Theoretically, the online world offers greater odds of finding a partner than does a chance meeting at a party.
I didn’t just wait to be noticed: I also actively messaged others.
I would take the time to read a guy’s profile and then mention common interests or things I found interesting, posing an easy question for him at the end—but I still received few responses.
Of the messages that did make it to my inbox, many were from men who were not a good match for me. My filter settings are pretty generous—if you have a compatibility rating of higher than 70 percent, are of at least “average” attractiveness, and send more than a three-word message—“Hey” and “Yo girl” are not acceptable—your message will make it to me. (Filters are common—especially for women, who often receive a high number of lewd or casual messages from spam profiles, and generic messages from men who send the same note to a swath of profiles.) Of the 708 messages I received over the next fourteen months, 530 ended up in the filtered inbox, which left me with about one message of decent-or-above quality a day. A message from a prospective mate every day may sound like a lot. But given the extremely low probability that any given message will lead to a serious relationship, it’s not. Even when you decide to answer, many users will not respond, having lost interest or been tempted by one of the site’s many other profiles. Some people disappear after a few exchanges—sometimes even after you’ve made plans to meet. You may also start talking to someone only to realize that you are no longer interested in getting to know them better. It can take many exchanges to get to a real live date.
Some of my friends pegged my situation to an intimidation factor. I’m a lawyer working toward a PhD in management, and I am a serious athlete, competing internationally for Canada in Ultimate Frisbee. I’m also a musician (some of my work is available on iTunes); a dancer; and a volunteer with various sports organizations. At first glance, my resumé and accomplishments may loom large, but I had thought that my well-roundedness would be an asset, or at least of interest, to the sort of man I was seeking.
There is a widespread perception that the tensions and cultural politics of race are milder in Canada than in the US—we represent a “mosaic” rather than a melting pot
I took active steps to try to increase my odds. I posted a link to my profile on Bunz Dating Zone, a Toronto Facebook group, asking for honest feedback. On the whole, users said they liked my profile and my pictures. One man called the post “incredible,” noting that he was himself a former “serial online dater [who] really longed for this kind of vulnerability, authenticity and depth.” At the time, he was in a relationship, but he also commented, “You sound like you’re intelligent, fun and genuinely have your shit together.” Nonetheless, I hired a professional photographer and tried out different variations on my profile text. Nothing seemed to help—the slow pace of messages continued.
There was, however, one factor that I couldn’t change, one that sets me apart from most of my single friends and acquaintances: my race. I am, according to society’s lens, a black woman. While I am multiracial, born of a Caribbean and white father and a Caribbean and East Indian mother, I am black to the outside world. Certainly, I am black to the white world. And as someone who travels in personal and professional environments that are predominantly white—the legal profession, Ultimate Frisbee, graduate school—the majority of my friends, including my single girlfriends, are white. Race has always had an impact on my identity, but I had been loath to admit the role that it might play in my ability to be loved. We are talking about one of the most elemental of human impulses. I’ve broken through so many of society’s barriers through my own determination. But force of will can’t set me up with someone who has set his online dating filters to exclude black women. If I made it past the filters, I still might be ruled out as a potential partner because of the colour of my skin. The situation made me wonder:
12 BLawyerisH/July, 2017