Listening to each other's MP3 files is just one of the ways potential flatmates size each other up online. Bryan Collfinds a flatshare in Paris, with a little help from the web
When I was online recently I met Isabelle. She ticks all my boxes. French, witty, loves cooking and hates pets. We started with nervous introductory e-mails, progressed to exchanging photos, then, once we'd hit it off, laughed, cried and joked over late-night chats on MSN. In fact Isabelle and I have been getting on so well we've decided to speed things up a little. This month (deep breath) we're moving in together. Isabelle, you see, is my new flatmate-in-waiting. We met in the ultracompetitive world of the flat-sharing website. She: "Parisienne with furnished spare room." I: "Irish intern seeks fun flatmate in Paris (open to all offers)." I soon regretted this last phrase. Unwittingly, I'd labelled myself as the online equivalent of an easy lay. Cue a deluge of comments, invitations, e-mails (even videos) from all kinds of potential suitors, with some of the most horrid profiles you could imagine. I mean, some of them even kept cats.
It's now possible to look for a flatmate in Paris from the comfort of your livingroom in Ireland. Gone are the days of small ads scribbled in biro, pinned optimistically on noticeboards outside lecture halls, complete with tear-off telephone numbers. Today's flat-hunters left Post-it notes behind a long time ago. Profiles on www. appartager.fr, a French site dedicated to would-be renters looking for empty rooms (me) and to the people looking to fill them (Isabelle), typically include photographs of the flat and its inhabitants, its exact location on a pinpoint-accurate map, a detailed inventory down to the last spoon, and a brief essay on the hobbies, jobs, favourite TV shows and last five meals of your potential flatmates. One site even lets users attach MP3 files to their profiles, allowing flat-owners and flat-seekers to verify in advance that their musical tastes are sufficiently compatible.
For seasoned room-hoppers such as myself this is fantastic news. No longer must we trek to the opposite side of the city in order to view a "charming, spacious apartment" only to discover a boxroom above a kebab shop with Waynetta Slob as landlady. These days, even before I've visited the flat in person, I already know I love the old table in the kitchen, that I'm not too keen on the blue sofa in the livingroom and that I have the same Daft Punk album as the Spanish IT student who lives in the other bedroom.
There's no doubt that sites such as www. appartager.fr are helping give power back to the consumer. But, as I soon found out, being spoiled for choice also has its downfalls. These sites have turned flat-hunting into an insanely competitive game. Registered users receive daily e-mails alerting them to new offers on the site that match their criteria. This means that, instead of a handful of fellow students lingering around the noticeboard after lectures, you're up against hundreds of other punters, all with profiles much cooler than your own.
Before I met Isabelle I spent days trying to craft the perfect profile. Accustomed as I am to the likes of MySpace, Bebo and Facebook, the flat-sharing website requires something altogether different. Bearing in mind there's a fair chance you'll be shacking up in a matter of weeks with the next person to click on your smiling mug, it's important to plan every sentence, photo and caption meticulously. Standing out from your flat-hunting rivals is hard to do, but a killer profile can make it possible. When creating your online persona, try pitching yourself as a combination of your best mate, your ideal partner and your mum. You should be entertaining, good-looking, house-trained and equipped with a never-ending supply of rent money. On the site where I met Isabelle my semi-fictitious hobbies are listed as "writing and cinema" (nice and Parisian sounding), "cooking" (I'll make the odd dinner) and "gym" (I won't hog the sofa).
I deliberated long and hard over which photograph to choose. Not submitting one was never an option. As flat-sharing websites are essentially glorified dating sites, a profile without photographs wins you nothing other than the status of a dateless (or flatless) wonder. "Profiles with photos receive over 10 times as many messages as those without!" screams the message in capital letters on the site's homepage. Most people, it seems, want a flatmate who's at least a little bit fanciable.
There are important questions to consider here. Do I pick a solo shot, to appear confident, or rely on one with friends in it to seem popular? Smiling and friendly or moody and mysterious? In the end I opted for a photo from a night out in a club while on holiday. How Bebo of me. Nevertheless, I felt this would help me corner the youth market, appear sufficiently fêtard, as all the cool French kids seemed to write in their profiles, and by labelling it "Australia" might give me something to break the ice once the e-mailing commenced. Thanks to a neat bit of DIY cropping, the picture also contained an anonymous arm draped around my shoulder, thus adding a hint of popularity and creating, I hoped, that extra bit of coolness. I set up a new e-mail account, sat back and waited for the deluge of wonderful offers to arrive.
I was disappointed. Like a new diet, my painstakingly-crafted profile failed to deliver instant results. Success in the world of online flat-hunting, I soon learned, requires perseverance and bags of patience. Bad experiences are all part of the process.
Take Pedro. Three days after posting my profile on the site I had failed to receive a single message. Feeling snubbed and humiliated, I even considered deleting my profile and crawling back, tail between my legs, to the newspaper classifieds. But then, just as my inbox started to gather dust, Pedro's e-mail arrived. As I had been dumped by the rest of the flat-sharing community, and was in need of some online affirmation, Pedro became my rebound guy. My instincts said no, and, with hindsight, I should never have gone there. Even the red asterisks on his profile alerted me to the critical detail that should have sent me running. Pedro kept a pet.
But I returned his message, and we struck up a pleasant, if rather business-like, correspondence. He was a rep for a clothing company and travelled frequently as part of his job. Like most of the proprietors on www.appartager.fr, his 40sq m apartment seemed a little small to warrant a full-time flatmate. But, as he spent only four days a week in Paris, Pedro assured me, I would have plenty of space. His photos showed a third-floor apartment in the 15th arrondissement, complete with furnished spare bedroom and a sizeable kitchen that even included an oven (the holy grail in Paris flat-hunting terms). Most importantly, animals were conspicuously absent from all photographs.
E-mailing Pedro to arrange a date to visit the flat, I added a brief PS, inquiring about the pet, just to put the last remaining doubt in my mind at ease. "Ségo, Sarko et Jacques" was the title of the reply. I opened the attachment to find close-up photos of three mice in a cage. "They usually live in the livingroom", said Pedro. I could (perhaps) have handled a small dog, but the idea of rodents roaming the apartment was too much to contemplate. Au revoir, Pedro.
I'm relieved to say my courtship of Isabelle has so far been free of nasty surprises. Although she, like Pedro, made the first move, I have successfully wooed her with my French txt spk, and the photographs from my last trip to Donegal have gone down a treat. Here's hoping we become Paris's answer to Will and Grace, otherwise I'll be back online, searching for a place in Ireland. So if you come across my rather splendid profile, be sure to send me a nice message.
See www.appartager.fr; www.easyroommate.com and www.daft.ie/searchteamup.daft