They were just average Joes from Phoenix, Ariz., none of them married, trying to figure out a way to make a nice dollar in 1995. They already had good jobs, but they wanted something all their own, and being sharp lads, they knew this much: 1) good love is hard to find; and 2) the Internet has shrunk the planet, opening up a world of romantic options.
And so it was that John Adams, Ken Agee and Ron Redburn rented a little house on 24th Street and began an international dating service called A Foreign Affair, a.k.a. loveme.com They ran ads in Russian newspapers asking women to send photos and vital statistics, and several weeks later their website debuted with 300 Russian princesses. Today they are the Manny, Moe and Jack of love. They have profiles of 6,500 women from 49 countries, dozens of clients have married, and they've hired six more employees in Phoenix and 20 in Russia. "It just took off," says Adams, whose love connection was one of the first to go online but who now faces a few hundred competitors.
Let's say, for the sake of discussion, that you've struck out. Maybe it's the belly over the belt or the hair that looks like a deforestation project. Or maybe you're just unlucky. Go to a keyboard, slug in mailorderbrides.com and suddenly you're an international bon vivant. Do you try Ebony Gems of Nubia, the Polish Love Connection or Thai the Knot? You can shop for a mate by age or size. The world is yours.
And not everyone is thrilled about it. Lonely-hearts clubs have been around forever, but the flashy electronic cousin of the mail-order bride catalog has led to as many as 6,000 marriages annually and raised a few eyebrows. Early this month, the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service sent Congress a report recommending that there be stricter regulation and that foreign women be properly warned about the potential for exploitation. Leni Marin, of the Family Violence Prevention Fund in San Francisco, says some matchmakers market foreign women as obedient and submissive. "If you're obedient, then you're a willing sex slave," she says, or so the pitch suggests.
But as women flee economic disaster in Eastern Europe, Asia and elsewhere, the hazards work both ways. Gerry Williams, a photographer for the Philadelphia Inquirer, brought home a mail-order wife from Russia in November 1997. Six months later, as he was leaving for Russia to do a story on the industry, his unhappy bride bolted. "She cleaned me out," says Williams. "She used me to get to America to meet a younger, richer guy."
Adams admits there may be some shady operators but says any relationship is risky and notes that the ins found no more evidence of abuse among mail-order couples than among the general public. "Our clients are bank presidents, educators, professionals of every type," he says. His company sells addresses ($9 apiece for two, $7 apiece for up to 13) and leads 11 tours a year to foreign socials, where men can meet the women they've corresponded with. "I've looked all around here and haven't found anyone," says Jeffrey Porter, 48, who owns a construction company in Crown Point, Ind., and shelled out $3,500 for a July trip to St. Petersburg. "I want someone to share a life with."