Picking up the opposite sex once took confidence, balls and effort. Wing men and women were vital; being smooth was a requirement. Prior to internet dating and phone apps, singles were forced to approach people on the street, converse with strangers and were judged based on first impressions not photos. Romantic chance meetings were a thing; stories of gentleman existed. Dates had to be planned in advanced, flowers were often brought to front doors and the era of bitter angry females was nonexistent. In order to get laid, men and women had to actually get up off the couch and venture out on weekends.
Today I sit alone in my apartment holding a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine and my cellphone. Yet to shower, I remain wearing a pair of pajama pants I wore to sleep and a t-shirt one of my ex boyfriends left me as a souvenir. I might look homeless, I might smell like sleep but my Tinder profile tells a different story. As I push up the extremely large glasses that are basically sliding off my nose, I simultaneously swipe right matching with a guy whose pictures tell me he’s into man buns and hiking.
Chip in hand I receive a message from “Kevin” who hands out a cheesy line to go along with my cheesy Doritos.
“Hi Beautiful” is followed by “what are your plans for today.”
If only Kevin could see me now. He believes he is talking to a seemingly attractive Chelsea who happens to look amazing in several filtered and edited photos. He believes that with a few messages he can convince me that he isn’t using an app to have sex with multiple women. He believes I might be the next name on his list of foolish tail. Kevin believes all of this because this is the world of dating in 2015.
Because Tinder prompts us all to have the attention span of a worm, I am bored of and done with Kevin. Back to the selection process: Ugly, next. Definitely fifty-nine not twenty-nine, next. Ugh, white sunglasses, next. Who would ever use that photo? Next. Too outdoorsy, next. Shirtless pic, next.
While I continue to judge anyone who doesn’t resemble a male celebrity, Kevin has matched with Katie who happens to be open to a quick episode of anything on Netflix and a casual sexual encounter.
This is dating; this is my life.
The reality of Tinder is:
It now takes zero effort to find someone to have sex with. For every one person that is looking for more than sex, there are four looking for nothing but sex.
We have all turned into judgmental assholes who mutter crude insults at anyone imperfect. Suddenly we are acting like posh celebrities who bathe in gold.
Every single person in the city is using the app so you recognize people on the street but walk past them without making eye contact.
All of your ex’s will show up on the app so that’s fun. I once came across a photo of myself on Tinder. Turns out my ex felt the best choice of photo would be one of the two of us… true story.
You might think you deleted the app but guess what, you still show up unless you DEACTIVATE your account properly. “I just saw your boyfriend on Tinder” probably won’t go over well for those of you in relationships who once used Tinder.
Men now think it’s appropriate to invite you over to watch TV on a first date because “Netflix and Chill” is actually a thing. Instead of dinners out I now get invitations to a couch.
There is no way to determine if someone you meet has met ten others that day. Sure some people are kind and respectful; others still smell like sex when they arrive for a date.
So where does this leave us? I mean sure I met my last two boyfriends on Tinder (because where the heck else do you meet people in this city) but I’ve also met a handful of terrible catches. If you ask me, an app that was created to make dating “easier” has made dating much more difficult. Instead of making things easy breezy, it has made a mess of dating… it has made a joke out of all of us really.
Call me bitter, call me jaded. I just miss the old school approach. I can’t keep wondering who is in it for casual sex and who is looking for something more. I won’t continue to fall asleep with a numb thumb due to pre bedtime screening. Why are we looking at a phone screen and not the people in front of us on a daily basis?
So as I sit alone in my apartment holding a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine and my cellphone I think maybe I will shower. Maybe I’ll change out of these pajama pants and throw on a pair of jeans. Maybe the real me, not the Tinder profile me, will leave my apartment. Perhaps instead of swiping right or left, I’ll smile at the people who I shouldn’t be judging. Chances are I won’t meet my prince charming today. Chances are I won’t be approached by several handsome men who want to know if I have plans later today; to be honest, I’d rather not be asked out than be asked out by some guy on Tinder who is probably talking to fifteen women simultaneously. Maybe I’m crazy or maybe I’m just ready to admit that “this just isn’t working.”
I’m ready to bring the confidence, balls and effort back to dating; are you?