October is shaping up to be a busy month for commitment in BC.
Voters across the province will choose their municipal government on Oct. 17, then head back to the polls for a provincial election on Oct. 24. Everyone wants our attention. Everyone has a vision for our future. Everyone insists they’re the right choice.
As a young woman looking at the Vancouver dating scene, I have to say: the level of interest is refreshing.
Unfortunately, they’re running for office.
There is something familiar about being asked to sort through a crowded field of people presenting the best possible version of themselves. The photos are carefully selected. The messaging has been workshopped. Everyone says they care about what matters to you.
Then you ask a follow-up question.
In politics, that might be how they intend to pay for a promise. In dating, it might be whether “looking for a relationship” means this year.
Either way, the answer can get surprisingly vague.
David Eby’s snap election has added another layer to the process. Less than two years after the last provincial vote, British Columbians are being asked to assess the relationship again, while municipal candidates are already competing for their attention.
There’s a certain “so, what are we?” energy to it.
Except voters thought that conversation had already happened in 2024.
The timing deserves scrutiny. Municipal campaigns deal with decisions that shape daily life: housing, streets, parks, and the services people use close to home. Those races deserve attention on their own terms. Now voters have to make room for another campaign, another set of promises, and another round of arguments about who can deliver.
Two elections a week apart make it harder to give every pitch the attention it deserves. The provincial campaign risks drowning out local questions before voters have finished asking them.
Vancouver singles may recognize the feeling of having plenty of profiles to review and very little clarity about their options.
Getting onto the apps is practically an administrative task. Upload the photos. Write the bio. Explain that you enjoy food and leaving the house (even though you’d rather spend a cozy night in, getting your money’s worth out of your sky-high Vancouver rent). Try to establish whether the person on the other end can sustain a conversation without making you feel like you’re conducting an interview.
I would like someone to ask a follow-up question without me having to moderate the exchange.
And please, put down the vape long enough to answer it.
The political screening can be equally exhausting. Conservative? Liberal? NDP? Green? Suddenly, drinks have become an all-candidates meeting, and you’re defending a position before you’ve decided whether you even like this person.
Shared values matter. How someone treats others, what they believe people deserve, and whether they can handle disagreement tell you something useful.
But there should also be room to talk without turning every preference into a character assessment. Sometimes liking Drake is just liking Drake. I did not realize my playlist required an opposition response.
Then there’s the consultation process with your friends. Mention an age gap and the group chat launches a public inquiry.
Fair enough. A little outside scrutiny can save everyone trouble. But being older is not, on its own, evidence of maturity. Years of experience only help if you’ve learned something from them. Voters should apply that standard, too.
A polished campaign deserves questions about the record behind it. An appealing promise deserves questions about how it will work. Asking for another chance means explaining what happened with the last one.
That’s where the comparison stops being quite so funny. Elections determine who gets power over decisions that affect all of us. We owe those choices more than a glance at the profile.
Still, whether someone wants my vote or a place in my life, I’m interested in the same basic things: clear intentions, an ability to listen, and some evidence they will do what they say.
Make a plan. Answer the question. Follow through.
Until then, I’ll keep manifesting a little Dua Lipa luck and preaching “Training Season.”
At some point, someone has to be ready.
Leda Omid is a BC-raised journalist who cuts through the noise to uncover deeper meaning in every story and find clarity in the complex. Whether reporting, or shaping content behind the scenes, she brings curiosity and a commitment to accuracy.
