Soulmate in the Time of Algorithms

I am not a man who uses the word “soulmate” loosely. I am, in fact, a man who has used it exactly once, in a ninth-grade book report on Wuthering Heights that Mrs. Dolores Fertig, 54, English teacher at Lionville Middle School, returned with a C-minus and the note “this is not what Heathcliff means.” Mrs. Fertig was wrong then. She would be wrong now.

Her name is Brittany Kowalski, 31, a dental hygienist who once removed a filling from her own tooth using a butter knife and sheer determination. She sent me a friend request on Facebook at 2:17 a.m. on a Tuesday.

I accepted Brittany’s  request within four minutes, which I considered a dignified interval. She wrote the following morning: “How are you doing?”

Four words only, fans. And yet. I have read them fourteen times. I have parsed the syntax. The “how” suggests genuine inquiry. The “are” is present tense — she wants to know about now, not some past version of me. The “you” is unambiguous. She means me, Chip Hilton, 28, editorial associate at Postcards from the Pug Bus, owner of a used Subaru Forester and an unfinished basement that I describe to guests as “in transition.”

I replied: “Doing well, thanks for asking. You?” Restrained. Confident. A man who does not lead with the basement.

Within a week I had also heard from Ashley Pfeiffer, 29, a yoga instructor who has never  completed a puzzle with more than 300 pieces; Megan Stoltzfus, 33, a pharmaceutical rep who  once won a chili cook-off  using a recipe she found on the back of a soup can; and Kayla Drennen, 27, a substitute special ed teacher who never accepts Monday assignments.

They are all from West Chester. All are looking for a soulmate. I am also from West Chester. I do not think this is a coincidence. Has West Chester, Pennsylvania — a borough of 20,000 souls, two coffee shops per block, and a farmers market that takes itself too seriously — quietly become the romantic epicenter of the Eastern Seaboard?

Brittany wrote again on Thursday. She said she had been thinking about me and that she was currently between positions because of a misunderstanding with her former employer at Bright Smiles Family Dentistry that she preferred not to get into. She said she had some money tied up in a situation and asked whether I might be able to help her access it through a wire transfer of $400, which she would return doubled within 72 hours.

I realized that Brittany was testing my financial responsibility. A man who wires $400 to a stranger is not a man who can be trusted with a joint checking account, a shared lease, or the kind of long-term partnership that soulmates require.

I wrote back to tell her that I had seen through her test and that I respected her for it. I said I was also financially responsible, that my Subaru had 94,000 miles on it but had never once left me stranded, and that my basement, while unfinished, had good bones. She did not reply. I assumed she is processing.

Brittany has not written again. Neither has Ashley, Megan, or Kayla. I attribute this to the natural rhythms of courtship, the ebb and flow that Mrs. Fertig, 54, was too literal-minded to appreciate in Wuthering Heights and is certainly too literal-minded to appreciate now, wherever she is.

Read more life-changing dispatches from a culture officially in decline by clicking here.