Tag Archives: dating profile

Singles night – Final part

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve had a complaint that you’ve been aggressive toward this gentleman,” I hear the venue manager say as I turn to face him. Next to him is the drunk who only minutes ago was making peace with me. I’m astounded, but before I say a word, half a dozen people spin around and start pointing fingers at the drunk, all talking at the same time telling the manager what had happened. Rarely have I felt so supported by total strangers. I didn’t have to say a word as the manager was filled in, who then turned to the drunk who started arguing with the manager who in turn eventually pulled a funny face and walked off.

I turned away from this lot, knowing that the less attention I gave this twat, the better for everybody. Why me? I was starting to wonder if he was jealous of me because the prettiest girl in the place was totally into me while no woman would even talk to him. He obviously has no idea what to say to women, thinks that splashing cash around will compensate for what he lacked (a personality) and has no self-control.

Conversation with the two sweet ladies before me resumed but they were nervous about his presence, their eyes constantly darting in his direction. They were not going to relax until he was gone. I was racking my brain about how to get rid of this guy.

Kaa-thud!

The drunk slams a bucket of ice with a bottle of Moet champagne on the table.

“Here you goes. Have this on me!” he bellows.

People turn to look, concern on their faces. I make make eye contact with some of them and smile, hoping it disarms them.

Again the drunk starts talking to me, saying I know not what because he can barely stand without swaying now. I’m not going to provoke anything, I’m going to let this play out and hopefully he gives me enough cause to get the manager to throw him out.

Instead he adopts his conciliatory tone again and keeps shaking my hand. “I’ll see you here in twenty years time,” he says again, but I don’t think anybody else watching understood a word that came out of his mouth. Eventually he stops repeatedly shaking my hand, grabs his bag and saunters off. Everyone around me heave sighs of relief, smile at each other and let their shoulders drop. People come up to me and congratulate me for keeping my cool. All I can think about is how the stunner feels about all this.

The good-hearted strangers leave me alone and I turn to my companions, half expecting them to have left amid the hubbub. They were still there smiling at me. The stunner’s eyes were twinkling. She’s lovely. That arsehole might actually have done me a favour of sorts.

A sense of normality returns to the night, to the table and the stunner is leaning in as close tot me as she can. After all the years of dating more women than most men ever dream of doing, well, I can read the signs when a woman is into me. The thing is that her being a smoker is a big obstacle to me. Maybe I can help her kick the habit by providing a little motivation?

The stunner starts hurling more probing questions my way and almost every time my answer results in her friend making an approving face as she turns to the stunner. The two of them live together and seem to know each other quite well. I’m enjoying their company. This night is starting to feel good again.

Out of the faceless crowd a drunken Irishman steps up to the friend and starts talking to her while pouring her a drink from the bottle that he has thoughtfully brought along for the glasses he’s carrying. The friend is shocked at his brazen audacity, her face screaming, “God no! Not another one!”

Is this the done thing with idiotic knobheads nowadays? They throw money and alcohol at disinterested women? I can see why so many of the women that I have dated have said that most of their dates have been horror shows. Ever since that very first ‘comedy night’ all those years ago it seems that my competition has not cleaned up their act. I feel sorry for women on the dating scene.

The stunner starts talking to her friend, in an attempt to rescue her from the unwelcome interloper. The guy’s speech is slurred and the friend has a new boyfriend. I feel sorry for her because she was being a dutiful wingman friend and was suffering for it. The stunner stops talking to her friend, leans over the table to me and says, “Please talk to her. She’s trapped.”

I think quickly and come up with a better solution.

“Now what would your boyfriend say if he saw you now?” I say loud enough for the latest drunken fool to hear.

My words hit him like a bolt of lightning, he seems to instantly sober up and stiffens his spine, collects the glasses and without a word walks off. At least he had the courtesy of leaving without any fanfare, pretty much like how he arrived.

The friend opens her mouth in amazement and we high-five. What is the stunner making of me I wonder.

