More like, eDISharmony!
Y'all know I'm as single as it gets. Upon hearing that heterocentric dating site eHarmony was offering "free communication" for the weekend following Valentine's Day, I couldn't help but fill out their damned personality profile and see what kind of woman a computer thinks I should date. Sure, the site is famously crawling with Evangelical Christians, but the promotion was bound to drive a few normals there for the weekend. Plus, according to several reviews I found online, because of all the site's rigamarole, the people using it are supposedly more serious about looking for a relationship than finding someone to fuck (or to simply fuck with). Maybe I'd get a date out of it. Probably not, but at least I'd feel like I did something. Expecting little, I was not disappointed.
Saturday morning, I created a profile. You begin by filling out a long survey with the mouse, a few essay answers popping up at the end. I suppose the personality survey is fairly decent when you consider how inconclusive online surveys can be. With about 400 questions, it's less vague than something you'd get on MySpace. A lot of it centers on rating yourself along a seven-point scale, determining shit like how comfortable you are around new people or how important you feel it is to volunteer in your community. Because of the dating service angle, it also asks a bunch about what you like and don't like in other people, which is a sort of personality trait in itself. It's always free to take eHarmony's test, and it gives you a cute lil' pop-psych assessment when you're finished, so I recommend it to anyone as a fun time-waster.
Although it deemed me a bit cooler on the emotional front that I realize I am, eHarmony's mecha-shrink told me that I'm pretty balanced about most things, which is nice. I liked this nugget from the "Agreeableness" portion - describing your "interactions with other people":
"You are clearly a compassionate person; you believe that you should do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and you know that friends help their friends. But with you compassion is just one side of the coin; the other being a side that also expects others to hold up their end of the bargain. So you help others but it is with the expectation that others don't take advantage of you or try to put one over on you."
Yes, that sums up where I'm at pretty well. Granted, this free personality profile business is all a pep talk, spinning your flaws into strengths to make you feel good about yourself. Good enough that you want to give money to these kind folks, who obviously understand your fragile, unique snowflake of a soul better than the competitors because you answered so many damn questions.
So, I filled out this cockamamie thing, the eHarmony robot spat out these answers, and now I could look at the ladies with whom it thought I should converse. In a thirty-mile radius, it came up with a whopping two matches. Same for a sixty-mile radius, and for 120 miles, and even 300 miles. So, there are only two women living within 300 miles of me with whom the wise Lovebot believes I'm compatible. Exactly as expected. I couldn't see either woman's picture unless I paid - even then, I might not have a chance, since according to many online reviews of the site, eHarmony people tend to bury their photo until they get further into their cyber-chaperoned conversations. The first match was in the southwest burbs, a seemingly pleasant 28 year-old teacher who is "spiritual but not affiliated" and likes sports. The other was in the western burbs, and she was a seemingly colorful 32 year-old "Christian" boho/punk type. Their profiles both sounded appealing enough, so I initiated communication with both. What the hell, right?
First, you pick five softball questions to ask out of about fifty generic multiple-choicers. I chose stuff like what they do for fun, what they consider romantic and how much space they like in a relationship. You know, things it would be nice to know in advance. This is a good idea. This was also the first really distasteful part of the process. Although I have plenty of opinions on the subject, as anyone I've ever asked out can tell you, if I'm involved I'm not real smooth when bringing up romance. The sterile nature of the interpersonal screening process - augmented by the literal screens of computers - helped remove some of the direness from the awkward hello, but it was also the sort of synthetic fuckery that makes me leery of computer dating in the first place. I know, can't have it both ways.
From here, the questionee answers the questioner and sends questions of their own choosing. While waiting for these ladies to respond, I filled out my profile. There's a very handy list of "Must Haves" (choices include "sense of humor," "strong character," "loyal," "no children") and "Can't Stands" (such as "self-centered," "undependable," "denial," "racist") to choose from - you get ten each. I was shocked that all of my requirements were on both lists, and I had a few choices left over for lesser turn-ons and turn-offs. I should really print them out for future reference. You can also augment your basic profile page, the one everyone you're matched with sees first, with additional "get to know me" shit. There's even a blank field for anything else you'd like a match to know. I filled all of this out, then made lunch... and waited.
