If only I had success with one guy for every four I blocked on my phone, I’d be doing great on eHarmony. But I was only blocking guys, and there weren’t even that many guys to block. If my eHarm account were a stock, it would be trending down.
Maybe it was time to sell, but I still had two more months on my three-month membership, prepaid immediately after I clicked the “Purchase” button when the screen display said that I was signing up for a monthly payment plan.
Deceptive billing practices were not the only area in which eHarm was misleading its customers. Just as quack doctors prey on those with serious illnesses, eHarm preys on those serious enough about finding love to pay for a dating site. As far I could tell, the entire system is predicated upon lies.
The so-called personality algorithm theoretically used to match potential couples is about as powerful and authentic as “The Man Behind the Curtain” in The Wizard of Oz. A month had been more than enough time to disprove the algorithm’s effectiveness, and perhaps its very existence. If I hadn’t already spent six months previous to joining eHarm on Tinder and Bumble, I wouldn’t have recognized so many of my matches as recycled goods from the swipe apps. There was no way in hell I’d matched with these guys based on any algorithm worth its weight in subscription dues.
Even worse than the lack of an actual algorithm was the fact that the majority of my matches seemed to be inactive. At least 75% of the guys I contacted (and I continued to be proactive, treating my dating career like my second job) never looked at my profile, much less responded. Sometimes a match would appear dimmed in my feed, and if I clicked on him I would get the following message: “Robert has moved on. But don’t worry! That means you’re that much closer to finding love!” which meant the guy had blocked me. Getting blocked was actually preferable to never getting looked at, because then at least I knew the guy existed and had rejected me. If he wasn’t interested, fine. That meant I was that much closer to finding love. But if he never looked at my profile, he probably wasn’t using the site.
If I hadn’t had so many dates from Tinder and Bumble, I might have feared that I’m actually hideously unattractive and don’t recognize that glaring fact. But I was using the same pics on eHarm as I had on the apps, and I’d gotten plenty of dates from them.
Were my matches out there ignoring me, or were they not even out there?
I was starting to sound – and feel – pretty out there myself.
Who knew that being on eHarmony would be like staring into an existential void?
Oh, the futility of it all.