So I was talking to a friend about my experiences with online dating, and strangely enough, I found myself saying, "I actually do want to learn how to write that first message to someone you meet online. It's definitely an art form, and as a writer, I'm just interested in knowing how to do it."
Now, I never consciously thought of writing an introductory message on an online dating site as an art form, but here's why it is:
*Unlike a business introduction, it MUST be short. Anything more than 3 sentences is a monologue that makes you come off as a self-important bore
*It must be breezy but not stupid. So less formal than an Jane Austen letter, but with the appropriate use of capital letters, i.e., do not write "i'm really impressed w/ ur profile"
*It must not be lame or stalker-like. And while this is relatively easy for me to avoid in real-life, it's actually quite hard online. Mainly because a person's profile can give you a lot of clues and info about a person, but it's still stalker-like to open cold with what you read about them. And personally, I try not to be witty in e-mails to people I've never met--if they don't know the cadence of my voice, there's a high chance they'll misinterpret what I'm saying.
Perhaps you'd like some examples of failed approaches I've received:
TOO FORMAL AND TOO INFORMAL:
"sorry for bothering you. I am new to this so wanted to give it a try. I came across your profile so thought to message you.
I am tall white good looking from doctor from Pakistan currently here for my interviews in different hospitals. I was bored so thought to explore few things here. If you are interested kindly reply"
Also, I personally think that calling yourself white when you're from Pakistan is a possible sign of some serious self-hate.
TOO LONG AND TOO FLIPPANT:
"...think you're absolutely adorable. And I'd like to
get to know you better.
Who am I?
Hmm....I was born in England, have lived in
Brooklyn, Queens, Long Island, Los Angeles and now
NYC. I work in NYC as well.
After discovering the cure for cancer, I climbed Mt.
Everest (without supplemental oxygen), studied with
the Dalai Lama, and dated (briefly) Cindy Crawford.
My career as a Yankees third baseman was going
nowhere, and rather than accept the grant from the
Salk Institute, I went to work at a television
network in New York.
And you?
Please write back because it would put a smile on my face."
TOO OBVIOUS:
"how are you? so, did you find anyone interesting here yet? "
AND
"So how is this whole okcupid thing working out for you?"
It's a bit like asking a girl at a bar, "So how do you like the single's scene?" Best not bring attention to the elephant in the room just yet. Maybe after 2 dates.
If any of these have made you gringe, then I need your help! Clearly, there's a need for someone to market-test how to effectively approach guys online. Send me your opening lines, and I'll test the top 3 on some of the hottest guys on the site to see what kind of a response they get overall.
Just add your best opening lines to the comments box below.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
My Life As a Romantic Comedy (MLARC) update
So I had a blind date last night. I thought it went well enough (meaning, I wasn't completely repulsed by the idea of kissing him but wasn't so inclined to do so either).
We decided to meet at Ayza. Funnily enough, my co-worker told me just before leaving that she was heading there to meet a friend. We decided it would be best to act like we didn't know about each other's plans if we saw each other. So when I got there and settled down at the bar, she didn't say anything when she saw me, assuming maybe I was pretending I didn't see her. In all honesty, I didn't.
So I talked to blind date guy for about an hour, and had to cut it a bit short because I had an important meeting today to prep for. We end the night by putting on our coats and he asks where I'm headed. He says he's headed in the other direction, and that he's just going to go to the restroom before taking off. Which is fine by me. I'm a big girl and don't need him to walk me to the bus stop. So I take off.
But then this morning, I come in to work and my co-worker starts giving me crap for not seeing her. THEN she says, "Yeah, he stayed for about an hour talking to another girl at the bar."
Which makes me laugh out loud. Cuz honestly, I never thought of placing spies at a date spot, but now see the strategic importance of it. After all, a modern woman has to know how to do good reconnaissance.
We decided to meet at Ayza. Funnily enough, my co-worker told me just before leaving that she was heading there to meet a friend. We decided it would be best to act like we didn't know about each other's plans if we saw each other. So when I got there and settled down at the bar, she didn't say anything when she saw me, assuming maybe I was pretending I didn't see her. In all honesty, I didn't.
