The_Hollywood_Reporter__February_07_2018

Style
Relationships
L.A. Dating Post-Weinstein:
‘The Office Romance Is Dead’
A TV comedy writer turns to two industry matchmakers who help singles
navigate in the #MeToo age: It’s ‘like having an agent for your love life’
By Ari Berkowitz
O
nce, on my way to the bathroom in
a West Hollywood restaurant, a guy
asked if I was his waitress. “Excuse
me?” I said, genuinely shocked. “You think I’m
pretty enough to be a waitress in L.A.?”
Dating in this town has always been hard.
Aside from having the highest concentration
of beautiful people on Earth,
Hollywood is a small world where
being successful often means
being social. Most of the people
Berkowitz you meet — and date — are in the
biz. And that means most of the
people you meet — and date — know everyone
you’ve ever met and dated.
But in a post-MeToo world, dating in
Hollywood has grown even harder. Let me say
this: I am a militant #MeToo/#TimesUp feminist.
I think a spotlight on unwanted advances
is incredibly positive ... but it does make it
harder to navigate the wanted ones.
In November, I went out with a friend-of-afriend
in the industry. He bought me drinks
until the bar closed, but after that, he left every
move up to me. It wasn’t just the “yes-meansyes”
standard that I expect, it was like Mad
Libs Dating. He presented every decision and
left me to fill in the blanks: What should we do
now? Where should we go? Even after I got him
home, got him another drink, sat him on my
couch and intertwined our legs, I still couldn’t
get him to make a move. Neither one of us knew
how to navigate this new post-Weinstein world.
Illustration by Eleanor Taylor
Over the past few months, I’ve heard of
companies in Hollywood instituting open-door
policies, or sending female execs into meetings
to chaperone powerful men when they
meet with women. There are many political
and business ramifications, but, honestly, I’m
about to spend another Valentine’s Day alone,
so I’m just gonna focus on the dating ramifications.
In Hollywood, the office romance is dead.
General meetings will never again bleed into
late-night drinks. The blurred lines are focusing.
And I’m glad. But Hollywood singles are
facing a totally new era of dating.
Enter matchmakers Jaydi Samuels and
Lauren Rosenberg. I learned about them the
way I learn about everything — in a general
meeting. When the female
exec I was meeting with casually
mentioned she had just
started using a matchmaker,
I casually mentioned that
she had to fucking tell me all
the details immediately.
LJMatchmaking, which
started three years ago, costs
$199 a year for women. Men
pay nothing upfront, but are expected to
pay for the first date. Members, who are referral
only, answer a questionnaire, and then
Jaydi, a comedy writer, and Lauren, a reality
TV producer, follow up in person, sussing out
dealbreakers you didn’t know you had. (When
they asked if I’d date someone who voted for
200%
LJMatchmaking
membership increase in
January compared with
an average month in 2017.
Trump, I answered: Maybe — if they deeply
regretted it now. When they asked if I’d date a
guy who was bald, I said: Fuck no. Who knew
I was the worst?!) There are no guarantees on
how many dates they get you — they just let
you know when they find a good match (i.e., a
hairy, regretful Republican).
A week after I met them, they emailed me
my first match. I got his first name, age, religion,
job, and a sentence about his personality
and looks. No picture. No way to google him.
Jaydi and Lauren asked me: Was I interested
in meeting him? Was I free on one of three
nights? Yes and yes. Jaydi and Lauren made us
a reservation. All I had to do was show up.
My first match was with a guy we’ll call
“Tom.” Tom was 10 years older, a successful
writer. We had a nice time drinking margaritas
and talking about harassers, and after two
hours, he drove me home. But the best part
was that afterwards, I didn’t hear from him. I
heard from my matchmakers. They checked in
the next morning: “How did it go?”
It felt amazing — this was like having an
agent for your love life. You can leave a staffing
meeting thinking everyone loved/hated you,
but your agent always gets the real story. I told
Jaydi and Lauren that I was interested in seeing
Tom again. He wanted to see me, too! There
were no Mad Libs about it: We had gone on a
clearly defined date and wanted to do it again.
Then Tom flaked on me twice in a row, and I
pulled the plug. I’m not saying matchmakers
fix all your dating problems in Hollywood. Just,
like, a dozen of them.
My second match was with “Josh.” Josh spent
the first hour of our date mansplaining
American foreign policy. When he segued to a
football player who had been (very mildly)
slandered in an article about campus sexual
assault, I interjected: “Cry me a fucking river.”
The next day, I told my matchmakers it was
a bad fit. They were surprised — he wanted to
see me again.
What?! I got clammy
thinking of how I was going
to extricate myself. The one
time Josh had asked a question
about me, I told him
about the pilot I was writing
and he deftly brought the
conversation back to him by
listing all the powerful
people he knew who could help me. If I offended
him now, was there a chance he’d ask those
powerful people to hurt my pilot? With a rush
of relief, I realized I needn’t worry. My love
agents would extricate me! I’m holding out
hope that by next Valentine’s Day, they’ll find
me someone who thinks I’m smart, funny
and — just maybe — pretty enough to be an
L.A. waitress.
BERKOWITZ: COURTESY OF SUBJECT.
THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER
50
FEBRUARY 7, 2018