Online Shopping
One woman’s quest for romantic and sartorial satisfaction
I need a new dress. And a new boyfriend. And on this Sunday afternoon, I am determined to find both, without leaving my apartment. Both pursuits can be time-consuming, stressful, ego-bruising, soul-crushing and expensive. But with my Match.com membership and the seemingly infinite world of Internet shopping at my fingertips, I am optimistic. Or at least hopeful.
As a heterosexual woman in her late fifties with one failed marriage, a couple of post-divorce relationships that didn’t work out and a fair amount of first, second, and even a few third dates behind me, I feel that I have the experience and wisdom to find the right guy, this time. While I don’t need a man to be happy — I have plant-based frozen desserts and Hulu for that — it would be nice to have a special someone to pick me up off the floor when my back goes out; a significant other who will annoy me, endearingly, when he eats the last strawberry swirl Oatly bar and doesn’t tell me.
As I log in to my laptop, I mentally go through my dating app checklist. The right guy is in his early to mid-sixties. He’s strong and independent, but still needs me emotionally. He’s funny, in a sweet way. (Why do so many men think that a “sarcastic sense of humor” is something that women universally find charming?) The right guy is tall, but not too tall. Attractive, but not too attractive. His profile does not include any photos in which he is either shirtless or showing off a dead fish. At this age, he’s still working, mostly because he is passionate about what he does. And because I stopped dyeing my hair during the first months of the Covid lockdown, he needs to be gray- or white-haired. Bald is okay, too. The right guy reads classic romance fiction and volunteers at his local food pantry, but can also assemble my new iron daybed and install a replacement flush valve in my toilet.
Suddenly, my hopes are beginning to diminish. I think I’ll start with the dress.
As a quinquagenarian, I feel that, paired with a good lifting bra and spandex sculpting shaper, I can find the right dress; the dress that will transform my life. I need this dress to go from day to night. I need it to be appropriate for business events as well as religious services. It has to be flattering but not revealing. Feminine but not billowy. The perfect balance of flirty and sophisticated. It needs to be fully lined and machine washable. It has to be available in a color that’s compatible with my skin tone, or a print that evokes nature. I need this dress to communicate to a date that I’m still in the game, but looking for a committed relationship.
The shadow of pessimism is now darkening my keyboard.
Determined not to lose momentum, I begin my dual search. I’ve never been very good at multitasking, but with the advent of our digital way of life, I’ve had to adapt. And there’s no time to waste. While I’m messaging my potential future romantic life partner, untold numbers of other women are messaging him as well. Women who are younger, taller, slimmer, more educated, more accomplished in their careers and have better hair than me. Women whose dating profiles include photos of them sky diving and meeting the Dalai Lama. And that cute dress that I just clicked on? The website is informing me that 12 other people already have it in their cart. When it comes to online shopping, and online dating, it seems that someone else always gets there first.
After six and a half hours of scrolling, clicking and typing, I have made a coffee date with Mark for Wednesday, and ordered a burgundy knee-length wrap dress with an estimated delivery date of Tuesday. Mark’s profile and messages convey the impression that he practices monogamy and is capable of intelligent conversation and light carpentry work. The dress is promised to “enhance every figure.”
Wish me luck. Neither is guaranteed to be a good fit.
