There was Matthew*, who was “taking a year off” from Architectural School and whose biggest fear/annoyance was “sleeping alone.” Mark insisted on “reading” me whenever the conversation lulled over nachos and Diet Coke. David wore hearing aids (not a problem) but had the volume far too low, making it impossible to communicate with him (problem).
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what happens when you date on the internet: you find a dud. Or five.
For better or for worse, the idea to put my “profile” on the internet and fish for suitors came sometime in January of my junior year. I had just finished an especially pesky lunch with some friends during which I was told I had no “valuable” experience (read: sex) and that waiting to find Mr. Right was robbing me of skills in the bedroom.
“You’ve got no experience, [writer],” said my best friend Jake as he inhaled his soft-serve in the Towers Dining Hall. “I mean, what you should do is just go out and find some cute guy friend and, you know, do him.”
I did two things after that lunch: the first was decide I needed to re-evaluate my relationship with some of my friends. The second was to seriously consider putting myself on the internet. On one hand was the obvious online dating horror story: Philip Markoff had been jailed months earlier for murdering people he met on Craigslist—he was busy being made into a Lifetime movie. On the other hand, the internet had scored me some jobs, wasted my time on Twitter and Facebook, and sold me a sweet used office chair.
So “on” I went: I made the rounds of the veritable zoo (and yes, I mean zoo) of online dating sites. For the modern gay man there’s dozens, and I’ve tried quite a few to no avail. Match.com cost money, something I wasn’t keen to part with to find a relationship in college. Dlist.com was filled with hipsters and vain men. Connexion was like a party filled with people unwilling to talk to you. A friend of mine pinged me one evening on IM to suggest I join a site called “DudesNude.” I shut the laptop lid, left the room, and took a shower to try to cleanse myself of the idea.
My “last straw” of sorts was the increasingly popular OkCupid.com, a site that promises to be absolutely free and bring together many thousands of gay and straight people and match them to each other. I was excited to join OkCupid, and it didn’t disappoint: among the usual crowd of low-budget lotharios was a diamond in the rough: Ryan.
From the first date, a simple get-together over coffee that turned into an hours-long stroll through Brookline, it was destined to be everything I had hoped for. Every time my phone vibrated I jumped. Every time we touched was electricity. Every message warmed my dumb little heart.
It lasted all of two weeks.
It ended just as it began: with an AOL Instant Message in the middle of the night, something about having feelings for his best friend that would never go away. Somewhere, a long time later, between the pints of Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup and the Michael Bublé songs, I realized it was for the best.
I responded by redoubling my efforts to find someone suitable, which resulted in a series of terrible first dates. I figured the whole experiment was for naught.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the “deactivate” button: I met someone, and we “clicked.” In the end it didn’t last, but it was…nice. After tasting heartbreak I reminded myself not to get hung up on that middle school idea of Mr. Right. I shifted my expectations; and with its thousands of eligible men, OkCupid had delivered someone who “just wanted to date.”
All in all? I’ve spent about year of my college life on the site, dozens of hours in coffee shops talking about Studying Abroad and Beyoncé CDs and my life dreams. I’ve said hello to a few young men—and goodbye to a few, too.
A friend of mine asked point-blank the other night if I thought the “experiment” was positive, and to be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve had enough bad first dates to write a book about (or, at least, a lengthy article). But the internet had succeeded where I had failed at BU: for a school supposedly filled with eligible gay men, I hadn’t found a single one I wanted to date. On the internet I had found eight. Well, three. Or maybe one.
So my message to the “interested” men and women? Internet dating is whatever you want it to be—whether that be boring, romantic, or, um, “fun.” Show up with lofty expectations and you might fall short. Then again, you might be surprised.
In the meantime, wish me luck. I met someone on OkCupid and we’re going on a date…tomorrow.
The writer is a Senior at Boston University.
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*All names have been changed
