Ah, Tinder. The latest buzz-making matchmaking app and my last obsession. Cause yeah, no more mooching off my friends to play… I created my own account! Hey man, no shame; everybody with a smartphone is drinking that Kool-Aid.
One great thing about Tinder is the fact that it’s semi-anonymous. No last names and few pictures paint an illusion of privacy to unashamedly pursue your online quest for booty. But it feels legit enough, requiring you to sign up with a valid Facebook profile, that finding yourself trapped in some psycho’s car trunk is not as high on the list of fears if meeting up. The person you are viewing is (almost always) real, and the information (first name and age) is probably accurate.
Unless you’re my sister who created Sloth McSlow to satisfy her Tinderiosity:
Either you go on Tinder, or you play Tinder. How people talk about the app is a good indication of how seriously they take its hook-up potential. Sorry to crush your dreams bros, but many ladies are solely on there for an ego boost. There are just as many thundercunts as there are douchebags in this world.
But in regards to those who are really on Tinder to ignite some sparks, the app is no different than any other virtual dating playground. You’ll get all sorts of users ranging from seeking DTFs, real connections, right down to friendly acquaintances. I’ve even swiped through a few couples looking to add a little extra somethin’ somethin’ to the bedroom.
What’s crazy is how addictive it is. Like fo’ real. You will literally spend hours nope-ing the hell out of rando after rando. And for what? Honestly it’s like maintenance stroking your hard-on until the good porn finishes loading; you keep swiping with tired determination until you fall upon an actual “maybe” – or better yet – until you find an absolute YES (the unicorn of Tinder). That or your battery dies.
As a girl, and for simplicity’s sake, there are two types of men: Jerks and Nice Guys. Jerks are players who want to score with your pretty face but not pay for breakfast. Nice Guys always put on a condom and sometimes wear sweaters.
But hold the fuck up. With Tinder, jerk-o-meters get fuzzy. Because even if you think you found a Nice Guy, the dude’s gotta be superficial on some level, right? Tinder matches are founded on aesthetic compatibility after all. It’s a real Catch 22.
So what about superficial assumptions? My swiping system goes as such:
If you’re wearing sunglasses, I assume you have a lazy eye.
Swipe left.
Ed Hardy t-shirt wearers and swagfags alike.
Swipe left.
If you take a selfie while driving? That’s dangerous road conduct and terrible camera angle.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing in a mirror, you probably have short arms.
Swipe left.
If you quote James Dean, it’s just too cliche.
Swipe left.
If you have a tribal tattoo, you’re either 450 or have Chlamydia (don’t know which is worst).
Swipe left.
If you’re smoking a cigar, you have a small penis.
Swipe left.
If you’re shown traveling by backpack, you can’t afford a hotel and you’re probably broke.
Swipe left.
If you’re wearing a fedora, you’re the taint that girls try to bleach off their assholes.
Swipe left.
If you’re doing the Zoolander eyebrow thing, the equivalent of the male “duck face”.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing next to GSP, you look underwhelming by comparison no matter what.
Swipe left.
If you have kids, awwwwww…
Swipe left.
So basically, all guys. Swipe left. I’m window shopping 90% of the time.
Noobs take time to view your account. They appreciate the funny picture where you’re wearing that 3 Amigos sombrero. They give you points for writing a quirky bio. They feel morally obliged to answer your message if you matched.
Pros (you get your badge after, like, 3 days) need less than 0.75 seconds to process your picture. Your face becomes a blur along with every other stranger’s. Swipe, swipe, swi- Awe shit! I just swiped left a ‘maybe’! Oh well, you continue compulsively worsening your tinderitis.
You have to wonder… Would you have really picked out your boyfriends or girlfriends if you had come across them on Tinder? Most likely not.
It’s such a commentary on today’s gen. Entitled, expecting immediate results, and ADD-level commitment. Tinder is the epitome of today’s Grass Is Always Greener society. It’s kind of sad, actually.
The app is fun and it definitely delivers what it promises. But after a couple of weeks, and a few numbers exchanged, and ONE super friendly meet… I decided Tinder wasn’t for me. I started to over-think it, see the bigger picture, and it cheapened the experience of making a connection with someone. So I quit that bitch. Bye Felicia.
And then I got a cat, my new obsession. Now I can never die alone!
I think I’m doing a really good job embracing the single life, don’t you?
Featured photo credit: Denis Bocquet, Flickr CC.
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