I excuse myself and go to the gents. The guy standing next to me at the urinal starts complaining about how “hard these London women are”. Now that I know of which he speaks. My occasional peeks around the room showed me that some women had gone home first to get dressed up, which is not a bad thing, but it shows me how serious they are taking this event, like it’s a competition. I noticed very little hair flicking going on. I’ve only seen one woman making unnecessary physical contact with a guy by occasionally touching his shoulder if they laughed about something. I’m not getting the impression that any serious relationships are being forged tonight, which surprises me. I think it’s that ‘abundance’ thing of big cities, where people always think that they can do better than the person they have in front of them.

Returning to my table I’ve barely sat down when the stunner hits me with her latest question.

“Are you kinky?”

What?! Did she just ask me if I’m kinky? No, surely not. Did she say ‘thinking’? No, that makes no sense. Did she say ‘sinking’? No, that makes less sense. Her friend is looking at me with very serious eyes. This one matters; got to get it right.

“I’m sorry, it’s getting noisy in here. Can you repeat the question please?” I say.

She leans forward and says, “I want to know if you’re kinky,” with a deadly look in her eye.

Shit, I did hear right.

I think of a joke as a response. “Do you know the difference between kinky and perverted?”

“No,” they both say.

“Kinky is when you use a feather. Perverted is when you use the whole chicken,” I say, to which they laugh raucously. Job done?

“No. You’re not answering my question. Are you kinky?”

Bloody hell, she’s an intense little thing, but that means the sex will be good too. This is why I don’t drink much when on a date because it allows me to think clearly and quickly. I come up with, “I’m as kinky as you.”

That nothing answer seems to please her and she says, “Good, because I’m not kinky.”

I quickly introduce a new subject and lively banter between the three of us ensues. After a while the stunner looks at me and says, “So tell me, which one of us are you interested in?”

My strategy of giving most of my attention to her friend has worked perfectly. She can’t tell who I am interested in, which heightens the sense of intrigue in her. Seeing as her friend had a new boyfriend and would not be interested in me, it was illogical that I would be interested in the friend, but my deception was so complete that she couldn’t figure this out. I have learned to play women at their own game. The most important thing, however, is the fact that she asked this question, which confirms to me that she’s interested in me because she wouldn’t want to know otherwise if she wasn’t feeling some attraction to me. Right or wrong?

I look at her, I look at her friend, then say, “Well, she’s not available, so I guess I must be interested in you,” and look the stunner deep in the eye. In that moment all sound disappeared and everything that had transpired before in the evening was forgotten. We looked at each other like two tigers coming across one another in a clearing. Bubbles of oestrogen and testosterone collided and fused invisibly before us.

The friend then looks at the time on her phone and it’s almost 11pm. It’s been quite a night for all of us. Despite the drunken arseholes, it has turned out well, or so it feels. Now just the matter of closing the deal.

I say to the friend who is checking her phone, “Do you want to take my number down?”

The stunner immediately intervenes and says, “No!” so emphatically that I’m taken aback. The friend’s face falls and her eyes go big, she says”Whaat?!”

The stunner looks at me and says, “I’m old-fashioned. You must take my number.”

“Okay, I respect that because I’m old-fashioned too,” I say as I reach for my phone. Typically, for the first time ever, my phone’s battery is dead. I show this to the stunner and I say to her, “Sorry, but you’re going to have to take my number.”

She gives me a stare and I just smile back. Eventually she relents and gets her phone out. I give her my number and ask to check that she got it right. She phones it and gets my voicemail.

“There. Now you have my number too,” she says haughtily.

We gather our belongings and get ready to brace ourselves for the cold that is waiting for us outside. I lead the way, intending on walking them to their nearest Tube station. As we make our way through the crowd, strangers are patting me on the back, shaking my hand and saying nice things to me about how I handled myself earlier with the drunk. I’m not used to playing the conquering hero, but the timing is fortuitous because I’ve just met somebody unique who I am already looking forward to seeing again.

