Vent #1: Dating Apps
It’s a Sunday afternoon in Washington DC. The sun is white hot and a layer of thick humidity envelops you as you walk. In your arms rests a neatly folded bundle of faded reusable bags. You stop outside of Trader Joe’s, (yes, that Trader Joe’s) and take in the scene unfolding in front of you. Frenzied customers push past you, some dude wearing a yellow Search and Rescue vest compliments your “totally rad energy”, and a shell-shocked crew member returns a line of carts to their rightful place as swarms of customers join the masses that now congregate for 23 cent bananas instead of some good old fashioned Jesus. You brace yourself, then walk inside and reach for the first basket you see. As your hand clasps around the chipped, black handle, someone else’s hand grazes yours. You look up and make eye contact with a set of warm, brown eyes.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” The person says. The more you look at them, the more you realize that they’re kinda cute. You laugh then make a joke to diffuse the tension as a familiar heat creeps across your face.
“It’s okay. I’m just glad I still have my fingers,” You say. In your mind, you debate whether to compliment their eyes. You decide to, but as you open your mouth-
“You have really nice eyes.” They beat you to it.
“Thank you. I was just about to say the same thing.” In that moment, there’s a spark.
Three years later, your dad kisses your right cheek as he takes your arm and escorts you out of the creaky old barn and towards the petal laden aisle. Those same warm, brown eyes you had gazed into all of those years ago well up with tears. Your stomach flips. They grab your right hand as you approach the altar and they give it a tight squeeze, never letting go. 15 minutes later, “I do’s” are exchanged. As you close your eyes and lean in, a faint vibration buzzes from your pocket.
That’s weird. Wedding dresses don’t have pockets.
You open your eyes and suddenly, you’re no longer clutching the love of your life’s hand, you’re clutching the tiny spoon that you’d used to demolish a whole pint of Phish Food. You reach into your pocket, grab your phone, and open it to read the only notification on your lock screen.
You got a like!
You should have realized it was all a dream. Nobody meets anybody in public anymore. Especially you; you still ask your mom to make your doctor’s appointments. The realization almost makes you burst into tears, but just then, your stomach gurgles and a second realization comes. Those weren’t butterflies you were feeling when you looked into your lover’s eyes. You’re lactose intolerant, and you just ate a pint of the best yet most lactose-rich Ben and Jerry’s flavor in a moment of loneliness-induced weakness.
Before dating apps, the rat race was limited to the corporate world. Now, it’s an endless cycle of ghosting, impossibly uncharming pick up lines, failing relationships looking for a third person to drag down with them, and lackluster hook ups. The only way out, according to the apps, is to pay, but the people who do pay are rejected for being losers who had to pay to get a date.
Two years ago, I swore I would never download Tinder. Or Hinge. Or Bumble. My naive self thought that I could just “make a genuine connection in the real world.” That was before I actually experienced the real world. The first week of college, I was so scared of social interaction I hid in my dorm and made photoshop edits of rats. At the club, I hid behind my extroverted friends in fear of sleazy 26 year old men who reeked of Dior Sauvage. In my classes, I had nowhere to hide, but I still managed to avoid talking to anyone that wasn’t my roommate, Julia.
Then, I started a job. At my job, I made a new friend and then, that friend became something else. Days before, Julia tried to convince me to use Tinder because she had met people on it. I downloaded the app, but never made a profile because I thought I was above it. And as I spent more time with my new “friend”, I thought I had proved them all wrong. I had found that fantastical real world connection everyone seeked.
Little did I know I had fallen victim to the newest dating trend: the situationship. That whole ordeal, along with the concept of a situationship, deserves its own entry, but for now, let’s just say that it’s possible to block someone on Pinterest.
So, that leads us to today, where I have been an active dating app user for one year. I’ve deleted and redownloaded Tinder about a dozen times in that year. Ironically enough, the only success I’ve had was with someone I had already met outside of the app, but even that came to a quick, (thankfully) mutual end. Outside of that one time, I’ve been ghosted, I have ghosted, and despite my cries about never meeting anyone, I swipe left on about 95% of the profiles I view.
Perhaps, that’s the root of my, and this whole generation’s, dating struggles. Maybe our standards are too high. Maybe we should lower our standards and be less shallow. This generation’s ideas of beauty and love have been so rotted by social media and influencers, maybe-
Nevermind. I encourage anyone who has this mindset about Tinder, or any dating app at all, to actually use the apps. You will 100% find something worse than “going on a quest to find the legendary g-spot.” At least that one can be interpreted as a joke. I read a bio where someone said that according to the DSM-5, they’re a sociopath. Remember, this is a dating app where your goal is to form connections with people, not have your date checking their gin & tonic for rat poison. These bios are both extremes, but there are way too many profiles that are either disturbingly sadistic or sexual.
Meeting off of the app is a whole different bear. Much like situationships, I have enough stories and thoughts for there to be another entry. But the fact that I have more crazy stories than cute ones should be evidence enough that dating apps aren’t the place where you’re going to find love. Even if you’re not looking for something serious, do you really want to be in the same vicinity as a self-proclaimed sociopath? Especially one that you’ve only met online.
Dying lonely is a very real fear of mine, and so many other people. But at the end of the day, I’d rather deal with the consequences of eating a pint of Phish Food in one sitting than the consequences of meeting up with the wrong person off of Tinder. At least Phish Food won’t ghost me or emotionally manipulate me. Phish Food would never.
