FeistyFemale

Catriona Ross

How I use to scorn people who initiate dinner-party conversations by asking “Do you have broadband?� and glaze over if you don’t. I’ve changed my tune because I’ve fallen in love on the internet.

Eight months ago, I was a singleton in dangerously shallow social pools. After three mates and a divorced shrink had recommended online dating, I reckoned it was time to surf with the mainstream. So I filled in a profile and joined the million-plus subscribers to www.datingbuzz.co.za

My list of requirements was as comprehensive as an SARS online tax return. Besides the basics (kindness, intelligence, no mad-scientist eyebrows), I was after a non-smoking, affectionate, articulate, musical, charismatic, solvent, spiritual, heterosexual, male Cape Town resident, over six foot, without heavy baggage, who didn’t work weekends and liked camping. He had to know his Rimbaud from his Rambo, his full stop from his comma, and have hair, good teeth and a resonant voice. Big hands a bonus.

“Your ‘ideal mate’ sounds like some kind of superhero,� a 62% match snarkily e-mailed me. “If I see him flying past, I’ll let you know.�

Well, a gal’s got to have standards. In fact, that is the secret to making Internet dating yield results. In order not to be distracted by the panoply of options, you need to be as clear as an LCD screen about what you want. Because what you don’t want is out there by the gigabyte, trust me. Once I’d outlined my ideal, I happily could steer clear of the punctuation-impaired stalker, the guy who advertised himself with a nude photo, the posse of balding “Wealthy Execs Looking for Ladies� without thinking, “Maybe he’d be interesting if I just got to know him.�

You also got to know how to sell yourself. If you struggle to fill in the “People should get to know me because…� section, you’re going to battle sweetcakes. Rather go for therapy, learn to love yourself and return to the online fray next year. Don’t over-promote yourself, though, and upload a 10-year-old self-portrait. It’ll only end in another subscription fee.

My strategy was to keep my search low-effort. I disregarded e-mails from anyone who wasn’t an 85% match or higher. And I had a cruel, one-strike rule: if his spelling of “definitely� involved an “a�, he was Out. I played it so cool that I didn’t respond to Mr Freakishly Brilliant Match for a whole month. Then, one day, I idly checked his profile again, saw he could both spell and self-deprecate, and replied to his e-mail.

We met up one week later. He wore a pistachio-green shirt, did a scandalous Borat impersonation, and cunningly got me to list all my dysfunctions (after he claimed to have none himself) He was the list plus more: he shared the habit of speaking in Cape Flats parlance. He didn’t watch sport. He wanted to learn the Argentinian tango. We, uh, clicked.