I have done more internet dating than anybody should ever have to in their whole life.
I’ve gone with serious profiles (forget it), poems as profiles (lots of interest but rarely suitable) and funny but slightly obscure profiles (if they don’t get it, well, reality is we won’t get on anyway).
Suffice to say none of these has been staggeringly successful . In fact the most successful was much more of a cut to the chase quick meet off a site which might as well have been called fancyashag.com, which ended up lasting a year. I’ve met them all- all fellas, all shapes and sizes, with increasing desperation at the futility of it all.
The thing about internet dating is that it’s so throwaway. Quick look. No? Flick. Next. No. Flick. You don’t know them. They’re not people, just commodities to browse like an estate agents window . There are hundreds, thousands more . Meet one in the flesh and your fate is decided in the first two minutes. Not perfect? Hundreds more to try. Flick. Flick. Flick.
Embarking on internet dating lesbian style, it’s a different game. Profiles number in the hundreds not the thousands, and only a handful realistically in the running. It became abundantly clear that you can’t afford to chuck people away for spurious reasons – there just aren’t enough of them.
The question was how to approach it. First off, the crucial matter of photos. I settle eventually on me looking intrepid half way up a mountain, me looking cultured at historic sites of interest, and me in a dress looking quite hot actually if you don’t mind me saying so, just so you know yes I sometimes wear a dress. Right. Well that took about four hours longer than it was supposed to.
Then the words. First try- too flippant. Next one, too wordy. Keep it short, keep it witty I thought. Pique their interest. Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly – come, come, my pretty.
Finally, five versions later, unleashed upon the world I winked, smiled and fairly regularly hid.
In the big heterosexual internet pond there is always another. Flick flick flick. In the small lesbian goldfish bowl, even in one of the biggest and most diverse cities on the planet, you can’t afford to be throwing any of the decent ones back in.
It worked. I think I hooked a good one. I can’t remember who winked first but we’ve reeled each other in nicely. Enough fishing analogies? Perhaps.
I take it back, internet. Not as futile as I thought.
Lil x
L-plateLesbian 