I feel a sense of appreciation towards the dating website because despite my years of subscribing and only having a few dates, they laid on something that I feel I got more than my money’s worth. I had a memorable evening for good and bad reasons, but I have no doubt that the good will be the prevailing memory.

Outside I offer to accompany the two ladies, but the stunner asks me, “Where is your station?”

“It’s one block behind me,” I say.

“No. Then you must go to that one.”

“I’m kind of old-fashioned too,” I respond, looking deep into her perfect eyes.

“Thank you, but it is not necessary.”

“Okay,” I say and watch them walk off.

The way the interaction ended, with her asking me not to come along tells me that I’ll never be seeing her again. I have enough experience now to know that somewhere towards the end she decided that she was no longer interested in me.

Was the evening a disaster and a total waste of time? No, I’m actually glad that I went. Firstly, I got to see what one of these events is like and although I’m no longer intimidated by such a setting, I have no interest in experiencing it again. Secondly, I got to see just how far my people skills in terms of conflict handling has evolved. Thirdly, I got far more attention from women than what I was expecting. Over the course of the evening I did notice several women repeatedly smiling at me, a come-on-over signal, but I wasn’t too interested because the stunner had my attention. There was a short, chubby little blonde who in particular stood out as being desirous of my attention. I’m still marketable, which is good to know.

The next day I go onto the dating website and find the stunner’s profile. Notably she has the premium subscription which tells me that she is being very picky and perhaps has trust issues because she has chosen to hide her online activity record so that nobody can see when she was last online. Why do that? The only other person who I knew did that was my best friend and he certainly was not relationship material. She has also told a few lies on her profile, such as her age and nationality. In truth I find her profile boring and uninteresting. If I was after a brunette, no matter how attractive she is, her profile would have put me off.

Nevertheless I send her a text message inviting her out.

She never replied.

Roxy Music – Same Old Scene

Bitch profile dissected

I came across a pretty face on PoF, read her words then laughed to myself. I was having a moment of deja moo: I’ve seen this bullshit before. First I’ll show you her words, then I’ll show them again with the subtext garnered from my years of experience. This might be shocking to some but these are the things I’ve learned after having conversed with hundreds of women, dated almost fifty and tried to have a relationship with a few.

—————————————————————————————–

About Me

I am here beacuse my friend says it’s fun. We shall see. ;)

I am looking for someone who doesn’t like to make drama.

I ride my blue bike wearing my Vans shoes and my Burberry trench coat on my way to work, I hate public transport!

I always say what I want in general but sometimes I think first.

If all you can talk about is sex or if your lookig for a booty call, don’t even bother to message. I will find you boring straight away.

I work for a luxury fashion retail. I love good food, movies and talking to intelligent ppl.

First Date
Out for a drink or dinner when we could have a proper conversation. :)

—————————————————————————————–

Seems sweet, fun and harmless, right? Not so. Here’s what two years of interacting with women like her has taught me what lurks beneath the surface of her hastily contrived online facade.

—————————————————————————————–

About Me

I am here beacuse my friend says it’s fun. We shall see. ;)
[Spelling error indicates her disdain for all this; can't be bothered to check her writing. Doesn't really want to be doing this; it's half-hearted to appease a friend. The only way people get her to do anything is to nag her. Willing to deceive a friend. Judgemental – will swap endless emails with a guy and never go on a date with him. She will be picky and high maintenance.]

I am looking for someone who doesn’t like to make drama.
[Because she'll provide it all, I assure you. Has a turbulent history with men. English might not be her first language.]

I ride my blue bike wearing my Vans shoes and my Burberry trench coat on my way to work, I hate public transport!
[Fashion-slave; abhors practicality, snob; likely to die in cycling accident on way to work because she's always right.]

I always say what I want in general but sometimes I think first.
[Tactless, outspoken loudmouth who will embarrass anybody and everybody anywhere. Opinionated and headstrong. Major reasons for her being single.]

