They know when we're vulnerable. They being the online dating services of the world. Exhibit A: The copious amounts of e–mail I've been receiving from eHarmony, Christian Café, Match.com, 8minutedating.com, and the like this Valentine's season. This is all on the heels of a similar run of e–mails at New Year's.
They know when we're more likely to be reflecting on our life, thinking about what (or whom) we might like to add in the coming year. Or when we're prone to be looking around at the chocolate– and jewelry–exchanging couples of the world and feel a bit one–of–these–things–is–not–like–the–other–y.
These people are great at marketing. As a result, I feel the need to be a master marketer whenever I avail myself of their services. Even though I've willingly tried online dating several times, and have even dated a couple men I've met there, I still find it a bit absurd that I'm marketing myself whenever I set up a profile on any of these sites. I work in an industry that's keenly aware of brand management, so I know that every picture, caption, user name, and emoticon communicates something about who I am and what I have to offer. It's enough to tempt a girl to include a little "no trans fats" button or an offer of a free set of Ginsu knives with every date.
Part of the problem is the pictures in the ads and on the homepages of these sites. At eHarmony, there's Trenton and Ashlee, the well–coifed couple who met on this site just last year, smiling back at me with newlywed bliss. At Match.com there's a cavalcade of quirky singles—an Asian–looking Clark Kent with bulging biceps and the caption claim that he can leap tall buildings in a single bound, a woman dressed like an extra from Oliver who apparently lets her dog lick her ice cream cone. With their perky smiles and quirky claims to fame, they all up the ante for the rest of us mere mortals.
You know those diet ads that sport men and women who've lost like 257 pounds? In tiny squint–print at the bottom of the screen or page, you can usually find the words "Results not typical." I wish they'd include that telling line on dating site ads. Yes, Broderick and Cindee look deliriously happy together, but you might be on this site for a whole year before even landing a date. Yes, Asian–Clark is all dreamy and strong, but you might only meet men who merely walk instead of bound. Perhaps this truth–in–advertising could give us sparkle– and superpower–less daters a fighting chance.
So whenever I sign up for these services, I'm faced with the daunting task of sounding fetching and factual. The first hurdle is picking a user name. I usually try to go for something informative, clever, but not too cutesy. So GodsGrl no, but CoffeeLover yes. CaffeineAddict sounds too scary. And WorldTraveler is tricky as it could sound like I'm bragging.
When talking about my faith, I find myself trying to sound like an active Christian but not a religious zealot. As a longtime believer who hasn't been through a prodigal season, I feel compelled to mention that I have grace for those who have. I want to mention that I'm a fellow stumbler looking for someone to share the three–steps–forward, two–steps–back journey of faith with someone, but that often doesn't fit in the little 50–words–or–less box provided for my answers.
There's also a whole language of pictures. A snap of me on a mountain says, "Look, I'm adventurous!" A snap of me and my nephew shouts, "Look, I love kids!" Me holding a friend's dog communicates, "Look, I'm nice to God's creatures!" I still remember the guy on one site who included a picture of a baby next to a kitten. Ah, a man who knows most women are suckers for infants and cute, furry animals. He's obviously Clever and Well Versed in What Women Want. Good brand management, dude.
