Internet Dating Part 1: Dawn of the Douchebag
“Sarcastic redhead, 25, WLTM non-idiot with posession of a chin, hatred of text speak, and a non-mugshot-esque profile pic for awkward conversation and drunken bad decisions. Smoker.”
Is what the dating profile I set up last night should have said. Instead, in an attempt to actually drum up some interest instead of scaring them all away, I wrote some flowery bullshit about adventures and walks in the park, peppered with enough truth to actually make me seem like a human being. Toss in a big juicy hook for their first message (in this case, travelling halfway across the world for a band) and you’re away.
This particular dalliance into the murky world of social retardation and cyberetiquette is not my first, so I’m already well aware of the pitfalls, and the correct way to get that guy who keeps favouriting you despite being 20 years older than your displayed ‘interested in’ range to kindly go away. Having been dumped out of the blue recently by my (now ex) boyfriend of nearly a year, who I met over a very well-known dating site we’ll call letyourfriendsmeddleinyoursociallife.com, I’ve had experience of the whole, slightly clinical, thing, albeit not for long, and over 12 months ago. This time, I’ve turned my attentions to the dating section of a well-known newspaper website, and so far, so humdrum. This profile was set up last night after getting back from Hanna’s place after a last-minute break-up-related dash across the country, and after a much needed half bottle of white wine, I decided that the best thing to do at that moment would be to sign up to said website. In hindsight, probably not THE best idea I’ve ever had whilst semi-under the influence on a Sunday evening, but to be honest, I just wanted a bit of friendly banter, maybe some flirting and perhaps a date or two. I’m not looking for anything long-term right now (not after the trauma of the Recent Breakup) and my usual MO of getting on people whilst drunk in some club doesn’t bode well for finding someone who shares my interests, doesn’t bore me, and one one memorable occasion (and future blog post) even speaks English.
So. Profile set up, I took a deep breath and waited. Five minutes later, I have been ‘favourited’ by two guys who at 42 and 35 are well out of my specified age range of 23 to 30. The message box flashes up on screen. “I’m halfway through your profile as i write,” says MrI Don’t Like Clubbing. “It’s ok so far. In the mean time why don’t you read my profile and laugh your arse off at some classic self-deprecating comedy.” No thanks.
Not long to wait until more flash up. In fact, by the next morning, I’m shocked to find nearly 50 fans and ten messages waiting in my inbox. They range from the terrifying (“You’re profile is nice can we chat” says the guy who looks like he would bury my body in several shallow woodland graves) to the sweet. “Maybe you’d like to be my photography buddy?” says one guy, who at 28 is at least in the right age range and is quite attractive. I ping him back a ‘one-liner’, a pre-written line from the site, as I haven’t yet shelled out the thirty quid for the subscription, saying that I wasn’t subscribed yet but would get back to him when I was. A few minutes later, my email alert goes off again. He’s not happy with my reply. “Save your money. You’ll meet far classier guys outside Primark. We’re all animals and degenerates on here.” Terrifying. I haven’t got long to wait though, until he’s sent me another email, this time telling me that he’s joined a photography site called blurb, and that his brother has asked him to take some pictures of his dogs which will then be blown up and put onto canvas. I resolve not to look at any more messages he sends me.
I also get added as a favourite by a cute 26 year old with black curly hair and geek specs. He lives just down the road from me in North London, works as a freelance journo and plays guitar. Unfortunately, having favourited him back, I realise that we both obviously haven’t shelled out for the subscription and are doomed to be constantly on each others ‘who’s been viewing your profile page’ list for the rest of time without a message being sent. I’m about to lose interest, when I get a DM over Twitter. I’d tweeted the night before about joining the site, and how much of a confidence boost I was hoping it would give me. The message is from Andy*, a guy I knew vaguely in Uni. We connected over Twitter a few months ago due to having a lot of mutual followers and generally having the same taste in interesting internet stuff. “Which site is it?” He wants to know. I let him know which one I’ve picked. “I’m on that one. I’ll take you out for a drink.” he sends back almost immediately. I check out his profile. Thirty? Tattooed? Penchant for silly hats and designer stubble? Hmmm...
Jane
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