the annexation of Crimea, pro-Russian
forces are stirring tension in this Black
Sea port, and there are weekly standoffs
between demonstrators who want to be
part of Ukraine and those who want
closer ties to Russia. But for all the
political and economic chaos that has
engulfed Ukraine in the past three
months, one industry is still thriving: the
internet romance trade.
The economies of several Ukrainian cities
are boosted by the surreal and
disingenuous online bride business, and
Odessa is the biggest hub. It does not
take long for a visitor to the city to
stumble upon an "international date" –
there are legions of western men in town
meeting with young women they have
met online, usually with the conversation
facilitated by a translator. At internet
cafes and homes across the city,
thousands of women spend hours each
day chatting to prospective suitors
online.
There is nothing like the prospect of
economic hardship to facilitate
intercontinental liaisons, and so, far from
business drying up in recent months, the
romance and "bride" trade is booming. If
anything, there are now more western
men planning trips to Odessa than there
were last year, when I accompanied a
"romance tour" to Ukraine for a
magazine story. I spent a week in Odessa
with 29 men, all of them hoping to find a
wife during their trip. They were mainly
Americans, but there were also Brits, an
Italian and a Saudi on the tour.
I went with a company called Anastasia
International, which is no grimy
basement operation, but a huge company
with a projected revenue last year of
$140m (£84m). It has thousands of
women in Ukraine and across the world
on its books, available for chats and in-
person meetings with lonely bachelors
across the world looking for a wife.
As internet dating has gone mainstream
over the past decade, Anastasia is
attempting to rebrand what was once
called the "mail-order bride" industry as
something modern and progressive. This
is no longer the preserve of seedy and
exploitative men seeking vulnerable
women from impoverished backgrounds
to work as a longterm sex slave, the
marketing suggests. This is "international
dating", a civilised way to find romance
without borders.
Except that the branding is still
somewhat disturbing. The men pay for
every minute they chat online to a
woman, something that it becomes clear
is a dangerous part of the business
model. The company claims on its
website that finding a woman in Ukraine
is like "dating a model, but with the
values of your grandmother". The men
featured in testimonials are sick of
western women, whom they insist have
forgotten "family values".
'This is game time'
Armed with this information, I was fully
expecting to spend a week being
nauseated by odious men preying on
vulnerable women, and there were
certainly a few on the trip whose
misogyny reached prize-winning levels.
But the overall story was far more
complex.
"This is game time and they're blowing
me off," Todd told me, mystified, one day
over breakfast. It took the 43-year-old
bread-delivery man from Delaware
several months of working overtime to
be able to afford the tour to Ukraine; he
often clocked seven night shifts a week
in order to save the roughly $5,000
(£3,000) he paid to spend a week in
Odessa, and hopefully find a wife.
Todd, who had not succeeded in finding
his other half at home, had something of
a compulsive side to his personality. He
spent months methodically whittling
down 1,500 possible brides on
Anastasia's site to two top candidates. He
then spent thousands of hours and
thousands of dollars chatting with them
online. Things were going swimmingly
with both women. He assumed that his
trip to Odessa would involve picking the
one he liked most and taking her back
with him. But when he arrived, neither
of them answered his calls.
While Todd's expectations for what a
Ukrainian bride might offer were
patently unrealistic, it was troubling to
watch him venture ever further down
the path of disappointment. Many of the
men on the tour were less sympathetic
characters than Todd, but all of them
were lonely. Some of them were
disillusioned with dating scenes in the
west, where women did not give them a
look; others recovering from a divorce or
the death of a spouse.
Another man I spent a lot of time with
was Stephen, a 62-year-old from Texas,
long-divorced, who was on his 11th trip
to Ukraine with the desperate hope of
finding a wife.
"I want a companion, because there are
things I would like to do back home, but
I don't want to do them alone," he told
me. "I want to see the Grand Canyon, but
I don't want to see it on my own. I'm
tired of having nobody to share my life
with."