So I talked to blind date guy for about an hour, and had to cut it a bit short because I had an important meeting today to prep for. We end the night by putting on our coats and he asks where I'm headed. He says he's headed in the other direction, and that he's just going to go to the restroom before taking off. Which is fine by me. I'm a big girl and don't need him to walk me to the bus stop. So I take off.
But then this morning, I come in to work and my co-worker starts giving me crap for not seeing her. THEN she says, "Yeah, he stayed for about an hour talking to another girl at the bar."
Which makes me laugh out loud. Cuz honestly, I never thought of placing spies at a date spot, but now see the strategic importance of it. After all, a modern woman has to know how to do good reconnaissance.
Monday, January 10, 2011
My Life as a Romantic Comedy
I recently signed up for OKCupid, mainly because I heard about it on NPR, and while I hate dating, I was encouraged by the idea of meeting other people who actually listen to NPR. That being said, I'm really hoping I don't meet anyone promising, as it would disallow me to use the site as a source of comic fodder. And let me tell you, it's rich with comedy. I only filled out my profile 48 hours ago, and here are some gems I've already received:
"How are you? I just saw your page and thought I'd say hi. My wife and I were hoping to meet someone cool on here and thought you were really attractive. How is your weekend going? Up to... anything fun? Anyway, hope all is well!"
What I really appreciate about this is it's breezy tone. As if trolling for a threesome partner is the most normal thing a married couple would do on a Sunday afternoon.
And then last night I missed an IM that simple said: "I will see you in my dream..."
I wish there was an emoticon for being creeped out. But I take comfort that Carrie Fisher (aka Princess Leia) once had a fan tell her that he thought about her every day from age 12 to 22. She asked, "Really? Every day?" And he said, "Well, 4 times a day."
(I should also note that I heard this bit when watching Fisher's one-woman show "Wishful Drinking" on HBO with my dad and had to then explain to him what that joke meant.)
And here's one that just confused me:
"hey there pather panchali, [I think he meant "panther" but I don't know why] you should answer more okc questions because your comments there are cracking me up :) Very straightforward with your opinions, arent you; its refreshing and i guess i'm the same way.
we could have some great fights :) despite being a 91% match so far. I'll bet the "3% enemy" part is a doosey ;)... You're relatively young (I think i'm looking for late 30s to be honest) but I feel like you could crush a man with your words and well I just wanted to give you some props. :) Good luck out there; and if you ever want a good argument or fight, game on as you say ;)"
Why would I want to meet someone to fight with? And when have I ever said "game on"?
Now I don't attribtue this to the Y chromosomes--my male friends have told me the ladies are just as likely to write weird stuff. So keep that in mind when you're laughing your head off at the tragic-comedy story of my love life.
"How are you? I just saw your page and thought I'd say hi. My wife and I were hoping to meet someone cool on here and thought you were really attractive. How is your weekend going? Up to... anything fun? Anyway, hope all is well!"
What I really appreciate about this is it's breezy tone. As if trolling for a threesome partner is the most normal thing a married couple would do on a Sunday afternoon.
And then last night I missed an IM that simple said: "I will see you in my dream..."
I wish there was an emoticon for being creeped out. But I take comfort that Carrie Fisher (aka Princess Leia) once had a fan tell her that he thought about her every day from age 12 to 22. She asked, "Really? Every day?" And he said, "Well, 4 times a day."
(I should also note that I heard this bit when watching Fisher's one-woman show "Wishful Drinking" on HBO with my dad and had to then explain to him what that joke meant.)
And here's one that just confused me:
"hey there pather panchali, [I think he meant "panther" but I don't know why] you should answer more okc questions because your comments there are cracking me up :) Very straightforward with your opinions, arent you; its refreshing and i guess i'm the same way.
we could have some great fights :) despite being a 91% match so far. I'll bet the "3% enemy" part is a doosey ;)... You're relatively young (I think i'm looking for late 30s to be honest) but I feel like you could crush a man with your words and well I just wanted to give you some props. :) Good luck out there; and if you ever want a good argument or fight, game on as you say ;)"
Why would I want to meet someone to fight with? And when have I ever said "game on"?
