Dan Ariely, a professor of behavioral economics at Duke University, has published a fascinating appraisal of human psychology in the realm of dating. His premise is that, more often than not, beautiful people avoid dating prospects on lower rungs; if such a mismatch occurs, there is probably power, or (sometimes) personality to compensate.

Ariely has the best job in the world. He designs experiments that empirically test the observations we made at the middle school lunch table and writes about them in his books on behavioral economics. In the chapter "Hot or Not?" from The Upside of Irrationality, Ariely takes a scientific look at our proverbial "what is she doing with him?" reactions, usually left for pop radio morning talk shows.

Do we drastically limit our prospects for love by standards of lust? Ariely, I think, is stepping into a vast frontier of sociological norms and mores that have been largely neglected by the social sciences. One phenomenon in particular that Ariely examines is the sour grapes strategy.

The concept alludes to Aesop's fable "The Fox and the Grapes," in which a thirsty fox sees a bunch of grapes high up on a branch, but, after several attempts jumping for them, finds that the grapes are too high and thus out of his reach. Having finally given up, the fox walks away, mumbling, "I'm sure they were sour anyway." In Ariely's summation, "the sour grapes concept derived from this tale is the idea that we tend to scorn that which we cannot have" (199).

Ariely then summarizes a series of experiments he used to test the strategies we humans use when we, like the fox, want something (or someone) we can't have. He hypothesizes three reactions that people might employ upon realizing that the gorgeous blonde at the bar is unattainable:

1.     Alter our perception of beauty.
(as in, "Actually, I prefer fat women"—adjusting our preferences to who's realistically in our league).

2.     Consider other attributes.
(as in, "While I'd prefer the hottie, I do value a good sense of humor"—finding contentment in personality, which is within our league).

3.     Don't adapt.
(as in, "I don't like fat women. I prefer the blonde, can't have her, and I'll never adapt to my position in the dating hierarchy").

Through a number of interesting experiments, Ariely concludes that we generally settle into option #2. We prefer the beautiful, while also adapting our desires toward more attainable criteria, such as humor.

Game Theory and dating economics, a la John Nash/ Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind:

In his conclusion, Ariely articulates his own optimistic take on adaptive devaluation (the sour grapes strategy), celebrating the human ability to live with limitations. He writes, "Instead of merely settling for [an unattractive partner], we really do end up changing our perspectives, and in the process increasing our love of the person who is behind the mask of their face and body." Aw.

I wonder if Ariely recognizes the irony in his cheerful take on adaptation: his optimism seems like an adaptive response itself. As Ariely poses the dilemma earlier in the chapter, "Assortative mating [read: hotties sticking with hotties] is good news for the men and women sitting on the top rung of the attractiveness ladder, but what does it mean for the majority of us on the middle or lower rungs?"

Having discovered that, "for the majority of us," assortative mating means settling (adjusting preferences to limitations, whichever you prefer), it is clear that there is some meta-adaptation at work for Ariely and his readers. How do people cognitively adapt to the knowledge that they adapt?

For this question, I think we can rework Ariely's model.

After reading Ariely's work, and discovering that I'm inclined to "settle" for what I can get, I have three possible reactions:

1.     Change my feelings about adaptation.
(This seems to be Ariely's take at the end of the chapter--as in, "I like adaptation. This way, unattractive people are forced to value deeper traits, such as humor and kindness, and thereby learn to love their partners for more than their bodies.)

2.     Admire adaptation to a degree, while also holding some reservations.
(Adaptation is neat, I agree, but don’t all relationships—hot or not—force couples to see beyond the “mask of their body”? Isn’t it also troubling that my adaptation rules out a whole fraction of hotter partners, with whom I might (if I could just win a date) fall deeply in love?)

3.     Don't adapt to adaptation.
(as in, "Adapting is a nice word for what we're really doing--settling. Worse, it's delusional and compromises our ability to think objectively. There's no reason to think that unattainable grapes are sour.*)

Where along these views do you fall? We know Ariely subscribes to the first view (or maybe he pretends to for continuity...after all, the book is called The Upside of Irrationality). What's your take on "settling" and the economics of dating?

*Topic for a future post: The best predictor of a person's behavior and attitudes might just be his inherent limitations. It would be an interesting experiment (maybe newsworthy, in this economy) to survey people about, say, money, and compare respondents' attitudes with their financial situations. I suspect there is a significant correlation between low income and low prioritization of money. Causation might be tough to measure, though. Do people lack money because they believe "money isn't everything," or do people develop the belief "money isn't everything" because they don't have any in the first place? Attitudes, after all, are much more malleable than the lottery of looks and money we're dealt in life and forced to adapt to.

@kingpreface