Stephen ended up meeting a pianist
named Elena on the tour. On date two
she told him she thought he could be her
soulmate. By the end of the week he was
sure he had found his future life partner.
It was an expensive week, with the
dinners, taxis, and payment for a
translator all adding up, but Stephen was
delighted that he had found love.
But love in Odessa is not all it seems.
Perhaps 10 years ago, the scenario had
been what I imagined, with men
swooping in, and women keen to swap
the hard grind of poverty-stricken
Ukraine for a new life in the US, even if
it was a ramshackle house in a North
Dakotan town or a sleepy midwestern
farm, rather than a Manhattan penthouse
or LA beachfront home.
Now, it seems, things are different. None
of the men I became close to on my tour
ended up in lasting relationships, and the
majority appeared to fall victim to a
number of sophisticated scams.
I left Stephen ready to propose, but two
months later he told me by email that it
had all unravelled. The woman let him
know she needed more time before
making a commitment, but suggested
that he return to Odessa and continue
their expensive platonic dates.
Todd did not even get to the date stage;
in retrospect, perhaps a lucky escape.
The women took their cut of cash for
chatting with him, but did not answer his
calls when he arrived. He later wrote to
me: "It took me about a month to process
what happened and get over it. I've
decided to close that chapter in my life
and move on. I am now concentrating on
me and my life and to do things that
make me a better person. And to pursue
the other hopes and dreams that I have.
Will I ever find my other half? One can
only wonder. At least I can say I tried. If I
die a bachelor, so be it."
'Emotional prostitution'
I was able to uncover exactly how the
scams work due to a chance encounter
with Alina, one of the women involved,
who felt weighed down by her collusion
in what she called "emotional
prostitution". She explained the whole
sordid array of techniques, from a light
impersonalised online-chatting version to
a full-service chauffeur-driven platinum
fraud, where men are rinsed of cash for
a full week in Odessa, thinking they are
cementing a lifelong relationship while
actually they are being strung along on
platonic dates that end with them
dispatched to the airport with heavy
hearts and empty wallets. Many of them
come with ridiculous expectations, of
course, but I am not sure that anyone
deserves this treatment.
For the women as well, although
hundreds of them make a living from the
scams, it is not an easy psychological
burden to bear. Alina was evidence of
that, and 29-year-old Chris, the tour's
youngest member, found that when he
confronted his date with accusations
about the nature of the business, she
burst into tears and said she felt awful,
but needed the money to support her
mother after her father had died. Other
women were genuinely looking for a
young and interesting partner and
wanted to leave Ukraine, but spent hours
chatting with elderly men in order to
make money.
Anastasia International, while not
directly colluding in the scams, runs a
highly profitable business model that
allows them to flourish. While real and
lasting liaisons do occasionally form
through the site, more often it only
serves to increase the concentric circles
of mistrust, disappointment and
heartbreak for all involved. Anastasia
insists that it weeds out scams whenever
it finds them , and has banned some
women from the site. It also says it will
reimburse clients who fall victims to
scams, and provides advice on how to
avoid them.
Larry Cervantes, the company
spokesman, wrote to me after the tour:
"It's true that some of these guys are
spending money they don't have. But
guys go broke in the US chasing
American women, as do Brits chasing
Brits. So what's the difference?
Throughout history men have pursued
the unattainable, and throughout history
they've made fools of themselves. How is
this any different?"
But the difference, of course, is that the
company is making a huge profit from
the men making fools of themselves, and
while many women are making money
out of the schemes too, it is not clear that
it is beneficial to them in the longer
term.
Far from ending the practice, the recent
unrest in Ukraine has only enhanced it.
Alina told me that her friends working in
the business are expecting several
American men to arrive in the coming
days, while the less discreetly named
sugardaddyforme.com says it has seen
record numbers of Ukrainian women
sign up in recent months. The new
Ukrainian government has rather a lot on
its plate, but ending the trade in
emotional exploitation is something they
should tackle sooner rather than later.
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