Internet Dating
By Angus Watson
From Telegraph 23rd August 2008
This was a two part article, with my piece first, then Tanya Gold's female view of internet dating. I've just included mine. She concluded that she was too romantic to internet date.
THE MALE VIEW
I paid for the taxi outside her house. Inside, we dallied for some time in the corridor, then tumbled happily into the sitting-room. Waiting for us, surprise party style, were her mother and her ex-fiancé.
It was a low moment in my two-year internet dating adventure. A better one was last summer, whizzing though night-time London on my bicycle, with a beautiful girl perched on the back, laughing and holding me tight.
That's the thing with internet dating. As my fellow singleton Forrest Gump pointed out, you never know what you're going to get.
Two years' romancing the web began innocently enough. Single for the previous two years, I was 33 and explaining to a friend that I had become utterly unattractive. There's a simple way to boost your ego, he said: internet dating.
He'd been on a website for a month and every few hours an email would arrive saying someone fancied him. It was a great ego trip.
That night I joined three sites. I posted pictures, ticked boxes and wrote intriguing narratives. The next day was a joy, as my inbox pinged away crazily with messages from a huge range of women, some of whom seemed amazing.
I also spent hours trawling girls' profiles and firing off flirts and emails - there were so many single girls! (Right now, the site My Single Friend, for example, lists 920 thirty-year-old women, just in London). I began corresponding with 20 fun, attractive girls.
My first date wasn't great. She was foxy, but monosyllabic. After much badgering, she told me she'd just been diagnosed with skin cancer. We chatted more freely after that, albeit about cancer, then she went home.
On the bright side, she's better now and I'd discovered early on that it's best to cancel a date if you're not up for it (for any reason: bit tired, not in the mood, just been diagnosed with cancer).
My next date was kind, lovely and pert. We became an item. But as it tended to domesticity - suppers in front of the telly - I became increasingly unhappy. After six weeks, I ended it.
Then I went dating mad for 18 months, seeing around 40 girls. Some were wonderfully inappropriate, such as the cold-hearted dancer I fancied so much that I couldn't speak, or the Ukrainian gymnast who spoke little English but displayed her Olympic-standard gymnastic manoeuvres by the Thames as I gawped happily.
I'd wooed the dancer and the gymnast just because I fancied them. Online chat had been stilted or non-existent and there was no possible future. But I was also seeing more "appropriate" girls by following the proper procedure: much email banter and maybe a phone call to check compatibility before meeting.
The best date was in Wimbledon. After much electronic chat, we met on the common to look for Wimbledon's Iron Age hill fort. I love prehistory and she'd studied archaeology, so we ran about theorising origins for every bump and ridge.
We then drank, ate and went home on my bike. She was ditsy-pretty on the surface, but with a core of steel, like a cross between Meg Ryan and Margaret Thatcher. I was smitten.
On our second meeting, we got steaming drunk by the river. That was our last date. She went away for a few weeks and wasn't interested when she got back.
Neither of the other two I've fallen for - the Essex sociologist and the Scottish doctor - reciprocated my affections. But that's the joy of the internet; I've been able to douse any sorrow with the swiftly-provable notion that there were thousands more where they came from.
Had they liked me, of course, I might have gone off them, as with all the girls I did end up seeing a few times. I should have been cock-a-hoop that the sculptor, the political lobbyist and the German saw anything in me, but I ditched them, then wondered why.
Worryingly, friends asked whether I had become addicted to internet dating. Was I now unable to commit because, with myriad honeys beckoning me back to the websites, there was always the chance of a better girl?
Other friends blamed my ongoing single status on internet dating's image. You'd always have the niggle, they said, that you met online. We do hear the whole time of successful "internet couples", but that's the problem. You don't hear about "bar couples" or "dinner-party couples". No other method of rendezvous brands you forever, with the exception of "childhood sweethearts", but they have a much better image.
So, perhaps ironically, because I decided it was time I found a serious girlfriend, I wiped my profiles from all dating websites this January.
It was my techno-unaware aunt, to my surprise, who put me straight. I was explaining internet dating to her, as one might explain water-skiing to someone who's never seen a boat, and I told her why I'd stopped. I was wrong, she said. I hadn't committed to any women yet because I hadn't been ready for another relationship. Falling in love has more to do with you, and the situation you're in, and being ready to compromise, she told me.
From what I'd shown her on the internet, she thought I had as good a chance of finding "the one" there as anywhere else. And as to the stigma, who cares what gossips whisper?
I suspected her motives (she likes babies), but I was convinced by her reasoning, so I joined up again. Back on board the electronic dating rollercoaster, I'm prepared to just have fun. I am, perhaps, a little addicted; I still love the sound of a new contact pinging into my inbox. If I do find myself in the right situation, I'll be ready to compromise. But I believe true love is true love, even if you do order it online.
HOW INTERNET DATING WORKS
You pick a site, upload pictures of yourself (optional, but essential), write a narrative about who you are and what you’re looking for, and tick boxes on your age, education, height, employment etc. You must give your email address to the site, but other members will be unable to find it. There’s a waiting period of around 12 hours to check you haven’t written anything offensive, or posted pornographic snaps.
Cost varies - the Telegraph Kindred Spirits is £22.99 for one month, or £11.99 a month if you sign up for six months. Or, if you’re quick off the mark, you can apply for a free one-week subscription by logging onto telegraph.co.uk/dating.
Once you have joined, other people can see your profile, and you can see theirs. There are two methods of contact. You can click a button which lets someone know you’re interested, or you can write them a message: "Hello, I see we both like scuba diving and anchovies."
You chat for a while, then you can do what you want: keep them as a pen friend, break contact with no explanation; or meet them in real life, fall head over heels in love, and get married.
WHAT WOMEN NEED TO KNOW
Never sleep with a man on a first date. He'll comply happily, but he'll like you less.
It's fine if you don't drink, but say in advance so a suitable date can be arranged. Pub trips with surprise teetotallers are dreary.
Say something about yourself in your profile, rather than just a string of adjectives ("kind, happy, warm-hearted" means nothing. Give examples, tell stories).
Follow safety procedures (such as keeping your surname secret) subtly. Being treated like a probable rapist can rankle.
If you want to cancel a date for whatever reason, then do. A spontaneous night in is vastly preferable to an evening with a reluctant date.
Don't say you love Jonny Wilkinson on your profile. How is that helpful?
SIX OF THE BEST DATING WEBSITES
Telegraph Kindred Spirits. Filled with bright, level-headed Telegraph reading types, some young, many 40-plus divorcees and widowers. Intended as a friend- as well as lover-finder (www.dating.telegraph.co.uk).
My Single Friend. Rammed with good-looking singletons in their mid-20s to mid-30s. A friend puts you on the site and writes your spiel (www.mysinglefriend.com).
Parship. German psychometric matching techniques link you with appropriate partners. Makes computer dating less romantic (www.parship.co.uk).
Match. Slick, industrial-scale dating, but the lack of a special hook and character can make it seem soulless (www.match.com).
Lovestruck. For urban office workers. You can think "I'd like a date this lunchtime" and be on one an hour later (www.lovestruck.com).
Guardian Soulmates . Young Londoners mostly, with some well-written profiles. Not exclusive to Guardian readers, but maintains a whiff of smug pretentiousness (www.dating.guardian.co.uk).
