"The truth has a way of manifesting itself inevitably," he tells us.(8) So we run through our romantic backstories—my tendency to tumble into prolonged semi-relationships with commitment phobes, Nate's to move glacially for fear of hurting the people he's with or being hurt himself.(9) Next we fill out questionnaires about the traits that we'd like in an ideal partner—everything from race to religious beliefs to intelligence level.
Because fate loves a good joke, the first question is about height.
So we ate and meandered instead through normal first-date talk—the kind that most people lament but I actually enjoy. I didn't want to know her opinion of her family already. I didn't even want to know five things she liked about me already.
We could've both felt strongly about religion (but had opposing beliefs) or political leanings, but instead, intelligence, kindness, and attractiveness rank highest in importance for both of us.
How else are you supposed to say hello to someone who in a few hours will know more about you than you've told most of your friends and blood relatives?
That was the plan for the night: Our respective editors set us up on a blind date (or what would come to seem like one very long, three-week blind date) to see just how compatible we might be and to learn what compatibility even means in the age of Tinder and Instant Chemistry genetic testing, and we figured we might as well take the time to get to know each other.
I'm 5'7", gravitating toward shoes that allow me to tower, and dudes who tower over me.
In the spirit of honesty, I select the 5'10" to 6' category, which overshoots Nate.(10) The rest of the page is similarly specific—would you like your date to be slightly mean, slightly kind, moderately kind, or extremely kind?