The first response I got was from the teacher. It was later the same day, and her answers seemed cool to me. Of the five questions she sent me in response, one was the same as a question I sent her. I answered the same as she did - because I agreed with her. I was, however, tempted to answer differently, just so she wouldn't think I was being all desperate and sycophantic. Aargh! This is what I'm talking about with the structured communication. The eHarmony process just adds another level of ambiguity to what you'd already experience if you were having an introductory conversation with someone. I had no way to explain my answers, and when I thought about someone I have never met reading them, I became concerned about giving the wrong impression. In a dating format, that lousy "thinking" business always trips me up, so I ultimately decided on honesty. Although that approach has rarely worked for me in the past, it's my belief that the right woman for me would value such a thing. I sent the teacher my answers... and waited.
By Sunday, I had a response from the lady with the quirkier profile. She answered almost exactly the same way as the other, but I liked her one different answer better. Her questions for me were different, and in a way less coy. I appreciated that, since we were already on a damn dating site. When I was responding to the teacher's form questions, I had seen that the Lovebot at least allows you to type in your own answers here, but in an attempt to reign in my natural verbosity, I didn't do that. This time, I decided to use a few of those fields so my response was more accurate. Besides, I didn't think I was responding to the sort of person who would be terrified of a more personalized response. Then again, how you present yourself isn't necessarily the way you really are. Someone might see me at the grocery store wearing a t-shirt with a pentagram on it and think I'm a devil worshipper, when in reality I'm just a Morbid Angel fan. Likewise, just because someone's dating site profile makes them seem eclectic and open-minded, they could merely be wishy-washy, or even mentally ill. Banishing such notions from my already-dubious head, I sent my responses... and waited.
To my surprise, the artsy lady responded quickly with her Must Haves and Can't Stands. Thinking back a few hours to my own experience filling these out, I figured that some of her choices were probably more important than others. However, when reading her lists, I had no idea which choices were primary, and which she considered pleasant/annoying but negligible. Maybe she felt equally about all of her choices - there was no way to know. Maybe if you could just rank these Must Haves and Can't Stands, it might help the quasi-communication. This shit is a grosser mockery of human conversation than text messaging.
On top of this, after seeing her list, I was suddenly unsure that I'm the sort of guy she's looking for. This didn't deter me, because I feel that way a lot. Anyone in the peanut gallery yelling "Self-defeating nonsense!" at this should know that everyone with whom I've ever considered initiating romance has at some point found herself giving me the trusty "you'll make someone the happiest woman in the world" speech. I don't know whether I can expect that trend to last forever, but it's been uniform so far. If it somehow reverses and that someone actually appears, I am quite sure that she's not going to be boring. This Christian punk lady at least presented herself in an interesting - and perhaps, interested - manner. With less than a day until my free trial ran out, I didn't have any more hope than I usually do, but I sent my own lists to her anyway, along with three more questions of the essay variety (naturally, one I selected was "Describe your spirituality")... and waited.
By yesterday, the last day of the promotion, so many people had signed on for the freebie that the eHarmony server couldn't handle the traffic. I kept trying to check my "conversation" progress, but most of the time, all I got was a stupid oops! page, which naturally dangles a picture of a married couple who met through the service. "Nicole and Jason," the page seemed to jeer, "fucking paid to have their courtship jumpstarted. You cheap bastards flooded our system, so if you can't sign in all day, you can eat it." You'd think with the "membership surge," more matches would show up when I finally got in, but, nope. Just the two. And by midnight, neither had responded since I last sent something, and that was that.
So, the teacher either lost interest or didn't sign on again, because we only got to "Communication Stage 1." The other lady and I were in "Stage 3" before she vanished. The next step with the funky punkette would have been answering her essay questions, getting some kind of "message" from eHarmony founder Dr. Neil Clark Warren (another sales pitch, I presume) and, finally, moving to what they call "open communication." I imagine that means we could e-mail each other, like human beings who are trying to communicate. Oh, well.
