Profiling Like a Pro

If I’m going to do this thing right, I will have to set up an online dating thingy.

Ok! I have a massive cup of tea, my keyboard at the ready. Time to make a profile. Should be fairly simple, right? There are 89 zillion people on dating websites and apps. If they can do it, so can I.

Famous last words: "Hold my beer; watch this!"

The first priority for me here is honesty. I will be as forthright as possible, even as I imagine each of my answers being met with red flashing lights and a massive server somewhere grinding to an exhausted halt.

Basic Information

I totally rocked the basic demographic stuff. I am a woman *click*, I am looking for a man *click*. Barely tempted to lie about my age. I decide that anyone unwilling to check the 30-35 age range is a coward. My first defensive thought. On we go!

More About You  (Because who doesn’t like that?)

Tea is long gone. I took a quick break for a grilled cheese sandwich, and am back at it.

Now a more involved bit where I am asked to determine how I would describe myself. This involves a lot of personal information. Surprised they haven’t asked me when I ovulate or what my farts mostly smell like. Has the internet figured out that women fart yet? Note to self: Don’t write “fart” in your profile.

I made it through without making anything up. I shut down my mischievous impulses and I did not make up an Australian persona who looks like me, but is vastly independently wealthy, owns a baby sloth sanctuary in Cost Rica and spends her free time paragliding and base-jumping. Nope. Just stuck with reality. Grown-ass woman in the 30-35 age range. Yup.

Ok, so I was being flippant earlier about how in-depth they were getting. I think there are some key areas that they missed out on in the ‘more about me’ section.

“Excuse me, Dating App! In addition to my blood type, the depth of my palmistry lines and my nearsightedness, you should also know that I got sorted into Ravenclaw house, and my patronus is a marsh harrier, though I had to look up what that was (a bird). I had my wisdom teeth out in 2005, my paternal great-grandfather worked in an Irish whiskey distillery, and I once had an allergic reaction to bee stings but that may have been the number and concentration of them so I don’t carry an EpiPen. I’m sure that will help you find me a compatible personality on an interweb filled with liars and deluded weirdos.”

Ok, starting to get a little jaded. But we’re nearly done, right? Right? Please?

Your Profile Photo

What do you mean you don’t accept an out-of-date drawing of what I would look like as a mannequin-style puppet? Fascists!

Time to switch to whiskey. With rocks, because it’s the afternoon and I’m a classy gal.

Phew! Good thing they have this handy little advice popup. So I’m looking for an acceptable photo of me that:

1.       Doesn’t feature a bunch of my friends who are better looking than I am (Why are all of my friends total babes? Easy for you to say, internet. Apparently I don’t roll with anything less than an 8.5);

2.       doesn’t feature any guy friends who might be mistaken for an ex-or-current-boyfriend (Even my dude friends are babely);

3.       doesn’t highlight any of the features I don’t particularly like about myself;

4.       is recent (although I’m reasonably certain that the best-ever photo of me was taken when I was seven); and

5.       Shows my face without aviator sunglasses, a mask, a wig, a fake moustache or a purposefully ridiculous underbite.

Seriously.

2.5 hours later… Still looking… No, that’s a cartoon of you as a mannequin-style puppet that you drew two years ago. The onlines say you can't use it. I like it too, but we’re weird. We’ve also been drinking a little, so we shouldn’t trust our judgment.

Big glass of water. Some juggling. Literal juggling, not just opening up an unnecessary number of browser windows to give myself a feeling of false accomplishment. Ok, did that too.

The Blurb

Oh good, writing! I can do this. I write all the time. I write for fun. Writing is fun!

Except it’s supposed to be about me. Cue the identity crisis. What can I honestly say about me?

1.       I am a good-ish person. I know this because some of my friends told me so;

2.       I like many things. Though I can’t remember what any of them are;

3.       I am not hideous. I know this because I survived childhood with only my brother ever saying so;

4.       I am generally reasonable. I need no evidence of this, it is so;

5.       I am funny. Am I funny? I make me laugh. Sometimes other people laugh too. Is that enough? Use conditional phrasing. I may be funny;

6.       I can juggle. Literally and metaphorically;

7.       I am smart. Obviously, otherwise the sorting hat would have put me in Hufflepuff; and

8.       I am a good writer. So why is this so difficult?

Your Preferences

And somehow even more difficult: What do I want in a man?


The perfect man, apparently.

Hot, cheesy, satisfying, reliable. Ok, so I’m describing takeout pizza. How different are they, really?

I paused to order an Italian sausage and mushroom thin crust pizza. I opened a bottle of red wine in the hopes that my roommate will help me drink it. Forgot that she hates red wine. Good thing I didn’t claim to have a very reliable memory in my blurb about me. Or did I? Bugger it.

Can I use the word “gregarious” to describe my ideal man? Do people know what that means? Would my ideal man know what that means? Not necessarily. But he’d look it up, I’m sure. Or he’d pretend to know, brass it out until years later when we’re going through our divorce papers and he looks me in the eye and tells me “I still don’t know what 'gregarious' means.” And I reply bitterly, “Why did we have to go to litigation over the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary hardcovers if you never freaking use them!?” My ever-tactful lawyer whispers something in my ear and I do some breathing exercises.

Is it rude to request that someone be literate? Or does using the word “gregarious” pretty much do that for me? It is not that I exclusively prefer bibliophiles. A guy whose idea of reading begins and ends with sports stats is fine with me, but comprehensible text messages are an absolute must.

So I think I have one basic requirement: literacy. High standards.

I started to notice a disturbing trend. All of my preferences seem to be based on attributes that I don’t want, rather than things that I do. Non-smoker, unmarried (“Why is that an option?” She asked naively), no kids, no hardcore gamers, no cokeheads. As though all of these non-things would coalesce together into one great guy.

What do I want? Well. I’ve decided.

“A little bit about who I’m looking for: someone who buys in, laughs lots, goes all-out, and who is kind. Most of the people in my life (and all of my favourites) have strong personalities, independent natures and a healthy appreciation of wit. My ideal partner is bright, active, gregarious and considerate.”

Sounds simple enough. Let’s see if the internet can find one. And whether I'll recognize him when the time comes.