Personals

Some four or five years ago, I learned that perhaps the most interesting part of the London Review of Books was its personal ads section. The personals were initially made a part of the magazine, I suppose, to help literary lonely-hearts find each other. But somewhere along the line, the British – who find self-promotion distasteful to begin with – discovered that perhaps the most fertile ground out there for parody were personal ads. And then, back in 2006, someone published a collection of the ads, They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from the London Review of Books. To get a sense of these, here are all actual ads paid for and published in the London Review of Books:

Woman, 38. WLTM man to 45 who doesn’t name his genitals after German chancellors. You know who you are and, no, I don’t want to meet either Bismarck, Bethmann Hollweg, or Prince Chlodwig zu Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, however admirable the independence he gave to secretaries of state may have been. Box no. 5739.

I wrote this ad to prove I’m not gay. Man, 29. Not gay. Absolutely not. Box no. 7471.

In France, it’s just a kiss. In England it’s just a muffin. In Belgium it’s just a waffle. In Germany it’s just a shepherd. You know what I’m saying. Man, 41. Box no. 5520.

I like my women the way I like my kebab. Found by surprise after a drunken night out, and covered in too much tahini. Before long I'll have discarded you on the pavement of life, but until then you're the perfect complement to a perfect evening. Man, 32. Rarely produces winning metaphors.

Bald, fat, short, and ugly male, 53, seeks short-sighted woman with tremendous sexual appetite.

I was recently victorious in a small claims court and with my compensation cheque I’d like to take you (F to 48) on a weekend bicycling trip to the Lake District Centre Parc. This offer doesn’t include meals or alcoholic beverages. M, 53.

I tested well with the 38-50 demographic. The same demographic also enjoys healthy cereal breakfasts and is open to product offers from financial institutes. If you’re 38-50, like museli, and would consider a savings account that gives you a 6.1% return on balances over £5000, write now to Eddy ‘Babycanon’ Mulligan.

Blah blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box no. 3253. Like I care.

Now, it turns out that the literary people on this side of the pond are catching on. For reasons not entirely clear even to me, I happened to check out the personal ads in the most recent issue of the New York Review of Books, and discovered that even Americans, who too often take themselves too seriously, are now writing some interesting personal ads. These from the July 15 issue:

FRISKY COUGAR, 84, seeks dude, 72 to 76, share walks from parking lots to doctors’ offices. Must like detailed descriptions of illnesses; enjoy matinee “naps”; daytime driving essential; relishes grandchildren’s pictures. Limited flatulence, clacking teeth ok. Don’t anticipate LTR. NYR Box 54260.


ARMCHAIR RADICAL (M, 25) seeks dialectical synthesis with street-credible jacobin (F). Must have nothing to lose but chains. Absence of property a plus. remember1871@gmail.com.

PORTLY, HANDSOME MAN, 81 summers, some hair and teeth, ample supply blue pills; seeking 90+ foxy cougar, to snuggle under afghan, swap podiatry, colonoscopy, and dental stories; knowing “Hut-Sut Rawlson” and “Mairzy Doats” a plus. Large type for response. NYR Box 54262.


SQUALID SYDNEY WOMBAT (M), striking natural dirty digger seeks beckoning, foxy NYC squirrel (F) for trans-Antipodean roo, pert exchanges, and postmodern “Murdoch-She-Wrote” contemplations of retrospectives in hot metal prints. NYR Box 54275.


WORN-OUT HUSBAND, friend to his wife’s nerves and father to five silly daughters (the two eldest excepted) for almost a quarter century, seeks wealthy, titled, childless widow of an unentailed estate for long walks across ha-ha’s. NYR Box 54272.


ANTEDILUVIAN MARINER (M) seeks attractive coxswain (F) to put in at terra firma amidst coming torrents. Long-term relationship inevitable. Will steer clear of Mount Ararat in protest of Armenian genocide. Mont Blanc? Open to suggestions. NYR Box 54270.


FANNIE MAE with troubled assets, bored with Freddie Mac, seeks well-regulated stimulus package from counterparty too big to fail. No cash for clunkers. eman.derman.blog@mac.com.

DISPROPORTIONATELY BLESSED GENERALISSMO, deposed by an ungrateful peasantry, languishes in luxurious tropical exile. Seeks a talented contortionist with low morals and high pain threshold for long-term relationship, satori, and maybe a little narco-crime on the side. rightfulruler@gotla.co.uk.

I’ll let the reader judge for him or herself, but my view is that the Brits still have the edge on cleverness. After all, they’ve had about a 1000 year head start on us. But, I’d say, we’re not far behind.