Look, I have no problem jumping through a few hoops in pursuit of a lady who catches my fancy, and I will put up with a hell of a lot if I think she's worth it. But I'm old, and at this point in life, I won't stand for being obviously and deliberately jerked around. eHarmony gave me a charming, somewhat accurate assessment of my character, but the experience was ultimately a successful replication all of the second-guessing, hoop-jumping and jerking around you could experience if you actually tried to get someone to date you in real life. All this without the benefit of, say, learning their real name, hearing their voice or being able to tell if they're missing a leg. It's insane, this modern age.
Yes, time ran out and I didn't get a date out of the deal. Like I said, I wasn't expecting much, so I don't feel bad about it or anything. I'm fucking done with eHarmony, and I don't even have to try to assuage my own guilt with an insincere "let's just be friends." That's one advantage eHarmony has over trying to get a date with someone you know. It's so impersonal that it's impossible to take any of it personally.
Saturday morning, I created a profile. You begin by filling out a long survey with the mouse, a few essay answers popping up at the end. I suppose the personality survey is fairly decent when you consider how inconclusive online surveys can be. With about 400 questions, it's less vague than something you'd get on MySpace. A lot of it centers on rating yourself along a seven-point scale, determining shit like how comfortable you are around new people or how important you feel it is to volunteer in your community. Because of the dating service angle, it also asks a bunch about what you like and don't like in other people, which is a sort of personality trait in itself. It's always free to take eHarmony's test, and it gives you a cute lil' pop-psych assessment when you're finished, so I recommend it to anyone as a fun time-waster.
Although it deemed me a bit cooler on the emotional front that I realize I am, eHarmony's mecha-shrink told me that I'm pretty balanced about most things, which is nice. I liked this nugget from the "Agreeableness" portion - describing your "interactions with other people":
"You are clearly a compassionate person; you believe that you should do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and you know that friends help their friends. But with you compassion is just one side of the coin; the other being a side that also expects others to hold up their end of the bargain. So you help others but it is with the expectation that others don't take advantage of you or try to put one over on you."
Yes, that sums up where I'm at pretty well. Granted, this free personality profile business is all a pep talk, spinning your flaws into strengths to make you feel good about yourself. Good enough that you want to give money to these kind folks, who obviously understand your fragile, unique snowflake of a soul better than the competitors because you answered so many damn questions.
So, I filled out this cockamamie thing, the eHarmony robot spat out these answers, and now I could look at the ladies with whom it thought I should converse. In a thirty-mile radius, it came up with a whopping two matches. Same for a sixty-mile radius, and for 120 miles, and even 300 miles. So, there are only two women living within 300 miles of me with whom the wise Lovebot believes I'm compatible. Exactly as expected. I couldn't see either woman's picture unless I paid - even then, I might not have a chance, since according to many online reviews of the site, eHarmony people tend to bury their photo until they get further into their cyber-chaperoned conversations. The first match was in the southwest burbs, a seemingly pleasant 28 year-old teacher who is "spiritual but not affiliated" and likes sports. The other was in the western burbs, and she was a seemingly colorful 32 year-old "Christian" boho/punk type. Their profiles both sounded appealing enough, so I initiated communication with both. What the hell, right?
First, you pick five softball questions to ask out of about fifty generic multiple-choicers. I chose stuff like what they do for fun, what they consider romantic and how much space they like in a relationship. You know, things it would be nice to know in advance. This is a good idea. This was also the first really distasteful part of the process. Although I have plenty of opinions on the subject, as anyone I've ever asked out can tell you, if I'm involved I'm not real smooth when bringing up romance. The sterile nature of the interpersonal screening process - augmented by the literal screens of computers - helped remove some of the direness from the awkward hello, but it was also the sort of synthetic fuckery that makes me leery of computer dating in the first place. I know, can't have it both ways.
