Let’s talk Tinder. Let’s talk awful dating habits in general.
I have a mostly hate/love to hate relationship with the hookup app that has taken millennials by storm. I hate that it has become so ingrained into our culture so quickly. I hate that I can’t go to a stand-up night without seeing at least one comic discuss Tinder. I hate that jokes about Tinder became prevalent overnight and that any and all things I have to say about Tinder are now cheapened by the fact that every comic has something to say about Tinder. I admit that in that regard, my feelings about Tinder stem from my own selfishness; I want to the the authoritative voice on why Tinder will destroy the human race long before the sun expands to the point of incinerating the earth. That said, I love talking about how Tinder is destroying the planet, so there we go.
I downloaded the app during a cell phone promotion. Half of the campaign was us standing on corners, begging those who passed by to let us tell them at least one cool thing about the devices we waved in their face. Eventually, we opted to stop bothering the public and pass the hours by downloading apps and playing games.
“Oh snap,” someone called out, “you can download Tinder on these!”
By lunch, we had collectively swiped through approximately one billion* people. Tinder felt more like a game than an actual hookup/relationship facilitator. It’s hard to take a dating program seriously when all the potential partners look more like extras from The Wolf of Wall Street B-roll than actual people. I deleted the account before I left that day.
Tinder is awful for a person like me. I’m not a user, mind you. I’m just the sort of person who would find out that you were on Tinder and would think something like, “You’re on Tinder? Ew, get away from me before I catch it!”
It wasn’t always like this. The very first time I ever heard about Tinder happened when an acquaintance of mine, who had been single for years, actually found a legitimate partner through the app.
“I’m so embarrassed when I tell people how we met,” she had said, “But we’ve been together for three months and he treats me like a queen. I’m in love.”
That was a year ago and the photographs of their warm embraces still pop up on Instagram, so I assume that the tinder fueled a strong, steady flame. Feel free to use that; I doubt I’ll ever find a story of tinder-grown true love between two normal, sane adults again.
A few months ago, I joined a closed group on Facebook for women. Most of the members reside in LA, so I figured it would be a great way to try and make some friends and acclimate a little bit more to LA culture and women in general (because I have problems with that.) There are approximately 4,000 members between Los Angeles and New York City. Some days I see some really interesting posts or discussions. Quite often, however, it’s a lot of women who are bringing up no-brainer personal problems – and Tinder. Lots of Tinder. Well, let me rephrase that: lots of dick picks and lots of Tinder.
These are the types of guys I read about on Tinder.
“I had a booty call over the other night. He’s doing me from behind. Except then he stops for a second and when he starts back up again, I know that he took the condom off. WTF?”
My internal response: WTF indeed. She goes on to say that she sent him home. That’s great, sister! You sent him home. But still, this question plagues my brain: how in the world does a scumbag like that weasel his way into your apartment in the first place? Social cues are real. They are real things. The “uh oh” feeling is a real thing. What the actual fuck is happening to women in the upbringing process that renders them incapable of detecting cues that let them know that someone is bad news? By the time you’re 25+, you should have had enough experiences to be able to identify a creep 9 out of 10 times. If someone sends you inappropriate messages after you meet them in a bar, DON’T BRING THEM INTO YOUR LIVING SPACE. If you have not expressed interest in receiving a dick pic, yet someone still sends you a picture of their penis, DO NOT BRING THEM INTO YOUR LIVING SPACE.
Also, wait. People use the phrase Booty Call? I can’t bring myself to do it. I stick with long versions:
“The person that I sometimes do it with,” or, “This is the person that I make stand four feet away from me when I’m not having sex with them.”
“I’ve been single for less than 48 hrs. For future reference… Is tinder a hook up app. I’m so confused by the awkward msgs from guys about my boobs.”
My internal thoughts: Yes. Tinder is a hook-up app. Also, confusion is not what you should be feeling when total strangers ask you about your boobs. You should be angry.
Tinder Guy: You slut.
Tinder Guy: In a good way.
Girl: Thank you?
Tinder Guy: No for real though are you
Girl: I don’t know what to say. I’m going to say no.
Tinder Guy: So you don’t like to have sex.
Girl: I don’t see what me liking sex has to do with me being a slut?
My internal thoughts: Burn him alive. Also, you should have given him a what-for the second the slut word popped up. Or sent him a photograph of a severed penis. You can find them easily on Google Image search.
On top of Whitney Wolfe’s lawsuit and the general assumption that start-up culture reeks of bro-tastic women haters who took a break from finance to learn coding and infiltrate the fastest growing industry industry in the world, you have the chunk of population that keeps these kids in business. I don’t understand why women continue to tolerate this kind of behavior. We don’t have to. We just don’t.
We CAN help stop it.
Some of the girls in the group are beginning to realize this. Posts like these give me a little bit of hope:
“I have deleted my tinder. and my OKC.
CAN I GET AN AMEN!?!
…those boys tho…. NOT REAL LIFE.”
Nope. Not real life at all.