If you’re single, or if you just have a few poor single fools, uh, friends, left out there, you know, when it comes to dating, it’s a brave new world. For all my spiky jewelry and witty sarcasm, I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a coward in this area. If dating is a game, as so many (obviously married) people like to refer to it, I’ve been happily warming the bench with the lion from Oz and the little nose picker whose dad thought sports would toughen him up. As a writer, I’m used to sending my writing out into the world and watching the rejection letters come trickling back. It’s difficult, but at least I could learn from those rejections. I could rewrite, revise, or, worse comes to worse, start again.
When it’s you you’re sending out into the world, it’s even scarier. Short of undergoing more plastic surgeries than the Barbie wanna-be featured on Inside Edition, we can’t rewrite ourselves. We can, however, rewrite our profiles-again, and again, and again. The aim of these profiles is to give potential dates and mates a glimpse into one’s head and heart. The writer is supposed to self-reflect and then produce a piece which perfectly captures his essence in a mere 4000 characters. Most of the time, the best one can hope for is to amuse another poor single person taking a shot at online dating. Clearly this is an evil sham created by some bitter married person who loves seeing single people make fools of themselves, which is not hard to do when writing a profile and posting it for the world (at least the single world) to see.
Truly, these profiles are what make dating sites hilarious. If you’ve never been on one, find a friend who is and spend a few hours reading what people write on there. It’s far better than Prozac, especially if you’re lucky enough to be in a serious relationship. As a “female searching for males,” I can only view guys’ profiles, but there is plenty there to keep me amused. For instance, I never knew how many single men in the Massachusetts area enjoyed walking on the beach. Really, I spend all summer on the beaches of the Cape. If there were that many singles guys walking the coastline, they should be washing up at my feet like dead horseshoe crabs in August. And then there is the plethora of men who love serious conversation, which, as a woman, I define as conversation involving the sharing of values, emotions, and/or desires.
As a writer and just an all-around nosy person, I listen in on a lot of conversations, and I grew up crashing my older brother’s parties and eavesdropping on everyone I could. There were lots of heated conversations-usually concerning sports or politics, and nearly always following heavy drinking, but other than the occasional drunken, “I love you, man,” I wouldn’t have qualified any of them as open outpourings of one’s soul. It seems being online, in an environment where the chance of your best friends reading your profile and questioning your manliness is slim, makes guys braver. Sometimes, this is a good thing. I find it endearing when a guy can admit to being a geek or liking to cuddle. Other times these guys (and girls, I’m sure) would do better to remember that someone is out there reading these profiles and trying to glean a first impression. It’s all about marketing yourself-carefully. Saying you’re close to your family, great. Admitting you’re a momma’s boy, not a turn on. One attempt at a serious, sexy, or thoughtful pose for a picture, intriguing. Using the wink and finger-gun pose in every picture (all of which you clearly took of yourself), disturbing.
In fairness, I can only chide these people because I know my own profile is hideous. No one can manage to write about themselves and sound sincere, but not pompous; funny, but not obnoxious; intelligent, but not bookish; and compassionate, but not sappy, all in one paragraph. So what you end up with is something between a cliché Hallmark card and a poorly executed stand-up routine. The best you can hope for is that someone of the opposite sex will read your profile and chuckle, able to read between the lines of the ridiculousness enough to catch of glimpse of who you really are. Most often, I’m willing to give a guy the benefit of the doubt in hopes that a few good men will do the same for me. I may not be called to the Kennedy Center anytime soon, but at least I’m willing to step up to the plate, and I’m thankful for the brave souls of the other gender who are willing to do the same. Play ball!
