My animosity towards match.com has been well documented, although I never did delve into the results from my use of the service – mostly because no one gives a shit, it’s depressing, and now moot. To be as succinct as possible and recap almost a decade on and off the dating site, it boiled down to cycle of sending about four dozen emails, getting four responses, going on dates for a few weeks until the very last embers of a romantic flame were extinguished, swearing off the process for a few months, then repeating it in its entirety. This happened like, 27 times total. The actual definition of insanity, essentially.
What I always was frustrated by the most was the first part of the process – why did I get responses from only 10% of the women I contacted? I actually put some thought and wit into the messages (and if you’re reading this, you’ve clearly bought in to my charm *wink*), and I like to think I correctly assessed myself as an average looking man, trying to not go out of my league in the looks department when messaging someone.
The reason remained a mystery to me, my only guess being that men, socially expected to be the initiator of these connections, were pumping out volumes of messages and overwhelming the women, who could only address a fraction of the tidal wave of cheeky banter sent their way.
Fast forward to this week, where I learned – to great amusement and insight – just how frustrating this whole thing could be on the other side of the dating fence.
You see, I have a female friend looking to shake things up in her pattern of dating. She hasn’t been satisfied with the kinds of guys that have made their way to her, so I suggested she do something different.
To make sure she got different results, I proposed she post a match.com profile, and let me filter the results; I would decide which messages got deleted immediately, and who would pass the initial screen and have their messages read by her. I didn’t respond or write messages as her, as that would be a level of deceit that even I am not comfortable with.
This friend of mine is considered to be very attractive, so I knew there would be a lot of messages coming our way in short order. I was excited to just sit back and watch the awkwardness and aggressiveness roll in to her mailbox. For a week, I screened messages from a wide array of men. However, she had a set of parameters she was looking for, and stated as such on her profile :
- Aged around 30, give or take a handful of years
- College Graduate
- Over 5’10” (the female obsession with tall men is analogous to, and no more defendable than male obsession with big breasts, but that’s a whole other article)
In the first week, she (I) received approximately two hundred messages. Of these messages, a full three-quarters of them came from men that did not meet the four criteria listed above – and some were laughably distant from it. They either didn’t bother to actually look at what she was seeking, or just didn’t care. Right from the start, only 25% of the men sending messages represented possible matches.
They weren’t the most loquacious, either. The average message was a paltry 23 words (for reference, the paragraph above is 68 words). Worse yet, 21% of the messages were under ten fucking words. When your introduction to your prospective soul mate is less verbose than my order at Taco Bell, your ass does not deserve a response, son.
For your guilty pleasure, below are the most egregious, uncomfortable, and laughable attempts at courting this mystery lady.
Well, I guess I’ll believe you on being the opposite of “duchbaggy.” You may not believe that chivalry is dead, but you clearly think proper spelling is. Good thing you respect people haaaaaaaaaa!
I have absolutely no idea what he’s saying… although he appears unsure what testicles are all about.
Smooth. His Freudian slip of using “made” instead of “born” supports my long-held belief that Canadians are actually cyborgs.
My Interest Starts And Ends At Finding Out Why You Feel The Need To Capitalize Every Fucking Word
Slow down, Shakespeare.
You’re right. And you completely blew it.
So, single women of internetz past, if I ever muttered your names in anger years ago when I wondered why you wouldn’t take the time to write me back – I’m sorry. I totally get it now. I would “Select All” and “Delete” after a week of this shit, too.