Dotcom Dating - 2: The theory of rejection

Image credit: Pernilla Ekholm

Darwin Dating today, folks. You meet me in a foul mood. Darwin Dating has – or, at the very least, I have my suspicions – corrupted my email address and I’m now apparently sending messages about ‘miracle 09’ to everyone in my address book, 
including potential PhD supervisors. Not the best move. But, whilst I have these column inches, my job is to critique what I find, and what a week it’s been.

Deliciously controversial, the list of what is not acceptable on Darwin is offensively colossal, the absolute worst being no “red hair and too many freckles” and “oversized essential anatomy”, a combination which presumably would cut out the famous fitty Christina Hendricks. The drill is to survive the process of ‘natural selection’ – you submit a photograph for an unknown and unseen ‘committee’, who proceed to judge you out of a scale of 5, leading to a decision as to whether you are ‘hot or not’ and 
henceforth glean whether you qualify for full membership.

I must warn you that a certain amount of smugness is approaching, ladies and gentlemen, for I was indeed deemed hot enough and that, frankly, was enough to sustain a spring in the old step for the entire fortnight. Not that I imagine it’s as difficult to get accepted as advertised, “Bigmegahuge91” (yes, really) was certainly not quite the Adonis implied and had a worryingly greying complexion for one of life’s prime breeding candidates.

What greets you when you’re finally through the dubious gates is essentially standard however – email any potential matches etc., once, naturally, you’ve rated them on the scale of 'is so-and-so ass-like or awesome'. Obviously, Darwin Dating is about as tongue in cheek as one can get; it’s fruitless for me to clamber aboard a high horse (stallions only) and decry it for its sexist/ageist/ugly-ist attitude and ethos. I would not urge you to seek a mate through such a dodgy medium, but it certainly perked up rainy days in the library this week, as I sat cackling with my friends and waiting with relative trepidation to see whether I met the salubrious criteria.

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