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Nothing is quite as arbitrary as it seems, for the French are very much aware—and in control—of their projected image, concurs former Paris expat and fashion consultant Victoria De La Fuente.

“After a while you start noticing plenty of parallels,” she says.

“Everyone has pictures with books and a perfectly lit dim background, or pictures of themselves hidden in shadows—you can barely see them, but they look oh-so-cool!

”In fact, most of the French people I spoke to perceive sartorial choices as an extension of character.

In addition to the stupefying abundance of options, there is the deteriorating quality of interactions and consequent dates.

In the off chance that you manage to break the virtual barrier and coordinate a physical rendezvous, there is a high likelihood the person will have mentally checked out by the second cocktail, eager to swipe on to the next B-list bikini model.

Since we clearly need all the help we can get, I resolve to investigate.

The first thing I learn is that it’s about as difficult to get a French person to admit to online dating as it is to get her to admit to knowing the names of the Kardashians.

” While Delpon agrees that the art of conversation is an integral part of the initial seduction game, she advises to quickly move along and meet in person, stressing the importance of feeling out the connection: “I don’t think we are the sum of our parts. ” Coming from a city where Instagram likes have replaced emotions and is the most common word, this is music to my ears.

Once the physical rendezvous is set, the rest is fair game, where the rules mirror those of life.

Although part of the allure may have been the chance to practice my French, I can’t help but recall a number of long, languid walks and philosophical talks that had resulted from the online dating platform.

Could it be that the French have succeeded at tackling the delicate art of online dating with their customary moderation and integrity, allowing them to cultivate genuine connections?

With dating apps as our metaphorical free pass, we appear to be zipping through this dystopian carnival of love with our trademark extremism, only to be confronted by an ardent sense of nausea at the end of each ride.