Add an inch to your height, she said, and put a few female writers in your list of favorite authors. Then I got to work, sending out messages to a slew of women. There were lots of aspiring actors and lots of people in PR, and most of them, I learned from their profiles, were seriously into men who “don’t take themselves too seriously,” which is an idea that I object to. After a few months, I’d gotten used to the unwritten rules of messaging—never introduce yourself with a “What’s up?
I took her advice, making myself 5-foot-11 while adding Nora Ephron, Katie Roiphe and Gail Collins to a list that included E. ,” among other trivialities—and my date count started to pick up as I ricocheted from one woman to the next. Before I knew it, I was going on three or four dates a week.
There was a time, not so long ago, when I could look back on my relatively barren romantic life and count, one by one, the half dozen first dates I’d experienced.
That was last year, before I casually sauntered into the wide and anarchic world of online dating, overwhelming my senses with the vast number of available women in New York who were willing to meet for drinks or dinner or perhaps an afternoon walk.