I have to admit that my post for this morning has been completely influenced by my personal discovery of The Unfortunate Virgin Male and his brilliant blog; I shall be heavily referencing it. Always one to jump on the bandwagon, I felt I should add my tuppence to the pile. If you stubbornly believe that you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s a helpful link to a Google search result that might spark your memory –> yes, of course, you want us to comment on your eyes and how beautiful your smile is and not look at your tits.
The inequality of ‘The Profile’.
For a handy, laugh under your breath at work, guide to 99.2% of female online dating profiles, click here. Although I’ve never used a dating site to find a relationship in any serious manner, my experiences of girls’ profiles pretty much fits what you may have just read. To sum up, it will include:
1) a collection of your best photographs, which will always include a quirky one of a hobby or pet, a couple of mirror shots that concentrate on your breasts (seriously, if you’re going to play coy about wanting us to look at your face then don’t centre the lens on your collar bone), and one or two with friends/other men;
2) generic shit about your made-up life, in which you are dishonest in nearly every fashion so as to sound almost perfect (the almost is important, there are handy 10-point tips out there, penned by girly mags, instructing you how to do this);
3) a big “fuck-off” warning to men who dare not read your profile or write a decent response/intro shorter than a novel;
4) a genuine offence towards any man baring any kind of skin in his photo;
5) a burning desire to hunt down and murder any female in a man’s photo collection, even before he explains it’s his sister, two days before she jumped off a bridge because she couldn’t deal with the slow, prolonged death caused by the pneumonia that would inevitably set in because of the chemo treatment she was taking to try and slow down her leukaemia;
6) your hatred of liars and fakes.
So, a bit of a contradiction there. Do items 3 – 6 not seem a bit of a “one rule for you, another for me” situ in relation to 1 & 2?
You are lying to yourself.
Sorry girls, no matter who you are, online dating is just the same as offline dating: bad guys make you wet.
Wait, maybe I’m being unfair. Because, of course, when I go onto a dating site I want to look at women with professional photos of them with cardigans on. Just as much as you want to click through images of smart, trim men helping their gran cross the road. That’s the only conclusion I can draw from your profile warnings.
Yet, this is the wrong conclusion in the majority of cases: it isn’t you that really wants these things. You are writing what you think you should write because following hundreds of thousands of years of instinct, natural selection, and your own libido just doesn’t seem to paint you in a girly light, does it?
Are you going to search on the internet for this man, and wank like crazy over the thought of intellectual conversation and how he’ll take care of you after the menopause?
Doubtful. What about this guy?
More likely. But doesn’t he break one of your cardinal rules for photos? Hmmmm.
It isn’t a rom-com, no-one wants to read an essay.
Burst that bubble right now. You are not Meg Ryan in the enormously hilarious “You’ve Got Mail”.
I’ll pause for effect and to offer you the opportunity to find the sarcasm.
Bang, another bubble gone. You are not Carrie Bradshaw, wistfully commenting on love in the city as the hours go by.
Go on, another pause.
So, you’ll wade through hundreds of messages like these until you find someone who’s really taken an interest in you. Wow, I mean, fuck me, wow! They’ve read your profile, talked about your interests, paid some lovely compliments, and they look like…wait…oh…delete.
This is partially the fault of the guy writing to the girl. There’s a happy medium between one or two lines and the “essay”. The essay just shows you have too much spare time, and will likely leave a girl in disbelief that you’d write so much just for her, so she’ll think you have a main body of text that you adapt for different approaches, like a cover letter for a job, or a CV/resumé…how romantic. It doesn’t matter if it’s not true, it’s what she’ll think anyway. Women are built to inherently feel inferior to other women. So why should she believe you?
Also, the essay invokes a simple equation. She will only read for as long in time as she thinks you are attractive. If she dries up before finishing or spots one tiny sentence that’s a bit rapey/false, she won’t finish.
Let’s say you get the first message right. What do you get back from the girl you spent an evening composing to? She hates shit messages, and despises it when people don’t take the time to read her profile, so it’s going to be good. Right? WRONG. Her rules don’t apply to her. She reserves the right to message back, ignoring all your insightful questions about her life, with: “Hi. Aw you’re sweet. Tell me about you. X”.
It really is just about fucking.
So how does it all end? I’ll tell you. The same, “bad” guys win. Because bad guys look like they can fuck. And you, you in your cardigan, with your “words”, look like you can wank.
After the four week cycle is over, and the female has finished her period, she enters the super horny seven days. This is where everything goes out the window. She’ll choose the hottest of the one line messages, swap a few, extract a picture of an throbbing penis in exchange for a bikini holiday snap, and either frig herself silly or meet up for that one drink where she “does something totally out of character” and fucks him.
And now she’s tired of bad guys, never treating her right. She wants a real man.
Someone who’ll love her for her personality.
Don’t you understand?!