Now I don't attribtue this to the Y chromosomes--my male friends have told me the ladies are just as likely to write weird stuff. So keep that in mind when you're laughing your head off at the tragic-comedy story of my love life.
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Madonna/Mother Teresa Paradox
As some of you know, I spend a lot of time trying to figure out life, despite knowing that this is probably an exercise in futility. I think about things like fate and suffering and the difference between cultures while riding the bus or looking out on the water from the ferry. This makes me piss poor at small talk, a fact proven once again last Friday night when someone in a bar challenged me to make small talk for the duration of one beer. After 5 minutes, I lost interest in the conversation and wanted to go home.
Before my bar/bored experience, I was in Borders and flipping through an interesting book I spotted, Backwards in High Heels. It's basically a manual for any woman confused about life (which I assume a large majority of us are) but decidedly anti-self-help, which makes it actually useful. As the authors (whose names I forget) brazenly state, self-help is a lie. We don't all get what we deserve, and no matter how many affirmations, or how open you are to the Universe or Abundance or whatever, it's unlikely you'll win the Nobel Peace Prize or write a Pulitzer-Prize novel or whatever fantasy we all harbor about life. But we can cheer up a friend, be kind to our co-workers and strangers, and maybe help the PTA raise some money.
A few weeks before picking up said book, I saw Men Who Stare At Goats, and they also riff on this theme of dreams v. reality. George Clooney basically tells Ewan McGregor that we all have a destiny, but it may not be what we want. Little Anne Frank wants to go to prom? Too bad. But she can write a book that moves millions for generations to come.
Most "spiritual" people (and yes, in this instance, I am using that in a derogatory manner) like to preach that "all things are possible with God" or something like that. But it occurs to me that Mother Teresa could never have been a supermodel, no matter how tight she was with the Holy One.
The realists and cynics in the world say it's all about who you know and how many resources (i.e. how much money) you have at your disposal. But poor Madonna, Queen of Material Girls, sits in her castle with all the money, power, and influence at her disposal and will probably never get nominated for an Oscar.
Which brings me to my question: How does one tell the difference between fantasy and one's true calling?
These two women have irrevocably changed the face of our planet in their own unique ways, causing worldwide movements in charity and sexual attitudes. Yet they too are limited by something--is it fate? Circumstances? Talent? Purpose?
Most of us are not meant for either sacrificial poverty or decadent wealth; the large majority of us fall within a spectrum of middle-classedness. But what if the idea of owning a home and raising kids and fundraising through a bake sale makes you shudder and want to run screaming to a far off country just so you can feel somewhat alive? What if your biggest nightmare is that you're Pam from "The Office" and the biggest event at your place of work will be your wedding? What if you really want to help humanity without living in a hut in a war zone? What if you'd rather enter into a married partnership where your focus is each others' career goals and inner callings, not raising new people to be hurt and harmed by the world?
How does one have a dream that's outside the box but not outside reality?
Before my bar/bored experience, I was in Borders and flipping through an interesting book I spotted, Backwards in High Heels. It's basically a manual for any woman confused about life (which I assume a large majority of us are) but decidedly anti-self-help, which makes it actually useful. As the authors (whose names I forget) brazenly state, self-help is a lie. We don't all get what we deserve, and no matter how many affirmations, or how open you are to the Universe or Abundance or whatever, it's unlikely you'll win the Nobel Peace Prize or write a Pulitzer-Prize novel or whatever fantasy we all harbor about life. But we can cheer up a friend, be kind to our co-workers and strangers, and maybe help the PTA raise some money.
A few weeks before picking up said book, I saw Men Who Stare At Goats, and they also riff on this theme of dreams v. reality. George Clooney basically tells Ewan McGregor that we all have a destiny, but it may not be what we want. Little Anne Frank wants to go to prom? Too bad. But she can write a book that moves millions for generations to come.
