A popular post on my blog is called “Why I’m Not on Tinder.” I guess this is because so many of us are on Tinder, or some of us just like to google “Swedish bondage sex Tinder” and “Alexicat sextreme naked pics”, therefore landing on that article. Yep, those are all SEO’s to lead you straight here. Welcome, fellow dirty degenerates! You’ve come to the right place!
I wrote said piece about a year ago when I was a Tinder virgin. (Guess that’s another one I’ll be seeing in the popular search terms now: “Sex with Tinder Virgin.” Sure. Why not.) After I wrote that post, friends pestered me to get it (I know everybody says that, but I’ll say it anyway.) It’s great seriously how can you diss it if you haven’t tried it you’re so boring blah blah blah. Alright then! In the interest of… research… I downloaded the dating app to see what it was all about.
My immediate reaction was unease – fuck fuck fuck I accidentally swiped yes on someone who looks like he lives in a morgue type situations occurred frequently, due partly to me being technologically challenged, and perhaps partly because I have a deep, sincere attraction to morgues? Guess we’ll never know. Or will we?
With the Freudian slip of my fingers, I became increasingly sure of myself on the app. After just a day or two, I could deduct that most of the guys I swiped Yes on had swiped Yes on me too – Happy Days! What an excellent tool to stroke my already blooming ego with! My girlfriends assured me that this was natural, my male friends concurring – a guys criteria on Tinder goes something like: “Is it human?” “Is it fuckable?” and possibly “Is it fuckable in the dark/ when shitfaced?” I believe a girl’s criteria is more along the lines of “Is he a psychopath?” “Where will he take me for dinner?” and “What would our kids look like?” Ah, Venus and Mars, Venus and Mars.
I struck up a few convos with potentially interesting guys. The usual: bankers, racecar drivers, photographers, creatives, RKOI’s, Eligible Bachelors. When I tindered in Notting Hill, there was an abundance of bankers, actors, filmmakers. In Chelsea: bankers, friends, friends of friends. In Shoreditch, bankers, all types of creatives. Bankers love tinder.
The interesting convos often turned sour for me very quickly, when the dude tried to ask me out for face-to-face meetups too soon. Excuse me, but I haven’t completely ruled out the possibility of you being a murderer (hmm would that mean you have access to the morgue? Perhaps you’re one of those killer detectives.)
I will admit to you right now: I never went on one single Tinder date. After about three weeks of using it, I started getting agitated every time someone wrote me: I seriously disliked the whole thing. Why did it make me feel so uneasy? It felt contrived, unnecessary. Nevertheless, I was reluctant to delete it: I still found it fascinating. The screen shots! Oh, the screen shots! My Screenshot Collection multiplied during my time on the app, but of course I won’t publish them here. Well, maybe one or two, if I drunk – blog sometime in the near future.
So here was another issue: The guys I was talking to were getting bitchy and whiney– why aren’t you answering, have I offended you? Hmm, not really, no, but these bad pickup lines straight from The Game are actually quite fucking offensive. And you’re already quoting things from my blog after 1 minute of writing with me – stalk much? Actually, that just made me feel flattered. The ones who did that were considered keepers (not to mention their excellent taste in Blawg! Kudos to you sir!) But, like, you know when I write about Scary Street Stalker’s and shit? Yeaaah. They’re aaaalll on Tinder.
Tinder is not for me. I am the first to admit that perhaps I should’ve given a few of those nice blokes a chance: I’m sure we could’ve had a good time/ had beautiful children. But the truth is that each time that little fiery symbol lit up with a notification, I was left stone cold.
Do you think I overreact?