The Most Eligible Bachelor on the Internet

[Hammock Parties]

This article is ****ing great. Average goofy dude is slaying Chicago Match.com poon just because he makes six figures and isn't a douchebag, basically.

http://www.ericspitznagel.com/mens-h...chelor-online/

“Once upon a time, there lived a lonely man that had a great head if hair.”

That’s the first line from Aaron Csepregi’s Match.com profile, and it just gets more ridiculous from there.

He spends several hundred words rambling about princes and damsels in distress and shirtless blumberbros.

According to Match, he was the most “winked” at man in Chicago last year—winks being the highest form of romantic currency on Match, the first sign of interest in the digital dating pool. On a national level, the Match record keepers claim he’s in the top 0.000035% of eligible men on the dating service, which has an estimated 3.2 million paid subscribers in North America.

That’s a lot of attention for a guy who says he often gets mistaken for Ed Helms (the bespectacled nerd from The Office and The Hangover films). He’s perfectly attractive and in decent enough shape—5’10”, 180 pounds—but he comes across more like the harmless guy at your office with a lot of platonic female friends than a modern-day Casanova. He drives a 2008 Ford Fusion that’s seen better days, his cell ringtone is the “Three’s Company” theme song, and he doesn’t have cable TV because he’d “rather spend the money on experiences.”

Although he makes a six figure salary—he’s a management consultant for a software company—he lives in a cramped studio apartment on Chicago’s north side. His bed is the first thing you see when you open his front door. “I could afford something better, but I like the freedom of not being weighed down by stuff,” he explains. “I could pack everything and be out of here in an hour.”

Csepregi is as surprised as anyone by the attention. He only goes on three or so dates a week, but if he answered all of his email, he’d never sit down to another meal without female companionship. “Women stop me on the street,” he says. “They tell me, ‘I know you from somewhere.’ I’ll say, ‘Match.com?’ ‘Yes, that’s it!’ It’s very odd.”

His profile gallery has 26 photos, the maximum number allowed on Match. He changes them frequently, reshuffling the order or subbing in new photos. Every photo tells a story, he says, and nothing is random. It’s all got a purpose.

“This one shows that I’m outdoorsy,” he says, taking us on a tour of his gallery. “This one is just there so she knows I own my own tuxedo."

If it seems like Csepregi treats online dating like a second job, you’d be entirely correct. “You have to sell yourself,” he says. “I put in at least two, three hours a day to this, maybe more. And you don’t get weekends off. You can end up with a 21-hour work week. It’s not easy.”

Csepregi’s Match name is princeac1980, a combination of prince, his initials, and his birthday. “Every girl wants her prince charming,” he explains. “I know, it’s terrible, right? I went with the stupid, cheesy choice and never changed it.”

Also, he’s funny. Numerous studies have proven—repeatedly and definitively—that women love a sense of humor, especially when searching for a partner online. Even when Csepregi’s jokes fall flat, he’s just self-deprecating and “aw shucks” enough to make it easy to root for him.

Csepregi has tried several different profiles over the years—he never throws away a draft, and they’re all in a special folder on his computer—but the one that hit the Internet with a big, forgettable thud, attracting exactly zero interest from any women who found him even passably attractive, was the one where he put all his cards on the table.

“I said, ‘I’m looking for someone who wants to be serious about this. Let’s get together and see what happens,’” Csepregi says. “It was awful. Nobody cared. I might as well have put up that REM video ‘Everybody Hurts’ as my profile.”

He knows what he’s doing now. And the proof is not just in the women who keep emailing him, asking for his time. He also tutors online daters looking to increase their odds. For a mere $35 ($5 less than Match’s own “Profile Pro” consulting service), he’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong. “I’ve seen more shirtless bathroom photos than any straight guy should ever have to,” he says.

It might be a teeny bit ironic that Csepregi is lambasting shirtless selfies at the exact moment he’s shirtless himself, posing provocatively in front of his closet mirror (which, for reasons he never gets around to explaining, has a painting of the Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon album cover hanging over it).

