You don’t procrastinate doing things you really want to do. Two months ago, I blogged that, now fully vaccinated and perhaps staying in Vancouver for the indefinite future, I was teetering toward possibly reactivating my online dating profiles. But I didn’t. It became a “chore,” on my To Do list, a Post-it that no longer registered with my brain even though it was slapped right next to the handle on my fridge. It joined “mop under sofa” and “figure out how to put sliding door back on to cover laundry area.” Important, perhaps, but these are the kinds of things I rely on someone else to nag me about until one or both of us screams, “I’ve had it!” Prepare to die, dust bunnies.
Days passed, then weeks. Did I really want to look at thumbnail pics of men again? Did I want to get rattled by the site’s less than genuine declaration that it sought to bring together people for healthy, happy relationships? Why then, dear Cupid, would the screen page default to “You might also like…” after I send someone a message? Are you telling me I aimed too high in writing a clever little note to VanMuscleMan? Don’t you just want me to click, click, click so you can show advertisers how heavily browsed your site is? (As a writer, specificity adds character to a piece, but I can’t recall a single advertiser and I’m not about to log in to peruse ads. I have better things to do. Like mopping under the sofa.)
On Sunday, I took a corner table at a café and finally logged in again, first having to tell OkCupid I’d forgotten my password and then surprising myself that I breezed right into Plenty of Fish. Oh, POF, if only we could break up for good.
When I first joined these sites way back when I could still call myself middle-aged, it was all free. All my clicking presumably brought in enough income. Over time, the sites wanted my credit card deets in exchange for “highlighting my profile” with a gold star or maybe dancing pickles above the header. Very suggestive, right? I passed. I’m desperate enough to still be on your site but, dammit, I’m not $10.95 per month desperate. And the reduced rate if I go for the annual plan only admits the sad reality that, yes, I’m a likely candidate for site surfing into perpetuity. Hope and denial prevent me from making an economically savvy decision.
I updated my pics. I tweaked the paragraphs in my bio. I added and deleted interests. Seems I like the idea of kayaking more than actually going for a paddle. (But I’ve added it to my To Do list.)
I browsed. POF flashed the message “Someone Likes You” a few times. I would have to pull out my credit card to find out. No thanks. As I clicked on profiles, parts of each were cut off. Again, the site interrupted my search, imploring me to grab my VISA to “read Leif72’s full profile.” I was tempted. Leif is such a great name. So Nordic! I’m partial to all things Scandinavian. Leif and I could fika on the first date. (Don’t be sleazy, Dear Reader. Fika may be a four-letter f-word, but it’s perfectly acceptable to do in public, even with Granny Eriksson watching.) Still, I resisted the expenditure. I also made a note to revisit my profile to make sure my first paragraph, in particular, popped.
It turns out there was a legitimate reason for my procrastination. The catalog of men underwhelmed on both sites. OkCupid was especially chintzy in letting me browse for free. They’d made it so I could only see one profile at a time and I would have to do the equivalent to swiping left or right as a rash judgment for someone before I could see the next person at the mercy of my click finger. Four or five no’s and I had to stop. It felt harsh and dismissive, which it literally was, at least as to the latter part. I logged out. I haven’t gone back. It’s time for me to accept, once and for all, that OkCupid and I are not a match. All the best to you in your future pursuit of desperate men’s cash.
Plenty of Fish and I have a much longer previous relationship, albeit often acrimonious. Once I’d navigated around all the attempts to rob me of my meager funds, I took a deep breath, entered a search and looked at the results. After five minutes, I knew I needed an attitude adjustment. I was reacting with horror and hostility to many of the profiles. So many guys with the same photos I’d first seen years ago. It seems these guys don’t age and/or they don’t know how to take a quick selfie on their phone. While I think I could connect with another tech-challenged man, I’m turned off by the clear lack of effort here.
Scroll, scroll.
More agitation. When you create a profile, you have a chance to show your best self. Unlike all the dreadful annual school photos, YOU get to choose the pics. Snap, delete ad infinitum until--Wow! This one’s not bad. Almost looks like me even after cropping, editing and choosing a “Dramatic Warm” iPhone filter. I’ve been deceived by a profile photo a time or two. But many of these Fishermen didn’t seem to get the art of self-promotion or even the concept of giving a damn.
One guy posted a single photo, blurry, mostly of an indistinct background wall. (Sir, please go to YouTube and type “how to crop a photo” in the search window. Even easier, use the crop feature that POF provides before you post your pic.)
Scroll.
Another guy who ascribes to the One Photo Is Enough school of thought posted a shot so dark that I wasn’t sure if I was looking at his face or a fire hydrant. Another man included several pictures, but I’m not sure what he was going for. One consisted of his feet and a shadow on the ground. Another had him holding up a barbecued rat (squirrel?) on a skewer. I don’t know about the others. The rat was enough of an unwelcome surprise.
SCROLL!
Another guy demonstrated a knowledge of cropping skills, showing one shot of his abs--um, no complaints--and a second of him standing in gym attire in a locker room, his baseball cap and its shadow covering his face. What’s there to intuit? See me for my body, not my face.
The next profile featured a stunning photo of a camel. The guy was there too, kneeling behind, most of him obscured by said camel. So, he’s portraying himself as an adventurer. He went to Egypt, I presume, but why is my eye drawn to the camel? To be perfectly clear--and this is essential--I’m not into camels, but there’s a rule in acting that kids and animals will upstage you every time. Same for dating profile photos.
Scroll, scroll.
One guy added a caption under his photo: “danceing Through the Tulips”.
You have no idea what kind of a battle Autocorrect and I had over that one. It got quite heated and the barista told me to quiet down or I’d have to leave. Here’s a partial transcript immediately after I first typed the tulip dancer’s photo caption:
Autocorrect: Whoa! You’ve been drinking ciders
again, haven’t you?
Me: Have not.
Autocorrect: Whatever. There. Fixed.
Me: No! It’s supposed to be that way.
Autocorrect: Hell, no! Allow me to show you how
it’s supposed to be.
Me: I know that! I know how it’s supposed
to be. But I want it to look wrong.
Autocorrect: Good god, don’t be daft. There.
Fixed again.
Me: Stop that. I need it to look exactly
how someone else wrote it.
Autocorrect: That’s just mean. Surely, he’d want
things to look proper.
That’s my raison d’être.
Me: Apparently not. I’m thinking he
turned you off.
Autocorrect: The fool! Who would do such a thing?
Me: Exactly. So, it’s staying as is.
Autocorrect: This is painful.
Me: Agreed. Let’s move on.
Autocorrect: Yes. Let’s.
You’ll be happy to know the barista didn’t kick us out, but he looked at me oddly when I said my friend and I wanted to apologize.
Another gentleman claimed to be sixty-one. I double-checked that. Huh. This is one of those guys who thinks, I’ll just subtract ten, maybe fifteen. My friend Norma says I look young for my age. Dude, Norma was being nice. Be you. Be your age! I’ve heard men lament that no one will look at them if they give their real age. Hell, that’s MY lament. But it’s the reality. What are you going to do when you meet for coffee? Borrow that baseball cap from Mr. Abs?
AAAAAAAAH!
There is only one possible explanation for all these ill-advised, low-effort presentations: My mom made me create a profile. Well, Mom should have had a peek before you pressed the save button.
Plenty of Fish and I are all caught up. I can’t say it’s good to be back.
1 comment:
I gave all that up about a year ago and didn't regret it at all. Doing something that makes you feel bad about yourself isn't something worth doing, I think. :)
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