A False Sense Of Intimacy

“A false sense of intimacy.”

That’s what Lady Eva calls it, and she’s absolutely right.

Internet dating, as a rule, is a strange beastie indeed. As time goes on it carries less and less of a stigma attached to it, but while it becomes more commonplace I think we lose something in the translation in regards to the Art of Sex.  Let’s discuss…

For any Dear Readers who may not be in the know, the basic tenet of online dating is simply this: you create a profile for yourself, writing things which make you seem witty, charming, flirtatious, sexy, whatever it is you want to put out there for the world to see. You add the best possible pictures of yourself. Cross your fingers and spit twice into the North Wind while chanting within the circle drawn with dove’s blood upon the 3^rd new moon of the 11^th month in the….  No, wait, that’s my recipe for mulligatawny.  Seriously, though, you send a persona out into the datasphere and hope for the best. And by “persona”, I mean exactly that. No matter how hard you try to be true, it won’t be you. It will be a cleaned-up, spit-shined visage of you. And let’s face it, Friends… how many people are actually honest with themselves never mind a bunch of perfect strangers they are trying to impress?

I am learning that the answer is “not many”.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I am an exception to the rule. I use untouched photos, enter my real age, don’t lie about my profession.  I did that from the get-go.  But as I explore this world of dating profiles I am coming to the realization that not only an I an exception, but I am an endangered species!

Here’s what I know already:

·    Men lie about their age often, and they aren’t even good at it. I cannot begin to tell you how many profiles I opened up because the info stated we were age appropriate, only to stumble face-to-face upon images of a man at least 10 years my senior! And hey!  I’m no spring chicken!!!  Who in Zeus’ name are these fellows kidding?!? I called one individual out on this very thing and the response I received was something to the effect that, A) he didn’t want to be speaking to 50+ year old women and if he admitted his real age those were the only females who would contact him (okay, that may be true); B) he feels younger than his actual age (oh, puh-leeze! I feel a lot younger than my 40 years, but I am not going to lie about it. I’m going to own it outright. Clearly if my profile can convey the youth I feel then that should be enough, right?)

·    Men lie about their professions often, and they aren’t very clever about it. I have spoken to at least a half-dozen potentials and when the topic of profession comes up they end up saying something that is utterly contrary to their profile. Why do this? You know the question is going to come up, and most likely it’s going to come up right away as talking about one’s job is a fairly innocuous topic of conversation.

·    Men don’t know how to take a decent picture of themselves for a dating site. Half the photos are computer camera stills (listen up, fellows: your laptop video camera does NOT take a flattering image of you. Not once, not ever), and another quarter are photos with an exwife/gf poorly cropped out of the pic. For my part, I would much prefer a goofy looking casual shot which is entirely real than either of the aforementioned styles.

·    Men don’t write their profiles themselves.  I can think of two particular knaves who contacted me with brilliantly written profiles, all charm and witty stylings. I replied back to both these jesters and found myself speaking to puerile, monosyllabic oafs who didn’t know their Oscar Wilde from Oscar the Grouch. Now, before you call this queen elitist, you must remember that I would only judge a person on what they put out into the ether. Claim to be well read and I will ask you about authors. Claim to love music and I will ask you about composers. Claim to love movies and I will ask you… well, you get the picture. I cannot understand why you would change the truth so much about the basics such as “what are my favorite things”. To what end? Eventually some Lady of the Realm is going to reply to you, Knaves, so you ought to be prepared for their sword as well as their song!

Here’s another thing I know:

·    Women do the exact same thing

I am shocked. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.  All of this falsehood spread across the digital plains makes me very ill at ease. I know I am unschooled and gullible. Therefore, I fear it may be easier for me to be duped than other women. I know that if I am out here on the digital plain long enough, I may become jaded just like the old-timers out here. I will be more suspicious than open, more forceful than forgiving, more  confounder than confirmer.

A false sense of intimacy. What is that? Well, if you are lucky you will find yourself regularly discoursing via email with some Squire or other. And if you email daily, or even more than once daily (which is what I tend to do with the two aforementioned princes) you begin to convince yourself that the witty banter and heartfelt commentary between you engenders some sort of bond. Graduate to telephony, and if the voice on the other end is as warm or soothing or sexy as you expected, then you continue your talks. But now you really feel as if you know each other.

You don't.

You know next to nothing about each other.  Courtship has traditionally been about taking one's time to get to know a potential partner. With online dating, it seems that everyone wants to know everything up front with a sense of urgency, like the Apocalypse is upon us but just before we go to our impending doom just tell me twenty-two more tidbits about yourself in the next five minutes so I can feel closer to you.

Ick.

Assuming you know someone when you clearly don't is just asking for trouble.  Therefore, my approach is to take it slow. I am cautious, tentative, and unhurried. I don't want to know everything about you right away, nor do I want you to read me from cover-to-cover at the first sitting.   Regardless of whether or not we gel in conversations, like the same movies, laugh at each other's jokes, or hate Woody Allen... these men are still strangers and nothing but time is going to alter that.

I want to be intimate. But I also want it to be true-- raw and sloppy around the edges, sometimes perfect pitch and sometimes a little off-key. I don't fear stumbling together; it's bogus perfection which scares me to death.

"did you think that i would laugh when you said i was small?
did you think that that would pass as if nothing at all?
you say a lot of funny things, my little bunny
and i almost always laugh but that's not really funny" ~eels