This trickle continued for the next year and two months, averaging two messages a day.
I didn’t just wait to be noticed: I also actively messaged others.
The most mathematically promising one—at 99.5 percent—turned out to be one of my existing friends from law school.
But almost immediately, I began to notice peculiarities about my experience.
Meanwhile, online, I could decide between sites with free memberships, such as Plenty of Fish; paid sites with an older, more earnest clientele, such as e Harmony; niche sites such as and Gluten-Free Singles; and many others, all slightly differentiated by price, demographics, and objectives.
I signed up for Tinder and Bumble—two apps with simple interfaces that invite users to swipe on pictures of people they find attractive—as well as Ok Cupid.
The last includes more substantial personal profiles.
Through a series of questions, the company’s website and app invite you to describe what you are doing with your life and to list your favourite music, books, and TV shows.
I’m a lawyer working toward a Ph D in management, and I am a serious athlete, competing internationally for Canada in Ultimate Frisbee.
I would take the time to read a guy’s profile and then mention common interests or things I found interesting, posing an easy question for him at the end—but I still received few responses.
Of the messages that did make it to my inbox, many were from men who were not a good match for me.
It made me feel that I was more likely to find someone with whom I actually connected—not just another pretty face.
I uploaded pictures and filled out my profile with basic demographic information—height, body type, religion, and education.