Of course, if it leads to love, it would be cheap at twice the price. I shudder to think of how much I’ve spent on dates where I’ve known within the first few minutes that it won’t go anywhere, and where a quick chat might have saved us hours.

For more than two weeks, I wear mine constantly – to gym classes, university lectures, daily trips to Tesco and a few nights out. As instructed, I put the pear emoji in my social media bios, to show that I’m open to DMs.

And lest it is unreasonable of me to expect Team Pear to have made inroads in my small city, I also trial it on my four-day trip to London, reportedly one of its major centres.

In total, I’d guess, I interact with a good 100 people and am glimpsed by many more. Apart from Hannah, only one other person recognises my Pear ring for what it is – and she, too, is a straight, single woman who’s had it promoted to her on Instagram.

It goes to show that any community, online or IRL, is judged by its members: Pear might not yet have enough to register.

Can modern dating really change?

However, the buzz that it’s generated – in the press and its reported orders, if not demonstrably on the streets – is at least evidence of a desire for a different approach to dating.

A 2020 survey found that nearly half of US adults (and the majority of women) agreed that dating has become harder in the past decade, a time when the online dating explosion has significantly changed the landscape.

Even in the past year, it’s become common to hear complaints of ’dating app fatigue’ and the challenges of converting a match to a meeting – or even getting a message back. Alternatives, however, still aren’t obvious.

Lakshmi Rengarajan, host of the Paired For The People podcast and someone who’s dedicated to reviving set-ups, points out that Pear rings could provide welcome support as people rebuild their tolerance for in-person interaction.

The context that will emerge around these rings as they start to be sighted in the wild remains to be seen, says Rengarajan. “Think about how it makes perfect sense to wear a name tag at a conference, but walk out onto the street and suddenly it feels out of place.”

But Rengarajan is at least in favour of the attempt: “I think anything that offers avenues and chances outside of the apps is not only welcome, but important,” she says.

Pear, too, is betting on a return to real-world romance. “We believe dating apps will die out,” says the spokesperson. “Everyone wants their meet-cute moment in real life but there is currently no way to know if someone is single and open to new connection… The little green ring around someone’s finger means you’re allowed to go say hello and be friendly.”

And it achieves that, if not a date. On my last day in London, I meet some friends for a Sunday roast.

The four of us discuss – of course – my Pear ring, its ubiquitousness on Instagram, and its lack of real-world recognition. Then my friend Liam and I go to order some drinks.

We’re waiting to be served when the woman behind the bar tells me she likes my ring.

I almost don’t believe her. Excited to show Liam the Pear ring in action, I explain the concept. The bartender gets it right away.

“That’s a really good idea,” she says, nodding. “I probably would have assumed you two were a couple.”

She serves us, vowing to order a Pear ring herself. At least that will make two of us.

The Pear ring: would you wear a turquoise band to show you’re single?