Fisher of Men

I hate fishing.

Fishing is gross. It smells bad and if you’re out deep sea fishing it can often involve seasickness. Disgusting.

Fishing also seems cruel. If you catch a fish and kill it for food, I can respect that if done in a humane fashion. It’s the catch and release part that is cruel. You may think you are being kind to the fish because you caught it, but let it live by throwing it back into the water. But need I really explain that what you really did was traumatize a fish? You lulled it into a false sense of security by offering it a free tasty treat, tricked it into biting a hook, jabbed the hook through the roof of its mouth, dragged it out of its environment into the suffocating fresh air, manhandled it to remove the aforementioned hook, and then chucked it back in the water. Presumably after it’s heart started beating again, it went directly to seek treatment for fishy PTSD.

Anyway, fishing is the closest comparison I can find to what using dating apps feels like.

I have been single since 2008: sometimes reluctantly, other times with great joy, still more times stubbornly so. For many years I have worn my singleness like a badge of honor as if to say, “Men? We don’t need no stinkin’ men!” I can put an AC unit in the window by myself. I can build the hutch for the IKEA desk without assistance, thankyouverymuch. Not only did I not need a man, for a long time I didn’t really want one either. They seemed like a lot of work, requiring attention, time, and effort. What would the point be? Regard, for I am woman! Independent without remorse or regret! What could I possibly be missing by existing sans significant other?

Then one time I was traveling alone and had to pee. I dragged all my bags with me into the too small and extra gross airport bathroom. I had no one to watch my stuff for me.

Another time, in the middle of a stressful couple of months, the hot water heater died and I had to drop everything to deal with that. It didn’t matter that I didn’t feel like dealing with it. I lived alone: there was no one to ask to help.

I would come home nights to a deep conversation with a cat who, once fed, became a much less interested audience and would often leave the room in the middle of a sentence.

What was I missing by not being in a relationship? Oh yeah! Love! Companionship! A partner in life! All that shit.

And so I find myself a member of a couple of dating apps, back in the fish market as it were. Really what I’m doing is shopping for a human being, but I’m a touch uncomfortable with that comparison which rings a bit unconstitutional for my taste. Which brings us back to fishing.

Dating apps are like fishing. First, you need your lure: the photos and text on your profile. (Actually first you need the boat and gear which would be the downloading of the app itself, but you get it, just come along with me here.) You find five or six of the best pictures of yourself and throw in one really silly one to let people know that you’re fun. You answer the prompts with as much wit and charm as possible with a character limit. The prompts are like, “The quirkiest think about me is…” to which the answer, if you’re me, is, “I like to drive past the airport as much as possible because I like watching the planes take off and land.” Not particularly witty or charming, but true, and truth is what we’re going for here. A nice, honest lure that is pretty and has a sense of humor about itself should get the fish to start biting.

With the lure set up it is time to cast out your line: make the profile active. This is where the waiting comes in. Just like you can sit for hours with a fishing rod and never feel even a nibble, sometimes nobody even looks at your profile. Going days without any likes or messages is not uncommon and can make you feel all kinds of things about yourself and your decision to attempt dating. No one is ever going to love you, you’re too boring/fat/lazy/ugly, what made you think anyone would ever be interested in dating you, quit now, you horrible waste of carbon…you know, the old standards. This is when the sun is beating down on your shoulders, the boat is rocking, you’re feeling queasy, and you’ve hooked your finger by accident three times: it’s only natural to think, “fishing is dumb, I’m going to take up golf for some real excitement.”

Then come the little tugs on the line: a like here, a message there. With each tug there is a tiny thrill of “maybe this time” as you go to check out their profile. This is a time to be very careful in the fishing process: they haven’t bitten yet, so you need to be on the lookout for red flags that mean they’ve gotten away. If, for example, there is one photo of the person and the rest are photos of vacation spots or food, move along: clearly no personality to be had there. If there is only one photo that they repeat four times on their profile that’s another red flag. They’re either only online for a hookup or never do anything fun that would be worth photographing. Worst of all are the profiles that are all photos of the person playing guitar or showing off their car or holding up a giant fish they just caught. These men clearly think that all women are impressed by cars, guitar players, and giant dead fish. Newsflash: many of us couldn’t care less about any of it…none of these things prove the presence of a personality and therefore, red flag! The tug on the line disappears as each “maybe this time” becomes an “oh, no thank you” and the fish gets away.

But now, what’s that? Another tug. This time a more persistent one. Someone starts chatting with you. Their profile is acceptable: amusing and attractive, even. The conversation flows and you like the cut of their digital jib enough to want to meet them in person.

They feel the same way and you set up a date.

The date goes well and you exchange phone numbers and make plans to see each other again.

This is a definite bite! Great success! Reel that sucker in!

Yes, you have a fish on the line, but you still must reel him in with great care. Everything looks good and feels right, but there are still many slip ups that could let the fish get away. Despite the impulse, rushing things to reel him in super fast does not ensure you will catch the fish. The speed might scare him off, give him a chance to slip the hook. Likewise, reeling too slowly can be confusing to the fish: he might think you aren’t that interested in catching him and he will swim away in search of other lures. You’ve got to hit the right speed that works for both you and the fish, gently closing the space between you until you’re able to snatch him out of the water and claim ownership over the fish.

Except you’re forgetting one key thing: in this case the fish has free will. You could do everything right, reeling him in slowly but surely and still, for seemingly no reason, he changes his mind and flits away. Or as you see more and more of him in the approach, he becomes less appealing and you decide to cut him loose, exercising your own free will. Either way, he is no longer yours to slap on the deck, gut with a knife, carefully filet, and store on ice until you can bring him home to cook and eat.

(This is where the fishing metaphor really falls apart.)

But still, let’s say you’ve reeled in a fish and have him in hand. He is caught, but there are now choices to be made. You have to look each other over, see each other in different lights. Is this one worth keeping, or do I throw him back? Does she seem normal, or should I try to escape back into the water? The only way to find out is to spend more time together. Congratulations! You’ve made it to the dating stage of this adventure. You are, for the moment, no longer fishing.

I used to think I would never use online dating. I much preferred to meet men in the wild, mostly because that was the only way I ever had. It also seemed like a really scary and gross way to put myself out there, like screaming, “Hello world! I am open for business! If interested in my personality and possibly, later on, the naughty bits, please leave a message.” But being on these apps, trying my luck with the rod and reel, has made me realize that the app is not the scary part. Dating: the actual human interaction, the getting to know you, the wondering if we fit in each others lives. That is the scary bit. Will I be rejected? Will I get hurt? Will I be judged and made to feel worse about myself? All of the excitement that arrives with the potential when you start seeing someone new is tempered by all of these charming questions and the very real possibility of forthcoming pain.

Fishing is gross and rife with opportunities for disappointment. Dating is way scarier with much higher risk. But, as they say, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. And if dating apps are the way to get to the actual dating part then for the time being I shall remain a fisher of men.