National Post

A club for sad liars, looking desperately for love
Most of what I wrote about myself in the Nerve online dating personals was untrue. You can try being meta about it. I don’t usually do this sort of thing. Or: I can’t believe I’m doing this. Hey, guess what: nor can anyone. Online dating is one of those things nobody wants to admit to a natural proclivity for, or being an old hand at. And yet they are very much a form unto themselves, a species of fiction, really, wherein wannabe Romeos dash off lightly fictionalized, Gatsbyesque versions of themselves in a tone halfway between come-hither foxiness and plangent entreaty, as if forever posed in some doorway, blowing smoke rings and delivering unrehearsed zingers, before disappearing into the night to work in a soup kitchen or homeless shelter. (Illustration by Kelsey Heinrichs)