How to Query a Millionaire

by J. Corbett Holmes

“Next thing you got to remember is the gentlemen you meet on the cold cuts, may not be as attractive as the one you meet in the mink department at Bergdorf's.”

—Schatze Page,

How to Marry a Millionaire

When one considers a new relationship, value is generally taken into account. Different people have different value systems. For some, a potential companion’s valuables are basic: Does he have all his teeth or does he still live with his parents? For some, it’s personality or physical attributes. For other, it’s money. For me, until one sleepy Sunday morning, my valuable-partner-attributes had always been little things like, owning a car or only having one roommate. But while flipping through this very publication, I stumbled across a small, but quite obvious advertisement that got me rethinking my value system. In a big bold font it read: Are You The One?

I don’t know, I wondered. Am I?

Intrigued, I read on.

Below, printed inside a muscular male outline, the advertisement cataloged the statistics of a retired philanthropist in his 50s who was: “looking to meet a guy in his 30s-40s who needed to be muscular, with the ‘requisite’ good looks to go along.” Yet, “honestly,” intelligence would “trump anything.” He was a “sucker for a ‘brainy guy’” and was looking for someone like himself, who had “personal accomplishment, integrity, ethics and, of course, sensuality.” Additionally—as an accomplished man—he was looking for someone who could teach him something he didn’t already know.

I wondered what someone who considered himself accomplished looked like? Why? Because retired-philanthropist-man was a millionaire. An advertising-for-a-husband gay millionaire. The ad further defined him as “a rare individual with substance, fully engaged in life on every level—who set high goals and accomplished them. Extraordinary financial success was but one small measure of his achievements. If you are of like mind and character, and you think you might be a match for our client, log on today to learn more about him.”

Fully absorbed, I went digging. For gold.

A few clicks later, a home page welcomed me with a colorful picture of two cute man/boys wrapped in each other’s arms and beaming. Not a Gulfstream or Rolls in sight.

Still, I clicked on in pursuit of my million-dollar man. Page after page was filled—millions of millionaires. Then jackpot! I found retired-philanthropist-man, sans photo. Still, I forged on. After filling out a basic, no-fee questionnaire, I hit submit. Cha ching, I thought, this will make a great story.

The next day I received a thank you along with an invitation for a one-on-one meeting with the matchmaking department. I was a possible match! But, not before filling out another questionnaire. Since I’d made the first cut I went for broke and filled out the next, more extensive questionnaire—complete with instructions. There were four essay categories: my interests, my qualities, what attracts me to someone and what they wouldn't know by looking at me. Each required five to six complete sentences designed to “capture my essence.” I was not allowed to use ALL CAPS or they would ask me to redo it. And before submitting I was requested to make sure to spell-check and correct any grammatical errors.

Several days later I received a thank you for my submission and my scheduled, no-cost appointment. I was asked to bring:

1) A photo ID.

2) To wear what I would wear on a first date, but no suit or business attire. Solid color shirts and dark slacks were recommended. Too much beige, tan or gray was not. If I wore jeans, a sport coat was suggested—to dress them up. No white T-shirts, busy prints or sports shoes please! (All for the photo shoot)

3) A list of my five best inner qualities and …

4) A smile.

While I waited for my interview, the weeks mounting like a frivolous shopping spree, I revealed “mission millionaire” to a few friends.

“I don’t care about the money,” I told them. “I’m only doing it for the story.”

But, as I rambled on about my adventure, I covertly considered the money. I pondered vacations to remote islands, opulent meals at expensive restaurants, shopping sprees in lavish attire. A life without labor.

Then on a sunny Saturday morning, while following the aforementioned list of suggestions/requirements, I went to my interview.

The interview process began when a friendly, motherly woman in a pink track-suit handed me a clipboard with another two-sided personality check-box questionnaire.

Example: When you have to stand in a long line, do you find it?

A. extremely annoying

B. annoying

C. fine

D. not that annoying

E. not annoying at all

The questionnaire itself quickly became annoying. Then tracksuit lady appeared again, requesting to copy my driver’s license.

Upon completion, I was then led into another room where a 30-ish guy ushered me to my seat, then handed me a small book.

“This is our dream book. We like all of our interviewees to take a few minutes and write in it.”

Baffled, I took the book, and smiled as he left me alone to fill out my page. I practiced my storytelling skills but left out the lavish, money-infused parts—the real dream.

Eventually, he returned and for the next 30 minutes, we discussed my values, views and qualities. Then it was time for my photo session. On the terrace outside, soaked in bright sunlight—not a good platform for shiny domes—I smiled for the camera as interview-man snapped away, directing me to cross my arms and turn my head certain ways. Tapping into my hours of Tyra-time, I offer face and body variations. Men’s magazine. Side turn. Tits out. Women’s magazine. Pout.

Done.

“Could I ask a few questions about how this all works?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Well,” I began, “Ummm, so, now I go into the database. Then what? Will you send me photos? How does the matching process work?”

“No. Your photos and edited profile get entered into the database. Once the information is entered, only the millionaires will be allowed access. Then, if someone’s interested, we’ll contact you.”

“But how will I know what he looks like when we meet for the date?” I innocently asked.

“We make sure your date is there 15 minutes before you. He will know what you look like and the rest is up to the two of you.”

“So he’s only described to me—no pictures, no written information?”

“Yes. Then if you’re interested, a dinner is set up.”

Both my self-esteem and story-stock began to feel like a market crash. I felt cheap.

A week later, another thank you e-mail arrived informing me my profile was in their files and if I was chosen by a client, they would call to arrange an introduction.

A few more weeks went by. Nothing.

A call never came. Apparently I was a bad investment.

Was I too old? Too poor? The list was endless.

As I tried to make sense of my million-dollar-man-mission, I thought about the dream book. I thought about the private jet, the mansion, the bottomless expense account, and I came to realize a very valuable lesson: that (whether you are rich or poor) seeking the affections of another, based on money, is simply a bad investment in self esteem. Still it’s good to dream. Those are free.

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