It seems so obvious. He/she longs to meet a he/she, who longs to meet a he/she. So, put an ad in the paper. What could be simpler? The only difficulty comes in choosing the words to describe yourself; and choosing the words to sketch the infinitely complex ideal you wish to find embodied in another person. Knowing, of course, all the time, that Rule One of romantic love is that it is not ours to command, and that we acknowledge that by relying on random luck to bring it. Signing up with a dating agency, or advertising in the personal columns may make sense, but it does Cupid out of a job.
Most media outlets in the Republic carry few or no personal ads. There isn't a pressing need for them, what with pubs, Lisdoonvarna, the amateur dramatic movement, the Lough Derg pilgrimage and an abundance of other opportunities for mixing. This is a society where it is relatively easy to meet potential partners - there's no Taliban here - and almost as easy to check them out.
Somebody will always have been at school with their brother.
Other societies, however, have had political or cultural reason to place a considerable weight on the personal ad.
Northern Ireland, for instance, might be its very home, with a full page of personal ads every morning in the Belfast Newsletter, and more in the Telegraph a few hours later, and more again on Sundays. Their alphabetic language makes a welcome change from the alphabetic names of terrorist groups. "Attractive male 32
n/s TT GSOH," in the Belfast Telegraph this week "WLTM similar female" Who wouldn't like to meet someone with the apparently statutory good sense of humour?
These ads seem to be mostly placed by
s. "Christian seeks Christian," they often say, and since they're presumably not trying to weed out the Hindus or Muslims who might reply, "Christian" must mean Protestant.
Or does "Christian" mean a particular kind of person, rather than a particular religious affiliation? A great many ads, after all, are variations on this one: "Two good-looking Protestant girls, 18, WLTM two attractive Protestant males for fun nights out and fun nights in." No hint of Calvinism there. Perhaps "Christian" points in the direction of evangelicalism? Another ad on the same page reads: "Belfast male, born-again Christian - single n/s warm-hearted, romantic and sincere seeks similar born-again n/s female . . ." You would think that born again circles were small enough for acquaintanceships to be easily made. But perhaps this particular type of Christian commitment means not going to pubs, and this makes meeting someone harder.
Certainly, the profusion of personal ads in the North says something about a polarised society where love across the sectarian divide is not the best of ideas - a society too intimate to be casually intimate.
They're less boastful, on the whole, than the ones which are - I presume - largely Catholic, and carried by Ireland's Own magazine. In Belfast this week an ad gave off a typical sense of modest expectations. "Hi!" it read. "I'm looking for a nice fella who is overweight, aged 18-26 and who can drive." When you rang the telephone number with it - the whole thing is done through taped messages accessed (need I say) at premium rates - a shy voice said she works in an old people's home "and I have a really good personality". The old people probably put her up to this bit of assertion. Whereas the "Catholic" ones give robust details. An Irish woman teacher living in London with a "working-class background, socialist at heart broad-minded tolerant 5'2" considered attractive seeks similar male for love and commitment". Or - even more informative - "Love rescue me. Mid forties auxiliary nurse divorced interests include music, dogs, Liverpool FC cinema and many others w.l.t.m. that special man from northern counties if possible for friendship leading to meaningful relationship."
The furthest most Irish people will go in self-promotion is that self-deprecating "considered attractive". Anyone who doubts the cultural expressiveness of small ads should compare Irish ones, north or south, with the ones in The New York Review Of Books. It is absolutely nothing to the advertisers there to describe themselves in the most glowing terms. This week a "brainy, comely NYC male seeks non-smoking female counterpart," and he's 71 years old: a "passionate and compassionate physician, amateur violinist, athletic, creative, affectionate and funny", seeks a woman "with musical and other passions"; and a "much-loved but still restless NY-based SWF, 45, slender, professional, attractive, intellectual, irreverant, arty and odd," seeks a similar SWM. That "much loved" betrays the fundamental worry of the personal advertiser - that, however wonderful you say you are, there must be something wrong with you or you wouldn't be advertising.
Better, perhaps, to be candid about the urgency behind setting yourself out on a stall. An ad in Monday's Belfast Newsletter said it all, in its laconic way.
"Philip," it said. "44-year-old divorced male. I want to meet someone." Saint Valentine will surely notice that that leaves the field wide open, and if he has any heart at all, will find someone to send Philip's way.