If all you can talk about is sex or if your lookig for a booty call, don’t even bother to message. I will find you boring straight away.
[She's getting irritated by having to write this, it's so beneath her, hence another spelling error. Eventually finds all men boring, another reason she's single. Hasn't had sex in a while, hence her bringing it up and being on this site. Probably needs a regular good shagging to calm her down.]

I work for a luxury fashion retail. I love good food, movies and talking to intelligent ppl.
[I'm demanding, hard work. My job defines who I am. Social status is important in my world, so you better have a good job. She doesn't earn that much hence being on a free site. Will ultimately be disappointed by calibre of men on PoF and will speak badly of online dating because of it. Bad grammar and text speak confirm her not being English. If you're good-looking, have money, can cook and are intelligent, I'll spread my legs for you.]

First Date
Out for a drink or dinner when we could have a proper conversation. :)
[You're paying mister but only after countless silly emails spanning weeks but will dash off to meet a guy if he's really good looking because she's shallow. She loves getting stuck into a good debate, probably likes to argue as a form of foreplay. On the positive side, she's clearly a sapiophile, so a brainy hunk will get her wet in a matter of minutes.]

—————————————————————————————–

Her only email setting contact criteria is that the man has a photo; looks matter a lot to her. This setting also hints at her not really expecting a long-lasting relationship, just a fling. This superficial airhead has no redeeming value to men other than as a brief sex toy, which will quickly become predictable and boring because she knows what she likes and that’s all she’ll do. She probably won’t give oral but will gladly accept it.

She has eight photos to her profile; the typical woman has just four. The more photos a woman has the higher the opinion of herself and vice versa. Self-esteem has bubbled over into self-obsessed with this girl. Any kind of relationship will be all about her. She’s a classic Taker.

Two years ago I would have thought her a sweet-hearted neophyte gingerly feeling her way through the world. She’s probably a recent arrival in London looking to broaden her social circle. Her job and its trappings have wowed her and she’s revelling in the experience of luxury. She knows what she likes and won’t be easily swayed. She has a mind of her own and isn’t afraid of expressing herself.

Such a naïve outlook has been replaced by my current more educated view of a woman such as her. There was a time when I would have approached her, but I’m wiser now and give such women a wide berth. Depending on the website, a quarter to a half of profiles will be like hers. This is not indicative of womankind, but says more about dating sites because women like her linger longer.

She’s becoming a typical London girl, portraying herself to anyone who will listen that she’s a “strong, independent woman.” There’s a special aisle in a supermarket designed just for her. It has wine, ready-meals and cat food, all located together for her convenience.

Undateable singleton aisle.

Undateable singleton aisle.

If I woke up next to this girl and she was sleeping on my arm, I would rather gnaw my arm off than wake her.

I find it interesting that the same world I have known for so long I am now seeing through different eyes. My education continues and I know it’s not complete.

Depeche Mode – World in My Eyes

Fresh Meat – I don’t know what I’m doing?!

I knew nothing about women. I knew almost nothing about dating and as little about writing a profile on dating sites. Spending my adult life with only two women had come with an unexpected price. The movie “The 40 year old Virgin” resonated with me. I was a man-child on the dating scene and painfully aware of it.

To get to understand women, I had to meet women. To get to meet women, I needed a dating site profile that women found irresistible.

I had no idea how my profile or emails compared to my competitors. I also wanted to know what women experience on dating sites. To find out, I set up a fake female profile on two dating sites.

I found a picture of a pretty girl on the internet and used that as my one and only profile photo. I wrote the most generic, boring profile that was borne out of all the real female profiles I had read in recent months. I went out of my way to make it as mundane as possible.

Within three hours I had 42 emails from guys. Within a day it was 108. I didn’t bother counting after that, but they tapered off and after two weeks it averaged just one a day. It was as if a sign went up somewhere that said “Fresh Meat!” and all the little piranhas came speeding along.

