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 ormer Salon sex columnist Virginia Vitzthum went online to find true love. Instead, what she found was six years of "B+ dates," increasing frustration and a lingering question: is it me, or is it online dating? Her new book, I Love You, Let's Meet, attempts to answer that question. Vitzthum explores the twenty-first century's most popular romantic pastime from various angles — two lesbians fall in love through an online no-strings-sex ad; a twentysomething woman prowls her way through a series of one-night stands; a silver-haired Brit reinvents himself as a young, agile lover online to stave off the boredom of a sexless marriage. There's been so much talk about online dating it's hard to believe no one has written the definitive book about it until now. I Love You, Let's Meet may not be the last word, but it comes close to capturing the often-bizarre world of what Vitzthum terms "the greatest technological advance in the history of human dating." At times, it's flat-out depressing, as we witness well-meaning people continually go at love the wrong way, like a rat bumping its head in a maze. Other times, it's a hopeful reminder that love endures all things — even the personals profile. — Sarah Hepola
Frankly, my online-dating life wasn't interesting enough. Some publishers really wanted that angle, but I just couldn't do it. I had six years of B+ dates. I met a lot of smart guys who were reasonably close to their profiles, but I just wasn't having any luck. I started to wonder if it wasn't something about the system. So it was me mulling over the question of why it didn't work for me, and finding people whose stories could dramatize the more vivid parts of online dating. When people found out you're writing a book about online dating, what's the one question you were always asked? "What do people lie about the most?" Just this morning I read some study about online dating where they measured people and weighed them, and more than 80% of them lied. I would totally lie about my weight. I have no problem admitting that. That's probably the one thing that people — at least women — lie about the most. In real life, nobody would ask you how old you are or how much you weigh. It's almost an invitation to lie. You call online dating the greatest technological advance in the history of human mating. Whenever I hear a claim like that, I feel skeptical. But I couldn't come up with a better example. I dated for a long time before online dating. Before online dating, you would maybe think, "Gosh, I'd like to meet a guy
And to have so many choices! It becomes harder to choose. It's easy to say, "I could do better than her." You become less forgiving. It's just stranger date after stranger date, and your criteria are superficial. You don't know that this is a guy who comes through in a crisis. It's just, what do they look like? Do they have the right cultural references? A friend of mine had been on a couple online dates that were good, but the guys didn't call her back. She compared it to going to a restaurant in New York — it might be really good, but there are so many other restaurants, so why go back to that one? That's a really good analogy. A couple of people used gambling or drug metaphors. You keep doing it, and you get into the hunt. One friend told me, "I feel like some burnout who's pulling the lever one more time in Vegas." Even if you want to stop, it gets hard. Let's talk about some of the people you interview in your book. One character who stood out for me was Richard. Ugh. I'm not very nice to him. It would be hard to be nice to him. He uses online dating to cheat on his girlfriend. How did you meet him? I put an ad on Craigslist. I said I was looking for interview subjects to talk about online dating, particularly people who step out on their spouses. Richard — not his real name; none of the names are real — was one of the people who responded, so we made a date. He told me he loves his girlfriend, and they have great sex, but he misses that initial spark. So he would date these people online. Sometimes they had sex, sometimes they just made out. I think he made me maddest when he told me, "I slept with her, and then she's all, 'When can I see you again?' Ugh, I don't want to be bothered by that." Let's talk about some of the characters you felt more empathy for. I love the story of Beth and Vivian [two lesbians who found each other after posting an ad for sex]. I worry at times that I come off as a little judgmental about people looking specifically for sex on the internet, but it's kind of nice that you can start from this very lusty, no-strings-attached place.
Before the internet, I had done some newspaper-ad dating with the alt-weekly in D.C., and I always felt like, "That's my tribe, those are the people who have my cultural interests, who speak my language." And this is how I felt about Nerve: "Oh, here they all are. City people who are artsy, disaffected weirdos." I liked that you paid by the contact, not one lump sum. I'm old and fussy; I don't want to do that, because one month I may not want to use the site that much. So I was dismayed when Nerve Personals was sold to Fast Cupid in 2005, because it became like a pay-by-the-month site that rewarded people for popularity. If a certain number of people hit on your profile, you'd get points. It used to be the place where you could find another oddball like you. Now it's like, "Be a generic sexy person." Let's talk a little bit about eHarmony. I didn't know about the things you mention in your book. Yeah, and it's a site everybody's heard of because they advertise on TV. They won't match gay people, and the guy who started it is a conservative Christian. They have this huge questionnaire. In theory, the questionnaire makes sense. But they were setting me up with people who lived two states away. And I'm not the only person who found this to be true. Oh, and they won't even let you write to these people yourself. You have to go through these baby steps in order to make contact. It was really infantilizing: Do this, do this, then you get to see each others' pictures. When I call online dating "the greatest technology for dating ever," I'm talking about the freedom and the proactiveness. That's what [eHarmony] takes away. And they charge you $50 a month. But it's a self-selecting group. If you commit all your time and your money to eHarmony.com, you're really interested in getting married, and so maybe you will. You end the book with your own decision to stop online dating. What made you come to that decision? My online dating had been trailing off. I found myself going online to look less and less. And if you're inactive, you drop to the bottom of the list. But I was doing it less and less because it was making me unhappy. It was like hanging out in a bar I don't like. I live in New York. I should be able to go out and meet people on my own. n° 
©2007 Nerve.com and Sarah Hepola |
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Virginia Vitzthum
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