As the New YorkTimes recently announced on page A1 (only abouttwo years late), online dating is no longer for“losers.com.” But cheaters love it, too.Just ask dating coach David Wygant. He has one highlyselective client he likes to call Princeton Boy. OnMatch.com, Princeton Boy finally met the PrincetonGirl of his dreams, but as their otherwise delightfulcourtship progressed, he started to wonder about allthe other girls’ e-mails he might be missing. Sohe went back to Match.com only to find that PrincetonGirl was doing the very same thing. (Toencourage chatting, the site indicates who’sonline.) At 1:30 a.m. on a Saturday, he called Wygantin a weepy panic: “I thought we werehaving a good time!” The coach wasn’tsurprised. “They get angry if the otherperson’s online,” he says, “buteveryone’s looking to upgrade.”
In a city of perpetual upgraders, leaving one’sprofile online well into a romance has become theequivalent of flirting at an after-work bar. “Myboyfriend found my old date ad up and got mad,”says one grad student: “But, I mean, it’slike window shopping. It’s like SimSex.”Or “antiquing,” as Rachel, a music execwith a long-term boyfriend—and a very activeCraigslist.org profile—puts it.Of course, virtual busting is almost as easy asvirtual cheating (and in a masochistic way, nearly asmuch fun). One suspicious financial consultant had herex-husband (yes, that’s right) hack into herboyfriend’s computer only to find he was oneverything from Friendster to JDate. Other spouses set more elaborate traps. Stuart, a31-year-old TV producer, created a fake profile onCraigslist that he knew would attract his boyfriend often years. Almost immediately, he got an e-mail fromsaid boyfriend, complete with photo and invitation todrop by their apartment sometime. “He’s anass,” says Stuart. “Of course, I’venever confronted him about it because I’mtotally cheating on Craigslist myself.”