Adventures in online dating in New York City

One winter night, in the middle of a semester with too much homework, my friend and I decided that the time had come to meet more guys. Over a glass of whiskey and a load of selfies, my OkCupid profile was born.

Yes, I confess – I sought out men on the Internet. Honestly? It was fun. It’s both satisfying and gratifying to see so many eligible strangers seeking love online and to get ‘liked’ by them, often in real time.  While wading through the pool of creepy messages took a while, a few gems made it through the slush pile.

I met three guys this way.

The first one, Benji, had long hair and wrote ‘420 friendly’ in his intro paragraph. According to the internet, we were ‘89% sexually compatible’. We met at a coffee shop where I like to do my homework. I wore earrings – he, a leather jacket. All was fine and dandy until he told me the story of his friend who, haha, ‘accidentally’ date raped a 15 year old girl he met on – you guessed it – OkCupid.

Didn’t see that guy again.

The next dude, Judah, could’ve maybe been my soulmate – if we ever met in person. Our schedules were so ill suited to one another’s that, even six months later, we had not yet met. Last week, we officially broke up over text. It was no real loss.

The last guy, Jacob, was clearly the best of the bunch. In April, he messaged me four questions about myself, alluding to the holiday Passover (both of our profiles stated ‘Jewish’). We spoke about things like happiness and the seasons, sushi spots and vintage clothes. We got along well- he was a coder, and I always fall for guys who write computers. He was a little OCD, but, you know, we all have our things.

Because schedules are busy, and I had more jobs than I could do in my days, I didn’t actually see Jacob – or really speak to him – for a month or so after our first meeting. If we’re being honest, I didn’t really want to. He was a nice guy who graciously bought my coffee, but it sort of ended there.

Then, last week, my friend from Long Island bailed on drinks. I was bored, and seeking adventure, so I logged onto OkCupid and found Jacob’s number. It was still there, waiting. I texted him: ‘Hey jacob, it’s joelle! Finally done w school. I’m around the city- wyd tonight?” Straight for the kill. I hadn’t spoken to this guy in two months.

His ‘wow hiya, it’s been a while’, came quickly afterwards. I watched the grey typing bubble appear and disappear a few times. He  told me he had plans to go thrifting with a friend, but they would end soon, and would I want to join?

‘Yeah, I do!’, I texted back. I put on pants, got a quick Chipotle, and hopped on the subway. I met him on the corner of Greenwich Ave. and gave him a hug, right as his friend was saying goodbye. With that, we were off.

What followed was one of those impromptu nights that only happen in this city. We bummed around the Village for a while, where happy hour was going strong. We hopped on the L to Williamsburg and dug through old junk in a store right off of Bedford named, aptly, ‘Junk’. There was a giant pile of old Kodachrome slides, and we looked through them together, laughing at the little pieces of gelatin that people left behind for us to see. I bought a bunch of them: he bought a book. We continued on our way.

‘Hey, do you wanna see a movie?” he asked.

‘Sure!’ says I.

‘It’s a David Cronenberg film – have you heard of him?”

I hadn’t, but I was up for anything. Adventure, you know. As we got back on the L, Jacob told me about the director. Cronenberg was, apparently, one of those filmmakers who film buffs know to have a ‘body of work’. Before we entered the theater – and he bought my ticket, the sweet guy – he warned me: “It’s gonna be weird.”

Crash, by David Cronenberg, is the story of a cult of people who get off sexually to violent, scorching car crashes. The movie minced nothing, though I appreciated the novelty of the lack of trigger warnings. The movie was, plainly, sex scene followed by fiery car wreck followed by sex scene taking place within a fiery car wreck. It was a brilliant movie, to be sure, and it definitely did justice to the totally fucked up concept it was going after.

When the credits rolled and the lights went up, Jake looked at me with his eyebrows raised. “That,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “was relentless.”

I agreed. We had just sat together through about two hours of traumatic car wreck footage and many shots of James Spader naked. If you’re wondering, we didn’t hold hands.

I realized I had a more pressing question: “What is your last name?”

We walked to the subway, and he took the train that dropped me closer to my apartment. As we rode, we talked about the insane movie we just sat through together – the evolution of the concept, sex and the machine, and was it all just another Marxist allegory?

At the end of the subway ride, he gave me a hug and we made plans to hang out. We were good. I walked home with a smile, except for one moment when a car drove by too fast and I had to wonder if I was getting turned on. I wasn’t. The movie did say that the cult wasn’t interested in pedestrians.

Now, Jacob and I are Facebook friends, with tentative plans to hang out. I’m leaving the city for a bit, and he wants to move out of Harlem, so we’ll see what happens next. He was a cool guy – maybe more of a friend than anything more, but someone to go see weirdo cult movies with on a Wednesday whim. We all need fellow adventurers of the sort.

After breaking up with Judah, I deleted my OkCupid account and pronounced it a relic of the ages. Looks like I’ll be meeting guys at bars and through mutual friends this summer.

Was online dating worth it? Yes, surely: I met some nice people and had some weird adventures. I probably could’ve gone my whole life without seeing that movie, but alas. I’ve seen it. I will never un-see it, and I will always have gone on that one absurd online date.

And yet, another night in New York City goes by and still I spend it alone. Maybe I’ll re-download Tinder.