'I was told not to judge men by their jobs, then I started dating them.'

In a perfect world, we'd say that a person is so much more than their job. That careers don't define character and the way someone earns a living has nothing to do with the way they love. And yet I've always questioned how separate can those things really be?

We're told not to judge a potential suitor by their job title. But it's a little more complicated than that. If someone spends 40 to 60 hours a week in a particular environment, wouldn't that leave a mark on their emotional life too? Wouldn't it shape how they approach intimacy? How do they handle conflict? How do they think about validation, control, tenderness, ego, or rest? Doesn't it reveal who they really are?

I'm not saying a man is his job. But his job is definitely a part of him. And from personal experience, the careers we choose can definitely reveal what we prioritise and where we're at.

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Even still, I don't want you to think of this as a list of men you should never date. These aren't necessarily universal truths. But they are the careers of men I've dated… and that I'd never date again.

A DJ.

Once a DJ, always a DJ. You know? Even when they're 42 and working in corporate, they'll still tell everyone — unprompted — that they "used to DJ", or that they still "do the occasional set" at some cool underground bar in the suburbs no one's heard of. Being a DJ is their entire identity. It outranks being a partner, father, emotionally regulated adult.

I dated a DJ very briefly in my early twenties. The novelty wore off the moment he started listing all the uni-aged girls who "followed him to gigs" and "just really vibed with his energy." I didn't want to date someone whose ego got fluffed every Saturday night by girls mostly looking for free vodka sodas and hadn't yet realised he was, at his core, kind of boring.

But worse than the DJ? The ex-DJ.

I dated one of those once too, and oh my god. He had emotionally never left the club. He'd reminisce like he was a retired athlete.

"I could've gone far if someone just gave me a shot."

Meanwhile, he was doing spreadsheets for a living, and moaning his way through life as though his true calling had been stolen from him. 

And this might be coincidental — although I doubt it, TBH — but both DJs were not great in bed. They were largely self-serving, performative, and too focused on audience response. Always scanning for validation, never open to learning something new. Maybe that's why their DJ dreams never came to fruition.

A chef.

I feel like this one is a well-known trope, but I'm going to warn you anyway: do not date a chef.

I so get the fantasy. Someone who spends all day pouring love into food must be good with their hands, right? Surely they're sensual, cultured, attentive, erotic even — with great taste (literally) and a deep understanding of pleasure. And look, that may be true. Of their food.

I've dated a few chefs, and it's always the same. Their food is amazing, their restaurant is undeniably sexy, and they look good in that slightly greasy apron. But the second they clock off, the vibe changes. They put on their grotty, ill-fitting clothes and take you back to a sharehouse where the fridge contains nothing but beer, hot sauce and a forgotten lime. They do not want to cook you a midnight snack. They also do not want to sleep — despite being exhausted and overworked — they'd rather stay up, drink, and smoke so many cigarettes you wonder how they have any tastebuds left.

If you're lucky, on a special occasion, they'll take you to a fancy restaurant, and you think: Finally! We're going to appreciate food together. But then they spend money they don't have on outrageously expensive wine and get too drunk to notice the taste of anything at all, and spend the entire afternoon publicly complaining or boasting about the hospitality industry far too loudly for comfort.

Chefs are indulgent, but in all the wrong ways. Drinking, drugs, chaos, women. They're adrenaline junkies who thrive in dark rooms with little sleep and even less nutrition. They will not give you the culinary romance of your dreams. They will mostly stay out until 3am, and you'll spend more time wondering if they're safe, faithful and still alive than you will be turned on by sharing oysters in bed together.

A comedian.

I want to start this one off by saying: I still think comedians are hot. But trust me, you don't want to date a comedian long-term.

I dated one for over a year. He was great. Funny, curious, emotionally intelligent, always writing, always observing. But through him, I met a lot of other comedians, and that's when I learnt the truth of the archetype.

Comedians are brilliantly self-deprecating, which is charming when they're on stage admitting their flaws to a crowd. But it's less cute when you're dating them in real life. Constantly being down on yourself is not a personality. They're indulgent with their sadness, they let themselves spiral, and then proudly call it "material." They don't let things go. They hold grudges. And their real-life Eeyore tendencies eventually become more exhausting than endearing.

Pair all of that with the proud "struggling artist" identity, which sounds sexy in theory — very tortured genius, very Hemingway — but realistically means they'll never be able to shout you dinner or even a drink, and their biggest romantic gesture is picking you up from the station in an extremely dirty second-hand car while smoking a joint.

In saying that, comedians are surprisingly good in bed. Maybe it's self-deprecation. Maybe it's that they're used to taking feedback. Either way, they're generous and energetic lovers. Great for sex and stories. Not built for longevity.

A creative director.

Firstly, what is their actual job? Creative director of what? You can assume something in agencyland: branding, advertising, creative strategy, maybe "culture design" (whatever that means). It's basically a charismatic personality with a title vague enough to sound important.

Dating one starts well. They know the best bars. They know the staff. They order the good wine. They make you feel like you've stepped into a more elegant version of your own life. But after a few dates, you realise that's kind of it. You weren't being courted, you were being branded.

Creative directors are obsessed with curating how they're seen, by clients, colleagues, the "cool people," and, eventually, by you. Everything is presentation. Perception. They can talk about anything until you ask how they actually feel, and suddenly there's no language for that.

They carry themselves like they're successful and affluent, but often it's just charm and a credit card. They look great, even hungover. They're fun, smooth, high-functioning… but they rarely follow through unless there's status or money attached.

And they will absolutely need external validation; professionally, socially, sexually. Which means: yes, they will likely cheat. Not because they're inherently bad people, but because they need to feel important, admired, wanted, and they're fluent in getting it. Whatever the cost.

Having dated a few, there's also a subtle sadness to them. When your whole job is crafting illusions, eventually you start living in one. Everything looks good on the outside, but internally, it falls flat.

A personal trainer.

As someone who hates going to the gym, I'm not sure why I ever dated a personal trainer. I don't believe in counting calories, or I don't believe in counting calories or meal prep. I think there was something about him that reminded me of my hot high school P.E. teacher, and also… we've all felt the urge to date someone with a six-pack at least once. Right!?

I think this is more about personal preference than a universal warning, but personal trainers are a no from me. They're obsessed with health. Obsessed with routine. They know the best time to eat, the ideal ratio of protein to carbs, the optimal heart rate during sex, and they track all of it. It's almost impressive at first, until you start to see all the insecurities it's attempting to cover up.

There's a lot about it that feels attractive on paper: fit, healthy, motivated, organised. But the level of control it takes to live like that breeds a personality type to match. Someone who is not spontaneous. Who never goes easy on themselves. Who puts a huge weight and value on how they look.

And then there's the sex.

Not terrible, but never present. He spent more time looking at himself in the mirror than at me. He'd pause to take in his own muscles, sometimes even flex for effect. He couldn't take direction, but was very invested in making sure I orgasmed, mostly because it reflected well on him.

Just… not for me.

Read more dating and relationship stories from Laura:

• The quiet habit that's killing sex lives in long-term relationships.

• Why every woman wants a 'husband willy'.

• 'I thought I'd grow out of my thing for older men. Instead, I fell in love with one.'

Feature image: Instagram/@lauraroscioli.