Selling The Single Girl

The Undercover Culture of Manhattan Matchmaking

At night, my doorman doubles as a matchmaker.

This became apparent to me last weekend. I came home on Saturday night at around 1:00am, after realizing that I was too tired and too sober to brave a night down in the “Who-needs-personal-space-anyway?” meatpacking district. My doorman, an older, heavyset grandfather type who always makes me feel like my building is truly my home, told me that next Saturday night there would be a party on the floor directly above mine, hosted by a young, Jewish, MIT graduate (which is basically how my doorman phrased it), and that my roommates and I should definitely stop by and check it out. He emphasized that this MIT graduate was a good guy and that a lot of “different types” of people came to his parties.

Was my doorman trying to set me up? It did appear that way.

But it’s not just him. It seems like a favorite pastime of New Yorkers is encouraging us single gals to realize romantic opportunity in virtually everything we do. In a city that is founded upon the possibility to do great things, we are constantly bombarded by the possibility to meet the next guy, or if our appointed matchmaker is feeling really ambitious, “the one.” The old adage says that you meet someone special when you least expect it—at least, that’s the line our mothers like to feed us—but what if the general matchmaking culture in Manhattan conditions you to always expect it.

Think about it. When was the last time someone told you that you should join them at a seemingly random/alternative/maybe that’s “not my thing” event and used the incentive of “you may meet someone” to get you there? If you’re a single gal in Manhattan, people seem to think (and, they may just be onto something here) that the greatest incentive to go out and do something—besides having fun—lies in the possibility that you will happen to meet someone special while you’re out doing it. And I’m not just talking about drinking up in the typical after-hours bar scene. Let’s be honest here: You would have never spent so much time in the fifth avenue Apple Store if your friend hadn’t told you that it’s a haven for hot computer geeks (or if she hadn’t dragged you there herself). And come on, did you really have any desire to take sailing lessons before your mother told you that this was a great way to meet a guy? And what about those Brazilian dancing classes? Your newfound interest in fantasy football? You get the idea.

When I lived at home, the only place where I thought I might be set up with someone was at family occasions. It seemed that everyone, upon learning that I was single (and not really caring if I wasn’t) wanted to set me up with some young, unattached male in their life. Apparently the only pre-requisite needed was that he was Jewish. And I was Jewish. And there it was—magic. (Or so they wanted to think.)

Living in New York, this “selling of the single girl” has taken on new dimensions. Just last week my friend invited me via voicemail on a “Green” boat cruise for individuals focused on improving the environment. My interest was immediately piqued (though I did forget to recycle a large pile of papers in my office yesterday—oops), but just in case, my friend elaborated on the event:

“Well, it’s not really just for the environment, it’s just an opportunity to meet people. You know, it’s just like an event with singles. There will actually be a lot of good-looking singles there. It’s basically just a big singles event on a boat.”

And within seconds, the noble, “save the trees” boat cruise had turned into a veritable meat market.

The urge to play matchmaker seems to be contagious. Just a few weeks ago I was out dancing with a group of people, when a friend of a friend, upon seeing my interest in uh—moving to the music—thought that I would be a perfect match for one of his close friends, because we both “got into the dancing a little bit more than everyone else.” (Should I have been insulted?) While very flattered that he would think of me for his good friend, I was just dancing to music at a bar—like everyone else around me. It seemed almost slightly absurd. The situation made me think about what could potentially come next:

“Hey, do you like the color blue? No way! So does my buddy John. You two really have to meet one another!”

I’m not being cynical—am I?

Of course, if and when we do meet someone—sans set-up—we single gals will never get the chance to take the credit anyway. There will always be that one friend/relative/co-worker who will try and convince us that this fortuitous meeting was completely her doing.

“See?” she will say, “I told you that that was the best place to meet guys.”

Needless to say, you will just nod and smile. Your friend/relative/co-worker will be so thrilled with her matchmaking abilities that she won’t realize the truth: you didn’t follow her advice at all.

She will never notice when you give a thankful wink to your doorman.