Most "spiritual" people (and yes, in this instance, I am using that in a derogatory manner) like to preach that "all things are possible with God" or something like that. But it occurs to me that Mother Teresa could never have been a supermodel, no matter how tight she was with the Holy One.
The realists and cynics in the world say it's all about who you know and how many resources (i.e. how much money) you have at your disposal. But poor Madonna, Queen of Material Girls, sits in her castle with all the money, power, and influence at her disposal and will probably never get nominated for an Oscar.
Which brings me to my question: How does one tell the difference between fantasy and one's true calling?
These two women have irrevocably changed the face of our planet in their own unique ways, causing worldwide movements in charity and sexual attitudes. Yet they too are limited by something--is it fate? Circumstances? Talent? Purpose?
Most of us are not meant for either sacrificial poverty or decadent wealth; the large majority of us fall within a spectrum of middle-classedness. But what if the idea of owning a home and raising kids and fundraising through a bake sale makes you shudder and want to run screaming to a far off country just so you can feel somewhat alive? What if your biggest nightmare is that you're Pam from "The Office" and the biggest event at your place of work will be your wedding? What if you really want to help humanity without living in a hut in a war zone? What if you'd rather enter into a married partnership where your focus is each others' career goals and inner callings, not raising new people to be hurt and harmed by the world?
How does one have a dream that's outside the box but not outside reality?
Monday, September 6, 2010
Why Archie Panjabi's Emmy Win Makes My Heart Sing
The first chapter of Zadie Smith's most recent book "Changing My Mind" is an eloquent essay on Zora Neale Hurston's masterpiece Their Eyes Were Watching God. (The line that opens chapter three is probably one of the most memorable in literature -- "There are years that ask questions and years that answer." But I digress.)
Smith discusses how she was hesitant to read it when her mother presented her with a copy at fourteen:
"You'll like it," her mother said.
"Why? Because she's black?"
"No, because it's really good writing."
And it is, by Smith's account (and my own). But then Smith says something more profound:
"At fourteen, I couldn't find words (or words I liked) for the marvelous feeling of recognition that came with these characters who had my hair, my eyes, my skin, even the ancestors of the rhythm of my speech. These forms of identification are so natural to white readers -- (Of course Rabbit Angstrom is like me! Of course Madame Bovary is like me!) -- that they believe themselves above personal identification, or at least believe that they are identifying only at the highest, existential levels (His soul is like my soul. He is human; I am human). White readers often believe they are colorblind."
But in reality, as Smith points out, they are just more characters written in their image, allowing them to harbor the illusion that their "like" or "dislike" of a novel is based on more esoteric factors, such as writing style, theme, or plot. They also have the benefit of white privilege, where every ethnic story is made relate-able to them (i.e., the rampant use of the word vermilion in South Asian fiction, a word I did not even know until I read it in a "New Yorker-approved" South Asian American book).
Smith then goes on to explain how Hurston creates such a complex, layered character in Janie Crawford in Their Eyes that it leaves her speechless. The book "allows me to say things I wouldn't normally," Smith writes. "Things like 'She is my sister and I love her.'"
Which is exactly what my heart sang when Archie Panjabi won the Emmy for her role in The Good Wife.
It's probably not fair to draw any parallels between a television drama, no matter how good, and canonical American literature. I admit this is somewhat pretentious on my part. But Archie Panjabi speaks so eloquently backstage after her win about the true value of being able to play a character that is proud of her heritage without being defined by it.
When people say "you can do anything you put your mind to" or believe, or whatever New Age slogan is en vogue at the time, I often want to roll my eyes and say "if you're white." As Archie Panjabi and co-star in Bend It Like Beckham, Parminder Nagra, know, the brown girl doesn't get cast in Pirates of the Caribbean or Pride and Prejudice, like their co-star Keira Knightley did, no matter how good an actress you are. So it's refreshing to see a South Asian get to play a character that's as complex and layered as Elizabeth Bennett, albeit on the small screen. I am left without words to express the marvelous feeling of recognition that bubbles up inside me when a woman with my hair and eyes and skin plays it tough and guarded, but with wit and grace. All I can say is "She is my sister and I love her."
