wonderland that is your own real-life Hottest 100.

It’s almost harder NOT to hook up. And the stats agree.

I’ve seen figures from the app ‘Happn’ showing a mighty increase in the number of matches or ‘crushes’ had by those using the app at various racetracks during the Melbourne Cup.

At Flemington in Melbourne, there was a 29% jump, Randwick in Sydney a 36% jump, at Doomben in Brisbane there was a 100% increase, and at Ascot in Perth it rose 600%.

600%. Wowsers. I love that they love love in Perth. And it all makes total sense.

Be it the races themselves, or the many fascinator-filled-faux-Melbourne Cup events and lunches around the country, people are buzzing.

As I say, races are like a wedding but only better, because no one is linked to the disapproving bride, or being awkwardly watched by those too lame to hit the dance floor. It’s a well-dressed, drunken, adult playground.

But…

The morning after it all comes crashing down.

I don’t know what happens in those hours between going to sleep and waking up, (I do, its sobriety) but everything that was great about them yesterday seems not only to have reduced, but reversed today.

Perfectly coiffed hair, gone. The blokes reek of booze. Make-up is everywhere. A shoe is missing. You realise you don’t actually know their name. It’s all very messy.

Which is why my primary advice to anyone who meets someone at the races is to embrace the journey that day, but don’t bother calling tomorrow. Let the memory of your La La Land style romance live as exactly that, a memory.

Similarly, apply this thinking you’re your profile photo on any dating-apps.

Everyone looks their best on race days, so unless you’re planning to show up on that first-date in a crisp, races-ready suit, or having spent hours on your outfit, hair and makeup, you’re only setting yourself up to underwhelm on arrival, and nobody wants that.

So just leave it as ‘what happens on race days, stays on race days.’

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