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Chris McKinlay was folded into a cramped fifth-floor cubicle in UCLA's math sciences building, lit by a single bulb and the glow from his monitor. The subject: large-scale data processing and parallel numerical methods. While the computer chugged, he clicked open a second window to check his OkCupid inbox.
McKinlay, a lanky year-old with tousled hair, was one of about 40 million Americans looking for romance through websites like Match.
He'd sent dozens of cutesy introductory messages to women touted as potential matches by OkCupid's algorithms. Most were ignored; he'd gone on a total of six first dates. On that early morning in June , his compiler crunching out machine code in one window, his forlorn dating profile sitting idle in the other, it dawned on him that he was doing it wrong.
He'd been approaching online matchmaking like any other user. Instead, he realized, he should be dating like a mathematician. OkCupid was founded by Harvard math majors in , and it first caught daters' attention because of its computational approach to matchmaking. Members answer droves of multiple-choice survey questions on everything from politics, religion, and family to love, sex, and smartphones.
The closer to percent—mathematical soul mate—the better. But mathematically, McKinlay's compatibility with women in Los Angeles was abysmal. OkCupid's algorithms use only the questions that both potential matches decide to answer, and the match questions McKinlay had chosen—more or less at random—had proven unpopular. When he scrolled through his matches, fewer than women would appear above the 90 percent compatibility mark.