Smith discusses how she was hesitant to read it when her mother presented her with a copy at fourteen:
"You'll like it," her mother said.
"Why? Because she's black?"
"No, because it's really good writing."
And it is, by Smith's account (and my own). But then Smith says something more profound:
"At fourteen, I couldn't find words (or words I liked) for the marvelous feeling of recognition that came with these characters who had my hair, my eyes, my skin, even the ancestors of the rhythm of my speech. These forms of identification are so natural to white readers -- (Of course Rabbit Angstrom is like me! Of course Madame Bovary is like me!) -- that they believe themselves above personal identification, or at least believe that they are identifying only at the highest, existential levels (His soul is like my soul. He is human; I am human). White readers often believe they are colorblind."
But in reality, as Smith points out, they are just more characters written in their image, allowing them to harbor the illusion that their "like" or "dislike" of a novel is based on more esoteric factors, such as writing style, theme, or plot. They also have the benefit of white privilege, where every ethnic story is made relate-able to them (i.e., the rampant use of the word vermilion in South Asian fiction, a word I did not even know until I read it in a "New Yorker-approved" South Asian American book).
Smith then goes on to explain how Hurston creates such a complex, layered character in Janie Crawford in Their Eyes that it leaves her speechless. The book "allows me to say things I wouldn't normally," Smith writes. "Things like 'She is my sister and I love her.'"
Which is exactly what my heart sang when Archie Panjabi won the Emmy for her role in The Good Wife.
It's probably not fair to draw any parallels between a television drama, no matter how good, and canonical American literature. I admit this is somewhat pretentious on my part. But Archie Panjabi speaks so eloquently backstage after her win about the true value of being able to play a character that is proud of her heritage without being defined by it.
When people say "you can do anything you put your mind to" or believe, or whatever New Age slogan is en vogue at the time, I often want to roll my eyes and say "if you're white." As Archie Panjabi and co-star in Bend It Like Beckham, Parminder Nagra, know, the brown girl doesn't get cast in Pirates of the Caribbean or Pride and Prejudice, like their co-star Keira Knightley did, no matter how good an actress you are. So it's refreshing to see a South Asian get to play a character that's as complex and layered as Elizabeth Bennett, albeit on the small screen. I am left without words to express the marvelous feeling of recognition that bubbles up inside me when a woman with my hair and eyes and skin plays it tough and guarded, but with wit and grace. All I can say is "She is my sister and I love her."
Friday, August 13, 2010
VINTAGE POSTS: Technology Toolkit
An oldy but goody, here's my post on Wild Apricot on The Essential Technology Toolkit for Start-Up Nonprofits (Part One with a link to Part Two)
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Nostalgia for intensity
Many of my friends know about my visceral dislike of Sex and the City. I mean, when did easy become synonymous with feminism? But I don't want to beat a dead horse (I'll simply refer you all to two of the best commentaries on the new SATC movie here and here.)
Instead, let me discuss the real culture-changing movie for those of us in our 30s: Pretty in Pink. OK, really I'm referring to any John Hughes movie. The whole Brat Pack series were pretty life-changing for anyone who wore a dress with puffed sleeves or Z Cavarichi pants (the latter may have been a Staten Island phenomenon). But Pretty in Pink was on VH1 this week, which left me nostalgic for intensity.
For those of you living under a rock and unfamiliar with the plot, here it is in a nutshell: Nice girl (Andie) is part of counter-culture element at public high school, ruled by rich, popular kids (demarcated by their choice of pastel shirts and white blazers). Rich, cool jackass (Steff) likes her. She turns him down. Rich, cool nice guy (Blane) likes her. She goes out with Blane. They have a bad first date, redeemed only when Blane asks her to the prom. They kiss. Andie shares excitement with father and says she thinks she's in love. Did you catch that--she thinks she's in love after ONE kiss!! Blane flakes out after Steff poisons his mind. Trouble. Andie makes her own prom dress and goes to prom solo. Blane apologizes. Tells her he loves her. Always. They kiss again. The End.