But this display of shirtlessness isn’t for public consumption. It’s his pre-first date ritual, which also involves blasting hardcore hip-hop and dancing around his tiny apartment like Mick Jagger having an epileptic fit.



In just a few hours, he’ll meet Lindsay, a woman he’s been flirting with online for the last few months. She made the first move, winking at him. Then he winked back. Then they exchanged dozens of emails, until finally (just this morning) he suggested a phone call.

He can’t show us Lindsay’s Match profile because she’s already taken it down. “I don’t know what that means,” he says, forcing a smile. “I’m hoping it’s a good sign.”

He’s noticeably nervous about tonight’s date. He makes himself a martini, and then a vodka-tonic, and sips on them both. “I still get pre-date jitters,” he says. “It’s not like I’m a serial dater. Well, not anymore.” He tells us about one ambitious outing, when he managed to squeeze in three dates in one day. “I staggered a half hour in between each one,” Csepregi admits. “Even if I was having a good time, I had to slip away. I felt bad for doing that. I was kind of a scumbag.”

He’s finally looking for somebody serious. He wants to settle down. Well, not tomorrow, but in the nearish future. “At 35, I’m in that age range where I’m in the lower acceptable age limit of women in their mid-40s,” he says. “And women in their early 20s are like, ‘Stop creeping me out, old man.’ That makes you think.”

He’s got stories about dates that ended badly—like the woman in Atlanta who drank an entire bottle of wine in the time it took him to sip a beer—and dates that ended before he realized they were over—like the woman who excused herself during dinner, then crawled out the restaurant’s bathroom window.

Csepregi even experienced the rarest phenomenon in online dating; the mutual breakup. “We both sat down, looked at each, took one drink and said, ‘Nope.’ It was perfect. We had a laugh, paid for our drinks and left.”

Csepregi pulls on his shirt and gives his reflection a final once-over, just as Ice Cube is rapping about how it’s a good day because he didn’t have to use his AK. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”



He meets Lindsay outside Ada Street, a local restaurant that specializes in Mediterranean tapas, and they shake hands awkwardly. She’s a pretty brunette, 35 years old (just like him) and working at a job that she’s barely interested in discussing (something about business development for corporate wellness.)

They find a table and order drinks—white wine for her, red wine for him—and right off the bat, Csepregi is playing the part of a lovable goofball. He tries jokes that don’t quite land—when explaining the Bob Dylan tribute concert they’ll be attending later, he says, “You know what they say, what happens at the Bob Dylan show stays at the Bob Dylan show. I have no idea what that means.”

When he stumbles over his words, he tells her, without a trace of sarcasm, “I lose my train of thought when I’m in the company of such beauty.”

But she’s entirely charmed by him. She laughs at his jokes, and blushes at his clumsy attempts at romanticism. They’re a perfect match, in ways Match.com wasn’t able to predict.

She orders the chicken wings as an appetizer, and he seems gobsmacked that she would do this on a first date.

“What’s the big deal?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just amazing. You’re amazing.”

He reaches for her hand under the table. He doesn’t think we notice, but we absolutely notice. We also notice that it happened when she said she prefers chicken wings over drumsticks, and it feels weirdly significant.

They have an obvious connection—the whole meal, they’re on the verge of pushing their food and wine glasses to the floor and dry-humping on the table—but did online dating have anything to do with it?

Over the next several hours, over numerous tapa dishes, they talk like friends who’ve known each other for years. They debate the best honkytonk bars in Texas, why men taking baths are hilarious, Christopher Guest movies, her mom’s recipe for pumpkin pie, and how amazing she smells.

She leaves for the bathroom, and Csepregi becomes a different person. His self-confidence disappears. He’s not the most winked at guy on Match.com anymore. He’s just another guy wondering if he’s good enough.

“What do you think? Does she like me? I don’t know. Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much.”

When they leave the restaurant, they’re already holding hands. As they walk to the concert venue, they sneak kisses. By the time they make it to the Hideout club, for the Bob Dylan tribute, they’re not even bothering to sneak anymore. They’re kissing like teenagers in a prom limo.



