also in social:

	Ron Reschke: making strides against cancer
	Bouncing around the blogosphere
	The pros and cons of cohabitation
	Looking for love beyond the bars
	Orgs connect professionals, communities

about
advertise
subscribe
contact
site map

advertisement

Web of Intrigue
With my plan to infiltrate the young executive dating scene via in-person dating services effectively thwarted, I turned to the last bastion of hope before resorting to creepy pick-up lines on random women at bars and cafes. I hit the Internet.

According to a May-June 2004 Pew Internet and Family Life survey, about 68 percent of American adults—approximately 137 million people—use the Internet. Eighty-two million adults report going online during an average day, with 9 percent using a dating website or similar service—a significant number of online daters to be sure, only expected to have increased in 2005.

Not surprisingly, a 2003 analysis by comScore Media Metrix placed Match.com, a comprehensive online dating service, among the top 50 most-visited sites in the United States, and Brandweek Magazine cited a $50 million ad campaign in 2004 for industry titan eHarmony.com. Undeniably, Internet dating websites are now in the forefront of our virtual lives. After missing the boat on It’s Just Lunch, it was time for me to get in on the action.

I scoured the Web for dating sites. From Yahoo Personals to Madisonmatch.com, I registered for them all. As I filled out the profiles and the survey questions, I made an agreement with myself that I would be completely truthful about what I wrote because to really develop an understanding of online dating and the young professional, I would need to be totally legitimate and honest.

I lie. Well, not icky, sticky heavy-handed lying—more like a tiny, necessary alteration of the truth. And of course, this isn’t national-scale, full-out “we’ll be taking back that Pulitzer now” type of scandalous lying either. I simply pad my age.

Solving the age issue by upping my 22 years of age to 25, the only major problem remaining was the whole student-not-having-a-real-job-thing. I clear this hurdle simply and near truthfully. I say I’m a freelance writer. This technically isn’t a lie because between classes and semesters, I dabble in farming out my writing skills to actual media outlets. Everything else stays the same. I honestly describe my physical self (tall, somewhat athletic but leaning toward the lanky side), my mental self (positive outlook on life with a hint of endearing neurosis not uncommon to most freelance journalists) and what I’m looking for in a potential date (someone who is kind, cute, funny, positive, intriguing and willing to put up with the qualities I listed for myself). Hardly a deceitful web of lies.

Yet my minor truth-stretching was for naught. As a “basic” level user on these dating websites, I can look at other online daters to my heart’s content, but I am unable to actually connect with any of them. The main problem with this situation is money.

Like most online dating services, you can check out the program for free and even create an entire profile replete with photos at no cost. The way they get you, however, is with the “special member” features. The most crucial aspect of successful online dating is communication—via web chats, instant messages or email. This, of course, is what they charge you for. 

Unwilling to fork over money that could be spent on more immediate things—romance not currently in the budget—I decide to drop the online dating route, broken but not completely beaten. Caught in a social bind, an opportunity from an unlikely source materialized. For the sake of journalism and the young professionals of Wisconsin, I turned to the one institution I knew wouldn’t let me down: the Republican Party.

The Fray
Bill, a good friend and uber-Republican, knew about my assignment and my inability to secure an actual dating “event” I could attend and maybe even participate in. Being the quality guy he is (not to mention his desire to bring me over to the red side from my straight-laced, journalistic stance in the middle), Bill forwarded me an open invitation he received to the monthly Republican Young Professionals social mixer.

Pay dirt.

After failing to secure a position within It’s Just Lunch and totally bombing on my online dating profiles, this truly was my last chance for young professional romance.

Politics aside, the Republican mixer I was about to infiltrate provides a microcosmic view of a burgeoning trend in dating: groups of like-minded people offering dating opportunities for single members who share similar (read: compatible) values. Young republican professionals aren’t the first to realize this effective tactic—churches and business associations have been doing it for decades.

On the day of the mixer, I was excited to enter the fray, but I was also very nervous. Nervous not because I could potentially meet the woman who would make my life complete, but nervous because I was certain I would somehow blow my cover. I planned on showing up not as a journalist, but as a conservative young professional looking to meet new, like-minded individuals.

I took a deep breath and walked into the bar that was hosting the event. I bought a drink and headed toward the side-room where the mixer was cordoned off. What met me were eyes.

Eyes staring, piercing me with their demand for answers. Who is this boy? Why is he here? Who did he vote for in 2004? I produced a weak smile and nodded, slipping into the corner.

I watched as the young republicans socialized. Perhaps only 10 people were in the room, cavorting away even though a stranger was in their midst. As the only person who didn’t know everyone else, I wondered how I would talk to any of the women. I continued to stand uncomfortably.

<- previous page |back to top | next page ->

home | professional | recreational | practical | social
about | advertise | subscribe | contact | site map
curb magazine 2005: balance for wisconsin's young professionals