Navigating through dating apps can be terrifying after coming out of a long-term relationship. Everyone seems so foreign and dangerous. Add a global pandemic into the mix, and now you have a recipe for paranoia. Every stranger seems like a potential for murder, STDs and coronavirus. It was terrifying going from the safe, secure nature of a two-year relationship to symbolically being thrown to the sharks — or rather gators. Being single at the University of Florida is not for novices.
I was with my ex-boyfriend for about two years. We met the first week of freshman year and were inseparable ever since. We were part of all the same friend groups and our lives were so intertwined. After our breakup, I was looking forward to in-person classes. Of course, when classes went online, I felt SOL. How was I supposed to get past this when I couldn’t meet anyone new? Oh, yeah . . . dating apps.
I’m a traditional girl. Sure, I’m a Democrat and I’m a feminist, but I was raised in a small, Southern Baptist town in North Florida. When I moved there, the town only had a Winn-Dixie, Home Depot and a Whataburger. (Yeah, we had a Whataburger in Florida; those are hard to come by.) It’s the epitome of a typical bible belt town. Even raised without religion, I was taught the Bible in public school, which was required for AP Literature, and those values are ingrained in me. While I respect a woman’s choice to experience their sexuality in their own way, I understand that it’s not for me.
My roommates and I all came to Gainesville this Fall after breakups with our boyfriends. We were feeling desperate for human contact and feeling invisible. We made our way through every dating application in the app store, hoping to find a guy for the semester. They had a very strict goal.
“Swipe right on every Greek life member. . . maybe non-Greek life members if they’re cute,” my roommate said to me in regard to her activity on Tinder. She’s actually doing pretty well! She found a great guy a week into being back in Gainesville. She did, however, also get coronavirus. Take that as you will.
Maybe looking for underground frat parties isn’t your thing. I used Hinge because the app felt a little more conversational. After my breakup, I craved basic intimacy. I wasn’t looking for one-night stands or meaningless hookups. I wanted to feel a connection with someone else for a change. Hinge’s platform is different from the swiping that we have all come to love from Tinder. I could see all the guys that liked my profile and their first message. It was a great confidence boost and a way to give guys I wouldn’t normally go for a chance.
My first date in Gainesville was a product of Hinge. He was cute and worked at Olive Garden — a win for me who spends a quarter of my paycheck at the restaurant. I quickly agreed to a date with him.
Our first date was fun. We went thrifting, drank coffee and ate Russian candies. I felt more comfortable with him (a stranger), than I was expecting to. He seemed like a normal, sweet guy until he asked if I thought I could kill someone if I had to.
“What do you mean?” I had asked, incredulously. It seemed like pretty heavy material for a first date. “Like if I were in mortal danger, could I kill my attacker?”
“Yeah, exactly that,” he responded, as if my questioning was completely unfounded. “I feel like I could kill my attacker at a moment’s notice. I don’t think I’d have to be in danger to kill someone.”
Our date ended shortly after that. Thankfully, I didn’t become part of a statistic of dumb women who go on dates with strange men and end up getting killed.
My next date was through Bumble. The guy was sweet and unassuming – or so I thought. Our first date was in the steam tunnels of UF. Sure, I should have known better. This guy lifted up a manhole covering and I willingly climbed through. This one is partly on me. I had so many moments where I could have been like “No, thanks! I’m gonna go home!” Instead, I wound up crawling through the dark underbelly of the University of Florida, hoping that the guy I was with didn’t have a fondness for first-degree murder. Luckily, he didn’t. Still, it made for an interesting and exciting date in more ways than one.
Tinder and similar dating apps can be deeply terrifying. In this day and age, accepting a date is accepting a chance at being murdered, or at the very least, exposed to coronavirus. Hopefully, I can finally meet someone who is more kind than creepy after a few more swipes.