There have been many articles penned about Tinder, most recently the Vanity Fair profile entitled “Tinder and the Dawn of the “Dating Apocalypse.” It is as hyperbolic as it is clueless. Casual sex is not new, only easier thanks to technology. The same goes for ordering food. You don’t see panic over that, so why be pressed about this? If you don’t need or want Tinder to be the Seamless for sex, then don’t use it as such. If you’d rather meet people the old fashioned way, don’t use it at all.
For those of us who actually appreciate the dating app, it can be a great way to meet people without a lot of effort. However, it could be a whole lot sweeter for the hook-up crew and those who are swiping for true love—if people used it better. Let me explain.
Picture it: Me, on my iPhone 6 that I drop way too much, scrolling through Tinder looking for, uh, love or something. As I swipe left through a sea of bugawoofs, weirdos, and White guys old enough to have voted for Ronald Reagan, I spot a bae. In my head, I instantly think, “Jesus, let us match. No, I haven’t been to church in a while, but I listen to Mary Mary’s ‘Walking” like er’day. Help me out!”
And he swiped me too! And it’s ON.
Except not much happens afterwards. Why? Because the handsome, but nonetheless useless somebody turns into a less friendly version of Casper the Ghost.
Riddle me this, my virtual boo-seeking-brethren: Why match someone – which signifies some level of interest even if nominal – only to pretend your fingers broke, your phone died, or you suddenly develop a serious case of illiteracy? I am used to having to approach people because I allegedly look “unapproachable” (code for “resting bitch face” and/or they scared and need to go to church) so I already know to make the first move. However, that doesn’t excuse not saying anything at all – even after I take the lead with a greeting.
I mean, if I wanted to be ignored, I’d take this unfriendly face of mine and go to a gay bar and get drunk – and then wait for people to speak to me and share their trifling intentions. (Insert the 100 emoji here. Two or three, if you’re feeling generous.)
If you are someone who engages in the practice of swiping in silence, I want you to know that you’re a horrible person. Not entirely as bad as Donald Trump, but very much on par with the other folks running for the Republican presidential nomination. Yes, I am being judgmental, but I am totally comfortable with that. You deserve this good contempt.
I have more complaints about Tinder.
Among them: people lying about their ages. When I say I want someone 25 to 35 (okay 23 to 35, leave me alone), I mean what I say. I don’t want to match you only to discover that your version of 27 is 19 or 22 on your state-issued ID. Thankfully, I’m not a creep, however, there are some no good predators out there just waiting to sucker a minor into a dangerous situation. See, the recent story about Rosie O’Donnell’s daughter. Or think of who used to sell you Subway sandwiches.
Stop lying about your ages, people, and if you’re not 18, you better take yourself to the damn playground.
Oh, and don’t lie about your body type either. I’m not exactly where I want to be either, but if you can’t Photoshop yourself on sight, quit playing games and be honest.
My last Tinder gripe is directed towards myself. Why, oh why, do I swipe under the influence? I wear contacts and Lord knows my eye sockets get dry around one too many glasses of brown liquor. I end up squinting the wrong way and find myself engaging with people I wouldn’t talk to with your hands. Yes, that sounds a little mean, but I accept that about myself. My episode of Iyanla, Fix My Life has yet to be booked. But it’s coming.
The rest of my complaints are totally valid, though. Here is the moral of this story: don’t swipe and ghost, don’t use Kim Kardashian’s IG photoshop app to make your profile pics and in my case, hand my phone to a friend after a certain period during happy hour. You’ve been warned. Tell a friend.