HOW TO WRITE A PERSONALS PROFILE

HOW TO WRITE A PERSONALS PROFILE

I was complaining to Girl 51, my female friend with the male brain, about my failures on Match Dot Com.  She laughed and said she had suggestions for me, from her “boy-slut surfing” expert knowledge of male profiles.  Lay it on me, I said.

Well, for one thing, your profile is all over the place.  Women aren’t following your thread.  You’re trying to say you’re intensely romantic and sexual, yet kind and sweet and funny, all in a gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking package.

Hold on, I interrupted.  You think I’m that good looking?  Well, yeah, she says.  So, I say, why did you break up with me?  She chokes from laughing.  “You ass!” she screams.  “YOU broke up with ME!”  Oh.  I forgot.

Go on, I urged.  She says no one is following your message.  You’re hiding behind poetry.

No way, I said.  I write, analyze and negotiate for a living.  You’re telling me I have a profile that doesn’t communicate, that I haven’t correctly analyzed females, and that my negotiation for a woman is inadequate?  That my poetic style of self-description is confusing women?  That’s about the size of it, she says.

I’d come to Girl 51 for a damned good reason.  This is a woman who is as sexual as they come.  She loves sex in all fashions as long as it’s one-on-one with a single guy, but then, at the time that wasn’t wild enough for me.  She thinks like a guy, and goes on Match, flirts with a guy, and gets him helplessly horny with emails that say, “so, what kind of sex do you like?” and “tell me your naughtiest sexual fantasy” and “would you mind if I blow you in your car in a parking lot?”  She wants a long term relationship with one guy, but she’s tired of sexually mediocre men.  In other words, she’s the female version of me.

Previously I’d gone for advice to a different woman, whose opinion I respected.  The result was awful, the “kinder-gentler-gayish” profile she wrote for me.

Yikes, the women who showed up for that one were cadavers.  “Pulse zero, breathing stopped, we’ve lost blood pressure!”  BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!  “Time of death, eight o’clock.”  Sex?  Yes, they would say, I’ve heard of that.  But I don’t think it’s for me.  Who’s Jenna Jameson anyway?

So with the help of Girl 51, I rewrote my profile.  It read:

I’m tall, Italian, green-eyed, confident, sexy, handsome, sweet and adventurous in and out of the bedroom. I’m looking for someone to share the intimate side of my life with. I’m a published bestselling author* and a partner in a construction management firm. I’m a divorced full-time dad with my 16-year old son living with me in our bachelor pad townhouse, and a part-time father to my younger children. I hope for balance in all things. I work out a lot, I love running and weights, but I’m not afraid of a pot of coffee in the morning or a scotch at night, or beer and pizza for that matter. I’m getting back into scuba diving and sailing after a hiatus. I’m very sexual and sensual and I like women who are the same. I am open minded and would love to meet someone who can teach me even more.

 

Yeesh.  That sucks.  But the next day I signed onto Match.  “You have 300 messages.”  They were all gorgeous.

Go figure.  I always thought women just looked at the pictures.  Turns out they read the words.  We’re up against superior firepower, boys.

Postscript:  One woman wrote me this note about the profile above:

 

He certainly looked good enough at first glance, but rarely do I look at all of the pictures before reading someone’s write-up.  Certain things make me run for the hills but author boy had none of them:  “looking for a lady” or “someone who reminds me of my mom”, “loves to watch TV.” (I mean, I like TV too, but it’s a red flag when someone doesn’t know not brag about it), “conservative” (usually means a Christian church with lots of “it is bad to…..”), visible absence of the word “open-minded” (usually means doggy style is for anniversaries only), and any antonyms for the word passion.  His cocky profile pissed me off so much that I didn’t even look at the rest of the pictures.  Well, not the first time anyway.

 

His profile was up and down more than my panties were during the summer I spent in Europe after undergrad.  He changed his call name several times, attributing it to stalker-chicks who either had too much or not enough of his dick.  I sensed there might be more to it, but was enamored with the brass cajones it took for anyone, especially a male, to put up an arrogant, hyper-sexual profile like that.  He talked about sex toys and paddles, being adventurous in the bedroom and wanted a woman who could keep up with him.  He mentioned not one word about learning new things from someone else. Also absent was any reference to preferred personality characters. This guy couldn’t be for real-he had to be fucking kidding!  How the hell did he expect to attract women with this write up? This write up was different all right-This guy was OFF THE FUCKING HOOK!   He was either really dense, joking, pathological, or engaged in an experiment.  In the end I was able to eliminate some, but not all of the possibilities.

 

But, I was outright dumbfounded when this guy contacted me the second time.  What could possibly make him think I’d have any interest in him?  Did I look like a cheap slut?  I’d intentionally put up pictures that were nondescript in terms of the good girl/bad girl image.  In my life, I had changed from business suits to come fuck me boots on a regular basis. But I was looking for a husband,  and thesuit, rather than the boots would be my bait.   Besides, I was 40 now and damned if I wasn’t going to show how higher education had toned me down-especially after the prison gig.    So,what was it that made him contact me?  Maybe I looked SOOO Pollyanna that he thought I’d be easy prey.