Soul Mates and Subtext

By Josh Corman

Follow me on Twitter @JoshACorman

While driving home from work the other day, I heard a strange ad for one of those online dating sites. Normally, these ads—wether for eHarmony, cupid.com, match.com, or Christian Mingle—usually stick to a pretty rote explanation of their services, focusing from time to time on particular couples who've found relational success with the help of their services. This commercial, however, took a different enough track that I took full notice.

The average eHarmony user (composite).

A woman's voice explained that it's often next to impossible to create a reliable picture of a person from their online dating profile, even when that profile actually includes a picture. Basically, the woman said, people are creative and practiced enough at answering the typical profile questions that you have to carefully read into the subtext of their responses to get an accurate idea of who it is exactly that you're inviting to join you at Olive Garden next Thursday night. This should shock no one. But what she said next was jarring: "You know that if a guy says, 'I like horror movies,' that means he owns a hockey mask, but has never actually played hockey." The implication that all the Wes Craven fans seeking love and companionship via the web would serve well as the basis for his next slasher flick took me aback. It seemed weird that a company would essentially warn you that using their service carried with it the pretty high risk of being manipulated (or chopped into bits with a chainsaw and dumped in a shallow grave) under the guise of love. But then, insight struck.

If it's true that most online dating profiles are elaborately constructed ruses designed to trap and trick unsuspecting fools into sharing nachos with humanity's seedy underbelly, then the honest, wholesome few in the online dating community need help from someone. I think that someone is me.

Now, Corman, you're saying, what aid could you possibly provide to these poor folks? You've never filled out an online dating profile. You've never combed through dozens of possible matches, only to feel like no one suitable is ever going to find you. Hell, you married your high school sweetheart, whom you started dating when Napster was still a thing. Fair points all, friends, but you're forgetting the one skill that reading online dating profiles demands: ruthless critical analysis of rhetorical and thematic subtext! That's right people, my years of close, careful reading of authors as diverse as Melville and Palahniuk, Atwood and Austen, McCarthy and Dahl puts me in the enviable position of being able to comb through the underlying messages buried deep within the average dating profile to reveal the true nature of the person who crafted it. If you or someone you know is or has ever attempted to navigate the turbid waters of internet dating, you can thank me later.

Let's first consider this seemingly innocuous response to one of eHarmony's thoughtful queries: Other than appearance, what is the first thing people notice about you? Jeffery J. said this: My most apparent quality is probably sense of humor. I laugh a lot and love doing it. I like to crack the occasional joke, too, but I'm more content laughing with a group than trying to get laughs from others. Attention isn't something I crave, but sharing a sense of humor with someone is a great feeling, and laughing with people makes up a lot of my fondest memories. I hope that whoever I end up with feels the same way I do.


It's clear what Jeffery here is trying to accomplish. By revealing his lighter side, Jeffery hopes to show that he's not all business, all the time, and invite potential mates to smile at the prospect of sharing a warm joke. Thankfully, I'm here to prevent anyone from falling into his trap. Notice the arrogance of that first line, where he presumes to tell us what his "most apparent" quality is. I'd like to think that if I were scoping for a date, I'd want that date to presume that I'm intelligent enough to make up my own mind about what's apparent and what isn't. At the same time, Jeffery doesn't seem secure enough to come right out and answer the question he's been asked. Your sense of humor is "probably" what people notice about you? Indecisive much, Jeff? As if the combination of hubris and flakiness wasn't enough to drive you off after line one, he tops himself in just seven words with his second sentence.

Jeffery claims to "laugh a lot" and that "he loves doing it." I'll bet you love doing it, Jeff. And I'll bet you thought no one would notice your perverse innuendo, too. The question asked for one quality, not two, and trying to incorporate your carnal demands into what should be a simple, wholesome answer is frankly repugnant. If he would cloak this kind of blatantly hyper-sexualism by hiding behind that uncertain pronoun at the end of the sentence, what else would he hide from you? Unfortunately, we get our answer just a few sentences later. The end of Jeffery's response ostensibly conveys a desire for shared interest, but it's important for you to see his true motive. Sharing a sense of humor isn't enough for this animal. He would have you mirroring his every move if it were left up to him, feeling "the same way I do." Thankfully, it isn't up to him, and by discarding his profile, you save yourself a potential lifetime of awkwardly chuckling along to a Carrot Top special just so Jeff won't hit the bottle later and come at you with an extension cord. You're welcome.

Do you see how valuable it can be to approach these delicate responses with a finely tuned eye for subtext? Let's look at one more to ensure that you walk away confident in your approach.

This response to another of eHarmony's standard profile questions proves the old maxim about the tips of icebergs. You don't want to be the one ringing the bell on the Titanic, so pay attention.

What are the three things for which you are most thankful? Susan G. writes: Well, family first and foremost. My parents have always been there for me, and paying that back to them in any little way has long been a priority for me. Secondly, my job fulfills me in so many ways. Working with at-risk kids isn't easy, but I've learned so much about life through my relationships here that I wouldn't trade it for anything. I guess that I would also say my pets. It may sound strange, but even when life has thrown some obstacles at me, being responsible for something, even just a dog, always let me maintain a sense of purpose and value because I knew that there was something relying upon me.


Disgusting, I know.

Let's take this bit by bit. It's clear from what she says here that no matter who she dates or marries, that person is always going to come second to her family. Holidays, vacations, dinner plans, all of that and more are going to be funneled through her family and abide by their schedules. And if you have a fight? Forget about it. Susan here will go running home to Mom and Dad without batting an eye, turning them against you and turning every little disagreement into a tag-team cage match. Cut the cord, lady!

If you stopped reading after her "family first and foremost" diatribe, I don't blame you, but if you read further, your compassion wasn't rewarded. Susan says her job "fulfills" her, and that she's learned a lot working with "at-risk" kids. The feeble attempt at making herself sound compassionate only serves to reveal the painful truth: Susan is a workaholic who runs with a rough crowd. If you can drag her away from her desk for a few hours a day, she's going to insist that you hang out with people who she freely admits aren't easy to be around. It's telling that no matter how much damage these rough-and-tumble friends of hers cause, she plainly states that she "wouldn't trade [them] for anything." Don't be a hero and try to free Susan from the spiraling life she's chosen. You'll only end up getting dragged down with her.

I'd spend my powers similarly deconstructing her final statements about thankfulness, but I'm not going to insult you. If you couldn't pick out Susan's flaws after the first two points, you probably deserve each other. (Maybe you've always dreamt of featuring on A&E's Needy Cat Ladies and the People They Butchered.)

Thankfully, I don't have to navigate these treacherous waters myself. For my part though, I hope I've offered something useful that you can apply to your own internet dating experiences. If the major dating sites continue in their honest appraisal of the situation at hand, I'm sure they'll have the riff-raff cleared out in no time. But until then, remember: When in doubt, they're probably a serial killer.

 By Josh Corman

Follow me on Twitter @JoshACorman