After her last relationship ended, Louisa Catanzariti, 36, was ready to try something new, away from the exhausting world of online dating.
“For the longest time, I’d resigned myself to the fact that maybe I’m not meant to have a person,” the Sydney-based professional says.
Before getting together with her now-ex, Catanzariti attended a few singles events, organised by Laura-Jane Hawkins, who also offers one-on-one matchmaking. When she found herself single again, Catanzariti asked herself: “What do I have to lose?”
For Catanzariti, part of the appeal of enlisting a professional matchmaker is having an objective third-party steering her towards potential partners who share her values.
As part of the process, she filled out a detailed questionnaire about her lifestyle and values (some of these included emotional availability and being supportive of her independence), alongside meetings with Hawkins.
Hawkins then emails her a list of potential matches – with a brief bio and photograph – with whom Catanzariti can decide whether to go on a date.
“Sometimes I would say I’m not always the best judge of character, and just having someone to vet that is great,” she says, adding, “She’s also showing me people I would not otherwise cross paths with.”
One of Catanzariti’s dealbreakers is she doesn’t want children, though she is open to someone with kids, which she thinks has been one of the biggest barriers to finding a partner.
Social media and the appearance-centric nature of dating apps can also be a barrier for Catanzariti, who is on “a big weight loss journey” having lost 50 kilograms so far – though she thinks the beauty ideal of an “Instagram model” is more specific to Australia.
“I spent a month in Italy just before COVID and men there are very different. I didn’t have a single issue meeting people … it’s a country that is also matriarchal, mothers are often voluptuous women, it’s very different,” she says.
Hawkins, a former media professional, started dating service Unwritten – which also includes singles events such as golf and wine tastings – in 2021.
“Having a matchmaker is like having a wing woman – that person you can chat to, is there for support and also to just give some honest feedback,” she says.
Her service has two tiers: a passive membership ($120 for 12 months), involving a 20-minute introductory call to screen singles for her database, and an active membership (about $4000 for 12 weeks, $8000 for a year), for which Catanzariti has signed up.
“Using a matchmaker, paying the fees and having that call with me is a bit of a screening process in a way,” says Hawkins for people who are serious and committed.
Catanzariti has been on three first dates so far, but while all the men have been lovely (one has become a friend) they haven’t quite been compatible. But she remains hopeful.
Dr Lisa Portolan, a researcher of love, intimacy and relationships, sees matchmaking as a return of “human curation” in the quest for love, as singles express dating app fatigue and lose trust in big tech.
“It’s a push away from the algorithms [many apps have introduced AI matchmakers], which could potentially be keeping us apart as well.
“There’s this real premium now on intimacy – this sense of intimacy being important and valuable and something that should be invested in – because we are living in a time when we are so disconnected from each other.”
Still, she thinks the intentionality of matchmaking may be at odds with Australian dating culture, having recently interviewed a Perth man who expressed a certain “awkwardness” about going on dates arranged by a matchmaker.
“It was that narrative where ‘big love’ is supposed to be found when you’re not looking for it,” she says.
“In Australia, we have this cultural narrative around not seeming too desperate, and this laid-back relationship with love.”
Hawkins agrees matchmaking may have carried a taboo, but believes this is changing.
“People pay for expertise and support in so many areas of their life, whether that’s exercise or self-care, then why not pay and get somebody to support you with finding the most important thing?”
Khunno, a Melbourne single who doesn’t want his surname disclosed, started working with a matchmaker a few months ago.
“I did a bit of research, and I’m in a position where I have a bit of money behind me, so why not pay for someone to help me?” says the businessman.
Having spent the past decade focusing on his career, Khunno has dated on and off but hasn’t been looking for anything serious.
Now in his late 40s with an established business, his own home and “amazing friends and family”, Khunno is ready to settle down with the help of a matchmaker for what he says is the “biggest, most important decision” of his life.
While his main criteria are a woman who is ready to have children (he’s open to anyone aged 30 to 45) and is financially independent, beyond that, just wants someone “genuine, kind and with a good heart”.
Lauren Hunter, from luxury dating service Cinqe, which commands fees starting at $15,000 a year, says the biggest shift she’s seen is “fascination and curiosity”.
“Even a year ago, [matchmaking] was so foreign. It’s becoming more of a buzzword,” she says, adding she’s started a cheaper dating coaching service for singles.
Still, matchmaking is a niche pathway to love for most Australians – in large part due to cost and lack of awareness.
Dating apps remain a common way to meet, with 38 per cent of Australian couples meeting online according to a 2025 study. The remainder met offline, often through friends or at work.
Hunter, whose services Khunno has employed, says she often has to have tough conversations with clients about expectations.
“Initially, I was sending him [Khunno] matches, and he was saying no to me, and being really fussy. And I called him and I said, ‘Listen. You’re not going to build a connection with someone based on their photo. I’m not an algorithm. I’ve chosen this woman for you to meet for a reason, so you’ve got to do this and trust me’ ”
Hawkins agrees that encouraging open-mindedness is part of the process:
“Sometimes people might be funny about age or height, and I just say, ‘I know he might be a year younger than what you want, but I don’t want you missing out on meeting an amazing person just because you’ve got that preference in your head.’ ”
So far, Khunno has gone on seven dates with seven women. The last one seems to have stuck – they’ve been seeing each other for the past few months, though Khunno says he would return to Hunter if things don’t work out.
Reflecting on the process, he says he’s learnt a lot about himself, despite the challenges.
“It’s a lot tougher than I remember when I was young. When you’re younger, you like someone, they like you, that’s all you go off. It’s simple and you make it work.”
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Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: www.smh.com.au