From here, the questionee answers the questioner and sends questions of their own choosing. While waiting for these ladies to respond, I filled out my profile. There's a very handy list of "Must Haves" (choices include "sense of humor," "strong character," "loyal," "no children") and "Can't Stands" (such as "self-centered," "undependable," "denial," "racist") to choose from - you get ten each. I was shocked that all of my requirements were on both lists, and I had a few choices left over for lesser turn-ons and turn-offs. I should really print them out for future reference. You can also augment your basic profile page, the one everyone you're matched with sees first, with additional "get to know me" shit. There's even a blank field for anything else you'd like a match to know. I filled all of this out, then made lunch... and waited.
The first response I got was from the teacher. It was later the same day, and her answers seemed cool to me. Of the five questions she sent me in response, one was the same as a question I sent her. I answered the same as she did - because I agreed with her. I was, however, tempted to answer differently, just so she wouldn't think I was being all desperate and sycophantic. Aargh! This is what I'm talking about with the structured communication. The eHarmony process just adds another level of ambiguity to what you'd already experience if you were having an introductory conversation with someone. I had no way to explain my answers, and when I thought about someone I have never met reading them, I became concerned about giving the wrong impression. In a dating format, that lousy "thinking" business always trips me up, so I ultimately decided on honesty. Although that approach has rarely worked for me in the past, it's my belief that the right woman for me would value such a thing. I sent the teacher my answers... and waited.
By Sunday, I had a response from the lady with the quirkier profile. She answered almost exactly the same way as the other, but I liked her one different answer better. Her questions for me were different, and in a way less coy. I appreciated that, since we were already on a damn dating site. When I was responding to the teacher's form questions, I had seen that the Lovebot at least allows you to type in your own answers here, but in an attempt to reign in my natural verbosity, I didn't do that. This time, I decided to use a few of those fields so my response was more accurate. Besides, I didn't think I was responding to the sort of person who would be terrified of a more personalized response. Then again, how you present yourself isn't necessarily the way you really are. Someone might see me at the grocery store wearing a t-shirt with a pentagram on it and think I'm a devil worshipper, when in reality I'm just a Morbid Angel fan. Likewise, just because someone's dating site profile makes them seem eclectic and open-minded, they could merely be wishy-washy, or even mentally ill. Banishing such notions from my already-dubious head, I sent my responses... and waited.
To my surprise, the artsy lady responded quickly with her Must Haves and Can't Stands. Thinking back a few hours to my own experience filling these out, I figured that some of her choices were probably more important than others. However, when reading her lists, I had no idea which choices were primary, and which she considered pleasant/annoying but negligible. Maybe she felt equally about all of her choices - there was no way to know. Maybe if you could just rank these Must Haves and Can't Stands, it might help the quasi-communication. This shit is a grosser mockery of human conversation than text messaging.
On top of this, after seeing her list, I was suddenly unsure that I'm the sort of guy she's looking for. This didn't deter me, because I feel that way a lot. Anyone in the peanut gallery yelling "Self-defeating nonsense!" at this should know that everyone with whom I've ever considered initiating romance has at some point found herself giving me the trusty "you'll make someone the happiest woman in the world" speech. I don't know whether I can expect that trend to last forever, but it's been uniform so far. If it somehow reverses and that someone actually appears, I am quite sure that she's not going to be boring. This Christian punk lady at least presented herself in an interesting - and perhaps, interested - manner. With less than a day until my free trial ran out, I didn't have any more hope than I usually do, but I sent my own lists to her anyway, along with three more questions of the essay variety (naturally, one I selected was "Describe your spirituality")... and waited.
By yesterday, the last day of the promotion, so many people had signed on for the freebie that the eHarmony server couldn't handle the traffic. I kept trying to check my "conversation" progress, but most of the time, all I got was a stupid oops! page, which naturally dangles a picture of a married couple who met through the service. "Nicole and Jason," the page seemed to jeer, "fucking paid to have their courtship jumpstarted. You cheap bastards flooded our system, so if you can't sign in all day, you can eat it." You'd think with the "membership surge," more matches would show up when I finally got in, but, nope. Just the two. And by midnight, neither had responded since I last sent something, and that was that.
