match

Let me tell you about match.com. I joined because – well, I’m trying to figure that out, but in general I know I’m not going find what I’m looking for in the kitchen. Today’s matches include:

• A slack-jawed man in a suspiciously stained t-shirt standing in front of his mother’s hutch.
• A man with 18 pictures of himself, each one sporting a different variety of fish.
• A man in a cubicle-suit that looks like he may have the flu.
• A man with a 4-wheeler and a dead deer.
• And … Oh wait! Here’s a cutie! Umm…. never mind, that’s my ex.

I have nothing against fish or your mother’s hutch. Who doesn’t like seafood and a good set of china? For me it’s all about the words anyway, so I move on to find a vast majority of profiles read like this:

“I’m a fit, active male who likes to workout and stay fit. I’m looking for a fit, slim lady who takes pride in her appearance but will not be afraid to get her hands dirty. NO DRAMA!”

(Really? I’ll give you drama. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you more concerned about fitness than soul-ness? And don’t call me lady. I’m in a shit mood and for godsake I take total pride in my appearance even when I’m in sweats and a jam-stained t-shirt…. Wait, maybe I should revisit that first match photo…)

The reality is, online dating is a brutal process. It’s brutal to be so summarily judged. Did you know that the app shows you how many views you’ve had (1,532), and then how many people actually reached out? (7). And my profile is so well written!

But you know what’s more brutal than being rejected 1,525 times? Being forced to judge others based on a lonely selfie and poor writing skills. I can’t tell you how mean-spirited I feel after going through these profiles. How at the ready my brain is with a snide comment and a red pen. There is nothing funnier in the world than making fun of other people, and I get that. I’m a huge Louis C.K. fan. But it goes deeper than that, doesn’t it? It becomes a sort of litmus test for what our own inflated egos judge to be an acceptable vs. unacceptable human being. So while I’m not finding match to be a great help in finding me a date, it’s been a terrific way to remind me of my own prejudices and small-minded notions. And I should know better.

A couple years of ago I walked into day 1 of a remarkable 5-week workshop. The room was full of powerful women with tumbled, arty hair. Yet because I was late I had to take the only empty seat, which happened to be next to a mousy woman with a perm, pleated khakis, and a sweater with pumpkins embroidered all over it. I instantly assumed she was a born again Christian with a hutch. Long story short? At the end of that 5-week session, we all agreed that one of the most brilliant minds and beautiful souls in our crowd was the pumpkin-sweater lady. Even more surprising? She WAS a born again Christian with a hutch.

I’m not going deer hunting anytime soon, and that’s okay. But light a match.com to this judging little monster inside me, will you? She still doesn’t know what she’s looking for.