Now, perhaps I used movies as my handbook for negotiating American culture a little too much in my youth, but I'm still struck by how OK it was to fall in love after one kiss. If they'd try to make this movie with today's Millennial Generation, it would take months for the main characters to even admit to dating. Then someone would admit to commitment issues. Which begs the question, why would anyone have commitment issues in high school? What are you afraid of? Turning into your divorced parents? (OK, that may be legit). But still. The complete thrill of Pretty in Pink is the character's intensity. Nowadays, Andie would be the crazy girlfriend and Blane would be the sane, rational guy, appropriately afraid of committing to anyone he met in high school. And Andie would probably end up trying to adjust her needs to the desires of such men. Which I believe, would turn her into Carrie.
Crap, I think I just understood Carrie on a deeper level. I really didn't think she could have one.
Nevertheless, I still sympathize and root for Andie 25 years later. I get butterflies when Blane looks at her. I am vicariously thrilled at the whole sewing montage when she makes her own prom dress--it's like the A-Team's DIY montage for girls. Hell, every girl wants to be that fashion designer--the one that can create a new look that allows her to triumph over school bullies and insecurity. Not the fashionista that simply knew which name brands are the most hot. Puh-lease. Where's the triumph over adversity? Where's the counter-culture rebellion that ever teen identifies with? And most of all, where's the intensity?
When did being intense become undesirable? Was is around the same time that being easy became synonymous with feminism?
Instead, let me discuss the real culture-changing movie for those of us in our 30s: Pretty in Pink. OK, really I'm referring to any John Hughes movie. The whole Brat Pack series were pretty life-changing for anyone who wore a dress with puffed sleeves or Z Cavarichi pants (the latter may have been a Staten Island phenomenon). But Pretty in Pink was on VH1 this week, which left me nostalgic for intensity.
For those of you living under a rock and unfamiliar with the plot, here it is in a nutshell: Nice girl (Andie) is part of counter-culture element at public high school, ruled by rich, popular kids (demarcated by their choice of pastel shirts and white blazers). Rich, cool jackass (Steff) likes her. She turns him down. Rich, cool nice guy (Blane) likes her. She goes out with Blane. They have a bad first date, redeemed only when Blane asks her to the prom. They kiss. Andie shares excitement with father and says she thinks she's in love. Did you catch that--she thinks she's in love after ONE kiss!! Blane flakes out after Steff poisons his mind. Trouble. Andie makes her own prom dress and goes to prom solo. Blane apologizes. Tells her he loves her. Always. They kiss again. The End.
Now, perhaps I used movies as my handbook for negotiating American culture a little too much in my youth, but I'm still struck by how OK it was to fall in love after one kiss. If they'd try to make this movie with today's Millennial Generation, it would take months for the main characters to even admit to dating. Then someone would admit to commitment issues. Which begs the question, why would anyone have commitment issues in high school? What are you afraid of? Turning into your divorced parents? (OK, that may be legit). But still. The complete thrill of Pretty in Pink is the character's intensity. Nowadays, Andie would be the crazy girlfriend and Blane would be the sane, rational guy, appropriately afraid of committing to anyone he met in high school. And Andie would probably end up trying to adjust her needs to the desires of such men. Which I believe, would turn her into Carrie.
Crap, I think I just understood Carrie on a deeper level. I really didn't think she could have one.
Nevertheless, I still sympathize and root for Andie 25 years later. I get butterflies when Blane looks at her. I am vicariously thrilled at the whole sewing montage when she makes her own prom dress--it's like the A-Team's DIY montage for girls. Hell, every girl wants to be that fashion designer--the one that can create a new look that allows her to triumph over school bullies and insecurity. Not the fashionista that simply knew which name brands are the most hot. Puh-lease. Where's the triumph over adversity? Where's the counter-culture rebellion that ever teen identifies with? And most of all, where's the intensity?
When did being intense become undesirable? Was is around the same time that being easy became synonymous with feminism?
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