At the show, they manage to make it through one song—”Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues”—before they get tired of being the handsy couple at the rock concert who everybody behind them knows would rather be somewhere else.

“We’re getting out of here,” Csepregi tells us. He and Lindsay stumble out of the club, towards his Ford Fusion. He opens the passenger side door for her, saying something about it being her “chariot.”

She giggles approvingly and leaps inside. As they drive away, we wonder if this might be the final chapter for the most eligible bachelor on the Internet, if the “lonely man with a great head of hair” has finally found his princess.

Like a true gentleman, he won’t give us a definitive answer. But the next morning, his Match profile hasn’t been taken down. A month later, it’s still there.

[Hammock Parties]

Originally Posted by Pasta Giant Meatball

Change of subject: Would you all big bang the chick in the OP?

Probably way hotter in person. The only people who look good in those kinds of photos are celebrities with very few flaws. She certainly has a cute face and nice jugs.

[LoneWolf]

Originally Posted by Pasta Giant Meatball

Change of subject: Would you all big bang the chick in the OP?

I definitely wouldn't let her give me a hand job. With those meat sticks coming out of her shoulders she'd probably rip your dick off.

[Pasta Little Brioni]

Originally Posted by Smellway

Probably way hotter in person. The only people who look good in those kinds of photos are celebrities with very few flaws. She certainly has a cute face and nice jugs.

I had to wnd the date short the one time i met a chick with arms like that. No go.

[Hammock Parties]

Originally Posted by Pasta Giant Meatball

I had to wnd the date short the one time i met a chick with arms like that. No go.

You must have sub 10% body fat if you are turning girls down based on arms like these:



It's not like we're talking Lena Dunham territory here.

[Discuss Thrower]

Pretty much if you're bearing yourself a lady that is 27+ years' old and childless you're winning.

[Hammock Parties]

Even more here. He has pretty good strategy.

https://www.learnvest.com/2014/05/online-dating-cost/2/

First date: $6 to $7

Time is precious, so I cut to the chase. I email a girl, and if she responds back, I say, “Here’s my number and let’s grab a coffee.” Women won’t call—they’ll text. If they do want to meet up, I like to go to Caribou Coffee.

I stopped doing dinner dates, basically because once you sit down with someone, you have to go through the full dinner. With coffee dates, if either party isn’t feeling the vibe, there’s no pressure to stick around. A typical first date lasts about an hour.

Follow-up dates: $0 to $30

Chicago is a wonderful city full of cheap, fun things to do. For free, I like to take dates to North Avenue Beach or Northerly Island, or to the Art Institute of Chicago. I also like going for a bike ride on Lake Shore Drive. I don’t even mind going for a walk; there are so many things to see in every neighborhood. In general, I like something active and outdoors.

I’m not afraid of using a LivingSocial deal or a Groupon if it’s a cool event. The days when those were taboo for a date are long gone. I’ve gone paddle-boarding for $20 a couple, gotten two White Sox tickets for $15, and played WhirlyBall—think lacrosse in bumper cars—for $30. I don’t like doing the $100-plus dinner when there are things that are cheaper and more fun, and you don’t get awkward silences or forced conversation.

I don’t buy jewelry or flowers. I’ll do the things that should be done, like open car doors or walk curbside. But buying gifts after a few dates? No. Maybe I’ll get her a box of Milk Duds.

[LoneWolf]

Originally Posted by Smellway

You must have sub 10% body fat if you are turning girls down based on arms like these:



It's not like we're talking Lena Dunham territory here.

Can't wait to see pics of the little Hulkamaniac you are currently involved with. The chick in the OP has ****ing bingo wings. The only advantage to dating a chick with arms like that is she could use them to fan you on a hot summer day.

[Pasta Little Brioni]

I don't know Clay maybe if she wore sleeves...BUT THEN I'd have to classify her as a hidden fatty

[threebag]

Hidden fatty thats right in meat peekers wheel house.