So, the teacher either lost interest or didn't sign on again, because we only got to "Communication Stage 1." The other lady and I were in "Stage 3" before she vanished. The next step with the funky punkette would have been answering her essay questions, getting some kind of "message" from eHarmony founder Dr. Neil Clark Warren (another sales pitch, I presume) and, finally, moving to what they call "open communication." I imagine that means we could e-mail each other, like human beings who are trying to communicate. Oh, well.
Look, I have no problem jumping through a few hoops in pursuit of a lady who catches my fancy, and I will put up with a hell of a lot if I think she's worth it. But I'm old, and at this point in life, I won't stand for being obviously and deliberately jerked around. eHarmony gave me a charming, somewhat accurate assessment of my character, but the experience was ultimately a successful replication all of the second-guessing, hoop-jumping and jerking around you could experience if you actually tried to get someone to date you in real life. All this without the benefit of, say, learning their real name, hearing their voice or being able to tell if they're missing a leg. It's insane, this modern age.
Yes, time ran out and I didn't get a date out of the deal. Like I said, I wasn't expecting much, so I don't feel bad about it or anything. I'm fucking done with eHarmony, and I don't even have to try to assuage my own guilt with an insincere "let's just be friends." That's one advantage eHarmony has over trying to get a date with someone you know. It's so impersonal that it's impossible to take any of it personally.
posted by SoulReaper at 10:06 PM
4 Comments:
"So you help others but it is with the expectation that others don't take advantage of you or try to put one over on you."
This is a tricky one. If there's one thing I've learned in my limited but long-term experience, it's that there's a fine line between healthy reciprocation and the bogging of one another down with expectations. I'll remind you of a friend of mine who was dating a girl about a year and a half ago and ended up blowing a good chunk of his savings on her, only to see her leave him high and dry. Why would this happen? Was he expecting her to give back in the same capacity? Or, if not, perhaps she was intimidated by all this and feared having to keep up with him? Whether the parties involved behaved this way consciously or not, I've seen this kind of thing happen to more than one relationship among people I know. It has, in fact, happened to me. The lesson I have learned, and the lesson I think everyone should learn, is that there will always be give and take -- but when it comes to giving, setting the bar too high can just as easily frustrate your partner as it can impress them. And eventually, you think you're getting fucked over.
(This is not to say that this tipping of the scale is always the problem; some people really are fucking you over. But it's something to keep in mind. You can trust me: I'm a real doctor.)
In regards to your opinions on e-dating, I agree with you completely. While I can also say that I know people who have, thus far, made a successful go of it, it seems to me that these artificial methods of getting to know somebody can ultimately be more detrimental to a couple -- even those who might've otherwise had a long, fruitful life together. My theory is that the initial (and most importantly, awkward) person-to-person contact is what helps two people break down the inevitable trust barrier. Everyone's been hurt in the past, so nobody walks into intimate relations ready to share both feelings and fluids without at least a little trepidation. These bumbling, inaugural encounters provide a candid look at a person's quirks, hotspots and facial tattoos. A dating website like eHarmony offers an ostensibly more comforting "scientific" approach, which subsequently lures people into a false sense of security. Inevitably, these forgone "quirks" and "tattoos" later surface as a surprise, and often as a betrayal.
Web-dating, with its ease, also discourages people from leaving their homes, which is just plain unhealthy.
Again: This is a theory and is not meant as scripture. The opinions expressed are those of the author and not necessarily the views of Mr Entartete Kunst, The Soul Reaper RoboHobo or his subsidiaries. Plenty of e-relationships work, I'm sure. But those people are liars who are leading double-lives and are probably leaders or members of dangerous cults.
"those people are liars who are leading double-lives and are probably leaders or members of dangerous cults."
OK, Sure... I can attest to that.
Points very well stated, Kyle. I can assure you with 99.63% certainty that the relationship you mentioned was ended for quite different reasons, and that while your friend may have expected too much from the girl, it was not material reciprocation he was after. But, where it does apply, you definitely have a point. Also, I should note that your having brought up this particular circumstance as an example when you did seemed somewhat prophetic by the time I was driving to your party early Sunday morning.
Ladies and germs, I believe our little Kyle may have a little psychic in him.
Nice Post, Thank You Author!!!
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