Barbara Lippert's Critique: Love, Possibly

Ah, springtime. Birds are singing, buds are blossoming, and our thoughts naturally turn to ... online dating? At this point, it's an almost unremarkable part of the mating process, as timeless a ritual as flirtatious texting and IM-ing little nothings. In fact, this year is Match.com's 10th anniversary. (Imagine the stories those brave, early-adopter cyberpioneers can tell their grandkids —"Your grandpa swept me off my feet with that line in his profile about being equally comfortable in a tux or jeans.") Indeed, Internet dating is now so commonplace that, after explosive growth until about a year ago, it seems to have peaked, or certainly has slowed. Many weary cyberdaters are taking a break from surfing (after enough online-initiated dates that fizzle, a fix-up by gypsies could seem more comforting) or seeking out specialty sites like DateMyPet.com and eHarmony.com. eHarmony claims it's the fastest-growing site for dating, but I can't stand those TV spots with Dr. James Peter Michael, or Dr. George Fenster Webster, or whoever the too-friendly founder is (Dr. Neil Clark Warren, thank you). He's like two Phils in one (Donahue and Oprah's mustachioed protégé, with double the smarm!). Earnest but smooth, with politician hair, he's like a character out of The Simpsons. With all his talk of the deep, unique, scientific personality profiling process, he's like a patent-medicine salesman of the 19th century, reborn to ride the middle-aged divorce boom. But showing success stories (as in weight-loss ads) is a legitimate (and proven!) way to go. The eHarmony pod people—couples dancing or just hugging—seem happy enough. So, what do you do if you're the Wal-Mart of online dating? In its latest work, Match.com's positioning is pretty bold and single-minded. It seems to be taking the higher ground: Forget computer dating as a cold science with unique sorting technologies for special-interest groups. Embrace something larger and more fundamental! Yes, as the category leader, Match seems to want to own love itself. How's that for a bigger, bolder brand experience? Two spots are mini romantic comedies (and, cleverly, run on cable during larger romantic comedies), and they tell surprising little stories that appeal to men and women without being too Mars/Venus about it. Open on a crowd of fans going crazy at a football game. The scene feels vaguely ominous, and the cinematography, textured and dark, adds to the tension. But it turns out the only carnage here involves an early-30s-ish, average Joe kind of guy who is stripping down to his tighty whiteys (a good choice, given his loosey-goosey frame of mind). As vaguely Rocky-esque music plays in the background, the trim if somewhat unripped guy triumphantly runs down the stands and on to the field in the middle of the game. Yo, Adrian! I mean, Andrea. In a reversal of the lame "Love means never having to say you're sorry" idea from Love Story, he's written "Forgive me Andrea" in big black letters on his chest. "Andrea, I love you!" he shouts to the stadium and to the millions watching at home. "Please come back to me!" Cut to three women sitting on a sofa—the one in the middle is spooning ice cream from the container, as another says, "That's so romantic." As Andrea's ex gets intercepted (a very funny moment), the voiceover says, "Love might make you crazy. Finding it shouldn't." It's a charming little film, and in the end seems positive and ego-affirming. But I fail to see how watching this majorly crazy ex-boyfriend would spur anyone to seek a relationship online. Isn't there still a hint of stigma about the kind of people you'll meet? To misquote David Ogilvy, the consumer is not some freak or weirdo—she's your ex-wife! Or the person in the next cubicle. (Perhaps that's worse.) The second spot, "Amber," has just the right tone in dramatizing a universal dating anxiety—how the new B.F. introduces you. We've all been there—the happy couple walks down the street and runs into, oh no, the blonde ex. The exes chat, as Amber steams. Her internal monologue is clever and dead-on: "Just Amber? Wait, I am Girlfriend Amber! Or at least We've Been Dating for a While Amber!" Finally, her boyfriend says. "Amber. You know, my girlfriend." The crazy line comes in again, which also fits well with the tagline: "Love is complicated. Match is simple." The look and feel of the work is sophisticated. (The print ads use only the tagline and evocative black-and-white Elliott Erwitt photos, which are touching and surprisingly bittersweet.) I also agree that you don't have to show the mechanics of people navigating the site to convey an effective message—eBay, for example, can just show the emotions of the collectors. And the grand but simple positioning makes advertising sense. But perhaps it's too simple. There's a disconnect once a customer gets to the site. The reality is that for best results, you have to post a photo (a real pain in terms of privacy, and just plain trouble if you're not tech savvy) and write a profile (excruciating and time consuming, unless you want to come off as an uncaring jerk). Then, depending on the response, you have to keep tweaking the profile, just like a résumé. Given all the hours you spend surfing, responding, tweaking, it's like a second job. That's not so simple after all. But that fits too, in a way. The process itself is like dating—you get hooked, and only later do you see the not-so-attractive stuff. Love is a battlefield, at least until you log off.Match.comAgencyHanft Raboy & Partners, New York Creative director, copywriter Doug Raboy Creative director, art directorSean LaBounty CopywriterNathan Manske Agency producerAngelo Ferrugia Production companyIndependent Media DirectorPeter Chelsom EditorCarlos Arias Music Human, New York

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Barbara Lippert's Critique: Love, Possibly

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