Column about nothing: Love and the Internet
Morgan Nederhood
Issue date: 2/4/10 Section: Opinion
I love commercials for dating websites. I know I shouldn't because it's dorky, but I do.
They're always the same: a profile of a couple (usually with at least one attractive member) staring into each other's eyes, getting wrapped up in a soft blanket or sweater and laughing. There's a lot of laughing in these commercials.
Every time the commercial ends, I feel compelled to join the advertised site. How could I not? Those people are so happy. I want to get wrapped up in a blanket on the beach and laugh a lot. I could drive to the beach, wrap myself up and laugh to no one, but it's probably more fun to do with a boyfriend, and I'd look crazy.
Usually I don't go through with my plan. Either another commercial comes on that's even more entertaining than the former or I go online and forget why I was there in the first place. Mostly though, I just get embarrassed.
There's a strange stigma about online dating for people in my age group (I'm 21, for the record). Whenever a dating service is brought up in conversation, reactions are negative. I've tested this theory before with many of my friends, and the reactions always center on, "It's for old people who can't find anyone at bars," or, "It just seems too weird, like I can't find someone in a normal way." It seems dating websites are seen as a last resort for those in the 40+ age bracket.
Last summer, one of my best friends Gabbie and I decided to break the mold by joining such a site.
It was Independence Day, and we were both feeling desperate. She was single for the first time in about six or so years and I was just bored with being single all of the time. We hatched this plan while driving home from fireworks in New Haven.
There, we'd spotted an attractive guy and I'd dared Gabbie to flirt with him. He had dirty blond hair, a playful smile, and a great laugh. He was juggling, sporting a light-up vest, and riding a unicycle. He was hired for the fireworks to keep kids entertained. In order to hit on him, Gabbie had to run with a group of small children as they ran after the boy on the unicycle.
They're always the same: a profile of a couple (usually with at least one attractive member) staring into each other's eyes, getting wrapped up in a soft blanket or sweater and laughing. There's a lot of laughing in these commercials.
Every time the commercial ends, I feel compelled to join the advertised site. How could I not? Those people are so happy. I want to get wrapped up in a blanket on the beach and laugh a lot. I could drive to the beach, wrap myself up and laugh to no one, but it's probably more fun to do with a boyfriend, and I'd look crazy.
Usually I don't go through with my plan. Either another commercial comes on that's even more entertaining than the former or I go online and forget why I was there in the first place. Mostly though, I just get embarrassed.
There's a strange stigma about online dating for people in my age group (I'm 21, for the record). Whenever a dating service is brought up in conversation, reactions are negative. I've tested this theory before with many of my friends, and the reactions always center on, "It's for old people who can't find anyone at bars," or, "It just seems too weird, like I can't find someone in a normal way." It seems dating websites are seen as a last resort for those in the 40+ age bracket.
Last summer, one of my best friends Gabbie and I decided to break the mold by joining such a site.
It was Independence Day, and we were both feeling desperate. She was single for the first time in about six or so years and I was just bored with being single all of the time. We hatched this plan while driving home from fireworks in New Haven.
There, we'd spotted an attractive guy and I'd dared Gabbie to flirt with him. He had dirty blond hair, a playful smile, and a great laugh. He was juggling, sporting a light-up vest, and riding a unicycle. He was hired for the fireworks to keep kids entertained. In order to hit on him, Gabbie had to run with a group of small children as they ran after the boy on the unicycle.
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