Ayn Rand devotees hug over 'Atlas Shrugged'
On the 50th anniversary of the publishing of Rand's seminal book, followers date using a website where romance is pursued selfishly and productively.
from the October 12, 2007 edition
Page 2 of 3
There's a popular game among Objectivists – Concepts in a Hat. Participants write philosophical terms on scraps of paper and drop them into a bowl, draw two or more at random, and explain the connections. The mood can be typical of Objectivist clubs and meetings, says Mr. Zader – impersonal and esoteric in a way "that isn't exactly a chick magnet."
The Atlasphere hasn't overcome the gender gap: Among its nearly 7,000 dating profiles, the ratio of male to female members is about 3.5 to 1. But Zader welcomes women who are tired of hairsplitting battles. For Charlotte Jarrett, an English major at Rollins College in Winter Park, Fla., the virtual tête-à-têtes have brought a kindred spirit to light. One lazy evening last summer, browsing Atlasphere profiles, she discovered an Atlanta man who soon became a close friend. "So often," she says, "we'll come to each other with something we realized while cooking dinner and want to share it, or a heavy question about life or love or work."
Like Ms. Jarrett, many of Rand's most fervent devotees discover her work in late adolescence or early adulthood. Michael Dickey first heard a recording of "Atlas Shrugged" in his early 20s. Nearly a decade later, he still listens to those 50-some double-sided cassettes every year.
Mr. Dickey has hobbies – a lot of them. In addition to a full-time job, he does 3-D rendering and animation, is building a motorcycle, and studies existential risks and the construction of space colonies. A lot of women, he says, "would want me to not do the things I'm doing – they'd want me to go pick apples or something like that." He's searching for someone so passionate about her own goals that she'll tolerate his, too.
Record producer John Brandt, like Dickey, is angling for a productive woman. His studio in Belleville, Mich., is a long way from Rand's Manhattan: On the corner, Ted's Deer Processing looks to be an at-home enterprise; a plastic sign nearby promises turkey shoots on Sundays. Across the street, neighbors have strung yellow caution tape around their Halloween crèche: a skeleton emerges from a wood coffin, a hand claws its way out of the ground, and a torso dangles from a low-hanging tree.
Inside the studio, in a preternatural quiet, Mr. Brandt says, "There's nothing more attractive ... than someone creative or productive." Although the bluejeaned Brandt has lived in Athens, Paris, Dallas, Kansas, Montana, and Nashville, he's still looking for his first truly productive girlfriend. So far, she's not on The Atlasphere, but he'll keep subscribing – if only for the articles.
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