In the age of www.thefacebook.com and www.match.com, everyone -- including one of my fellow columnists, Jessica Lussenhop -- seems to be singing the praises of computer-aided dating of the future, as if it were some inevitable Marxist stage in the development of human history.
I heartily disagree; if we stop the soul train for a minute and examine the fatal flaws of Internet dating (false advertising, stalking and the subpar quality of the online dating pool), I think it will be self-evident that the $396 million that this industry generates yearly should in fact be a cold, round zero.
I speak from experience.
Last March, while studying for my Finance 101 midterm, I found myself in dire need of a distraction, which came in the form of a pop-up from Match.com. Faced with a Web site that promised me everlasting love and a finance textbook that promised to make me infinitely rich, I obviously chose the former. In the next few hours, I set up an account and started browsing singles' profiles online, taking occasional study breaks to, well, study.
Much to my surprise, I soon began receiving instant messages from strangers. And since phrases like "hey I saw your profile," "you're cute," "OMG you go to Penn?" are surefire conversation starters, I started talking to some of them, despite my pessimism about meeting people via the Internet. One girl stood out in particular -- in her picture she looked cute, had dreamy eyes, described her body type as "thin and sexy," and sure could talk up a storm. So of course, we just had to meet up.
Big mistake.
She was decidedly not "thin and sexy" and looked nothing like the photo of herself that she put up when she was younger (and thinner). It was simply the most awkward date I have ever been on, and because it seemed to her that I was her last hope for happiness, she kept calling me and instant messaging me, until the silent treatment finally saved me.
This kind of false advertising is precisely what happens when you let individuals flaunt themselves on dating Web sites. Online, everyone is thin and sexy and mentally stable; everyone can come up with at least one attractive mugshot and sell it as reality. If you happen to get serious acne or gain 100 pounds since the time the photo was taken, no matter, because online we're all beautiful and love rainy days and kittens and can juggle chainsaws.
Given individuals' propensity to lie about themselves, it is obvious that the best -- the only effective -- way to get to know people is in person, rather than reading about them online and then complaining when the product does not measure up to the advertisement. That way, you can accept or reject the individual right away, without any emotional or time investment spent on AIM, the computer or the phone.
Better yet, dating people in real life does not require stalking them. You hang out, you see if you click and, if you do, pass go and collect $200; if not, you lose a turn. Simple. Internet dating, however, makes people develop emotions toward two-dimensional profiles of people and their lies about themselves. It's like falling in love with an FHM magazine -- the ultimate manifestation of Plato's "Allegory of the Cave." Then, in vain hope of getting with those false two-dimensional images, people becomes stalkers. They run Google searches, read Web logs, check away messages online, the whole bit. Instead, how about talking to your friend about that girl you like who's in his English class, or talking to your friends at the gym about girls, in hopes of having a real-life date, sans the stalking -- would that not be a better real-life alternative?
Yet, even if people were perfectly honest and online dating involved no stalking whatsoever, it would still face the sizeable problem of attracting a quality dating pool. I am surprised that I kept my profile on the dating Web sites as long as I did -- the 30-year-old woman who promised she'd bake me cookies if I came over didn't scare me away, nor did the "erotically inclined," self-described witch.
Now, I'm sure that these are all fine individuals, but certainly they do not represent the mainstream demographic of a college campus, which is, I presume, where most of us go pecking for love. In general, save for the curious few college kids who computerize their dating, online dating is slim pickings, and is more likely to scar you for life than to find you eternal love.
And so, after my trek through the hell of Internet dating, I have found a renewed sense of appreciation for the dating scene here at Penn. Yes, it is easy to complain and generalize about the dating pool at Penn, but I assure you that it is far better than the doubting Thomases admit.
Cezary Podkul is a junior Management and Philosophy major in Wharton and the College from Chicago, Ill. Cezary Salad appears on Mondays.
