The lounge of the private club is nearly empty. A fire burns low in the grate, soft jazz hums in the background, and the staff move quietly, as if on instinct. This is where David has chosen to meet: not the glossy restaurants he’s often photographed entering, but somewhere discreet. He arrives without fanfare, just a navy sweater, tailored trousers, and the kind of watch that whispers instead of shouts.
Later tonight, he’ll board a flight to Zurich for meetings. Next week, he’ll be in New York for a televised appearance. But right now, he settles into the leather sofa like a man savoring the rarest luxury of all: privacy.
Q: People see you everywhere: on stage, at events, in the press. What’s it like trying to date with a life that public?
David: People think it must be easy. That doors just open. And they do, but not for the right reasons. Every dinner feels like a performance. You’re never sure if someone’s there for you, or for the version of you they’ve read about. Even walking into a restaurant can turn into a story the next morning. It stops feeling real.
It’s a reminder that David’s world is one of constant exposure. Every photo becomes content, every interaction is fair game for commentary. The public sees glamour. What they don’t see is how much that glamour costs in terms of genuine connection.
Q: Was there a specific moment you realized something had to change?
David: There was. I showed up at a charity event with a friend (“just a friend,” he clarifies with a chuckle) and by the next morning, half the blogs had her labeled as my “new girlfriend.” That’s not how I want to date. If every interaction gets turned into a headline, how do you build something real? That was my breaking point.
He says this without bitterness. It’s just matter-of-fact. Part of the life he chose. But it’s also why he started looking for a different approach.
Q: And that’s what led you to matchmaking?
David: Yeah. A friend in a similar position told me he’d used a matchmaker. At first, I laughed because it sounded so old-fashioned. But then he explained it: no profiles online, no randomness. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
David’s professional life is built on precision. His calendar is managed down to the minute; his team handles every detail. For his personal life, he wanted the same intentionality.
Q: What was the first meeting with your matchmaker like?
David: I went in expecting a checklist. You know, “What’s your type? What’s your dealbreaker?” Instead, it was a real conversation. She asked how I recharge after weeks on the road. Whether I’d want to travel with a partner or keep that part of my life separate. Nobody had ever asked me those things before. It felt personal, not transactional.
The office itself was discreet: quiet, private, unassuming. For a man used to noise, even that was comforting.
Q: Did the introductions happen right away?
David: My first introduction came quickly, but the process never felt rushed. A few weeks went by, and I realized the waiting was intentional. It wasn’t about speed; it was about getting it right. My matchmaker would check in with questions like, “Would you prefer someone who thrives on traveling constantly, or someone who sees it as more of an occasional treat?” Those details matter when your life isn’t… typical.
Patience is not something David is known for. But in this case, it became part of the process and a sign that what was coming would be worth it.
Q: So tell me about the first introduction.
David: We met at a hotel I know well. I’ve hosted events there, so I trusted the staff. We had a private dining room, no cameras, no interruptions. She walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world. No wide eyes, no fishing for stories. Just… herself. We talked for hours. For me, that’s rare.
The way David talks about that night, it wasn’t fireworks or grand gestures. The luxury was in the normalcy, in the absence of scrutiny, and the space to be himself.
Q: Have all of your introductions felt that way?
David: Not every one has turned into a relationship, no. But that’s the point. It’s not about guarantees. It’s about the quality of the experience. Even the ones that didn’t last felt valuable. It’s like wine tasting. Not every glass becomes your favorite, but when each one is good, the experience is still worthwhile.
His life doesn’t leave much room for wasted energy. Every introduction has to matter, or it’s not worth it. That’s where exclusivity comes in.
Q: What does exclusivity mean to you in this process?
David: It means small. I’m not meeting twenty people a month. I’m meeting one or two people who’ve already been carefully vetted. It’s like a private club, where you’re not there unless you belong. That level of trust changes everything.
Clients like David don’t have time for randomness or chance. They choose matchmaking because it’s curated to their unique needs.
Q: With your schedule, how do you balance it once you meet someone?
David: Transparency. My matchmaker told me early on, ‘don’t downplay the reality of your life’. If someone needs you home every weekend, it’s not going to work. And being upfront about that saves a lot of time. Some introductions ended quickly because of it. But the ones that were successful worked because the other person understood the rhythm of my life.
He says this with clarity, not frustration. It’s the same tone he might use to talk about choosing the right project or making a business deal. It’s decisive, but not cold.
Q: Looking back, what’s changed most for you since you started this process?
David: Peace of mind. That’s one of the major things. I can actually enjoy meeting someone without worrying about photos or gossip. My work life can stay public. But my personal life is totally mine now. And that’s worth more to me than anything.
As we wrap up our conversation, a flight notification flashes across David’s phone screen. He’s due soon in another city, at another scheduled event. He smiles, shakes his head. “It really never stops,” he says. “But this part of my life feels normal again, and that’s all I wanted.”