Not long after my last breakup, at lunch with friends, talk turned to my love life. One pal suggested I try “dating an American.” (My ex is English.) Another retorted, “or maybe a European.” We laughed. Conversation shifted. Later, as I waited for the subway, an ad for a European dating site appeared in my Instagram feed. I had, I think, the reaction typical of these digital times: a frisson of disquiet—they’re listening— followed by a shrug of bemused resignation. What can you do? My train arrived; I got on with my day.
The ad began to follow me around. The more it appeared, the more it struck me as fishy—too soft-focus; too sincere. What was the scam? One night, curiosity got the better of me: I entered some basic information—email address, city of residence—and found myself roaming a landscape of implausibly handsome men, all looking for “the one.” The next morning, I awoke to 200 emails, with subject headings like Are you my queen? Do you believe in true love? Bots, I assumed. Bots composing lengthy missives making the case that a wise universe had brought us—him, the software; me, the user with no photo or bio—together at last.
Reading these strange emails became a kind of hobby. Each had a slightly different angle of attack. I felt like I was peering into the mind of a computer as it iterated ideas of human romance. Then a message brought me up short: One “man,” supplying background, mentioned he had a daughter with Down syndrome, to whom he was devoted—and who was part of the love package, as it were. My certainty crumbled. What kind of bot writes something like that?
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