A Most Peculiar Diversion
It has come to my attention, through a peculiar glowing rectangle procured by my cousin Lydia (who possesses more curiosity than sense), that the modern method for securing a husband is a thing of unparalleled absurdity. This “application,” a veritable gallery of rogues and gentlemen of questionable standing, is presented as a most efficient market for matrimony. I must confess, after an evening’s perusal, that it is less a respectable assembly and more a chaotic, ill-mannered cattle auction. As a woman of sense and some little experience, I feel compelled to offer a thoroughly funny dating app review, though the humor is of a dark and bewildering nature.
On the Matter of Portraits and Profiles
A gentleman’s introduction should be a matter of some ceremony. Instead, one is presented with a series of silent portraits, each more baffling than the last. In my day, a handsome miniature was the height of romantic exchange. Here, we have men holding large, deceased fish as if they have conquered the great leviathan itself. We have gentlemen posing without their shirts, flexing their muscles at their own reflection in a looking-glass with a singular lack of modesty. What intelligence is a lady to glean from this? That he is capable of wrestling a trout into submission and is on intimate terms with his own torso?
And the written introductions! A man’s wit ought to be displayed in his conversation, his letters. Yet, here it is reduced to a list of his height (a detail best observed in person), his “passions” (which invariably include “adventure” and “the gymnasium”), and a declaration that he is “fluent in sarcasm.” Sir, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, employed by those who lack the ingenuity for true satire. It is the verbal equivalent of a fainting couch—overused and dreadfully dramatic.
The Uncouth ‘Swipe’: A Dismissal of the Highest Order
The very mechanism of this contraption is an affront to decorum. One is expected to pass judgment on a soul based on a handful of poorly lit images and a trite biography. A flick of the thumb to the left, I am told, is a dismissal. A dismissal! In what civilized society does one cast a person aside with less ceremony than shooing a fly? There is no polite refusal of a dance, no gentle redirection of conversation. It is a silent, brutal gesture of social annihilation, performed a hundred times over before breakfast. It is a wonder the entire population has not been driven to melancholy by such constant and casual rejection.
A Deficiency of Correspondence
Should one find a gentleman who has not photographed himself with a sedated tiger and deign to approve of him, the subsequent “conversation” is a new form of torture. The art of letter-writing is, it appears, entirely deceased. In its place are short, misspelled missives that resemble coded messages from the front lines of a very dull war.
- “u up?” – Am I upright? Yes, sir, I am not currently prostrate with despair, though your grammar tests my resolve.
- “wyd?” – I am contemplating the decline of Western civilization, one abbreviated missive at a time.
- “heyy” – The number of ‘y’s seems to be inversely proportional to the sender’s intelligence.
Worse still is the phenomenon of “ghosting,” where a gentleman simply vanishes from all correspondence without a word of explanation. It is the height of ill breeding. It is as if Mr. Darcy, having been refused at Hunsford, simply dematerialized on the spot, leaving naught but a faint scent of indignation and wet linen. It is an act of profound cowardice, and I shall not abide it.
In summation, this entire digital enterprise is a parade of poor manners and questionable taste. Give me a crowded ballroom, a cutting remark uttered from behind a fan, and a man who understands the proper use of a semicolon. This is not a path to romance; it is a most grievous affront to it.