My curiosity got the better of me and I got adventurous enough to start swapping emails with some of the guys. I was courteous and engaging in my banter, generally letting them lead the conversation, all in an effort to see what guys do so that I don’t make the same mistakes.

After a few evenings of indulging in this experiment my findings were the following:

1) Most guys on dating sites are only looking for sex. They make it pathetically clear in their badly-written profiles and banal emails.
2) Most emails were one-liners or single words, such as “Hi”, “How you doing?”, “How’s your day been?” or my favourite, “Love your picture”. The sexually overt opening emails I found so distasteful that I have blotted them out from my memory. I did learn what a ‘cockshot’ was. Oh, there was one that stood out that I can’t forget: ” Just see ur ad u look fit im seriously bi n’id love to cum fuck ur sexy arse do u fancy picking me up so we can go to urs n’play n’play im 42 clean descreet n’horny for u darren ” (I bet Darren is still single.)
3) Almost every email with actual content, meaning a guy had taken the time to write something original, came across as the guy seeking approval. They all seemed weak and spineless.
4) If I got assertive and prescriptive on a guy’s ass via email, he would invariably back down, apologising as he grovelled. I would do this once I grew bored of his messages.
5) Hardly any made mention of actually meeting up. The vast majority seemed willing to let an email conversation go on forever.
6) Very few good-looking guys approached my fake profile. On a “looks scale” they were almost all 6s and below. I’m not an expert on good-looking men though.
7) There seemed to be two types of guys writing to me: bad boys out for sex and nice, wimpy guys who were more clueless than me.

I also used this fake profile ruse to read over other men’s profiles. Most guy’s profiles couldn’t catch a cold, let alone catch the attention of a woman with more than half a brain. I could see why these guys were single. What they lacked in writing ability they tried to make up for with photographs, which usually involved at least one shot of them without a top on, exposing usually an underwhelming physique.

I could write a book on what I know about dating profiles. Perhaps I should? What do you think?

I was surprised at the low quality of my competition, but I wasn’t disheartened in any way. On the contrary, I was motivated by all the drivel because it wouldn’t be too difficult for me to positively stand out. I did spare a thought for all the women on dating sites that have to endure this kind of borderline harassment. If I had my own dating site, it would be so much better than what’s out there.

Having learned what I could from having a fake female profile, I set to work crafting what I hoped would be an irresistible-to-women dating profile.

First, I uploaded a dozen photos of myself on to OKCupid’s photo review facility. Yes, I had to sit there for several hours reviewing and rating other people’s photo’s, but it was worth it. After two evenings of rating in exchange for being rated, the results I got surprised me. There was one photograph of me that I rated the worst of the batch, but women of all ages rated it the best. Photos that I thought would have rated highest were rated lowest. After a bit of thinking about it, I figured out why that was the case. Most guys don’t have a clue as to what women find visually attractive and I used to be one them.

Secondly, while I was waiting for my photos to be reviewed overnight, I went hunting for the best male profiles that I could find. It was their words and ideas that I wanted. The nuances and images that brushed aside disbelief and captured a woman’s imagination. I could, of course, not be exactly sure what those elements were. After some effort I had a few competitor’s words and ideas that seemed strong. I set about merging and fine-tuning it all in to two different profiles. I put these on different dating sites.

My plan called for seeing which of these profiles got the best response, not just in terms of number of responses, but also the desirability/suitability of the women writing to me. If one of these new profiles proved superior to the other, I would replace the weaker one with the better one. If the results were comparable after a few days, then I would tweak one a little to make it even better, monitoring the results again in coming days. I would repeat this process until I was satisfied that I had achieved my objective. Then, and only then, would I go on the offensive and sign up to dating sites left, right and centre, hoping to find Her.

I posted my first two fresh profiles with my best-rated photos, not knowing what to expect.

Somewhere a “Fresh Meat!” sign went up and emails from women started streaming in overnight…