Tinder *cue the eye rolls and odd looks* has a reputation for enabling hook-up culture on college campuses, and Kenyon’s Tinder isn’t all that unique. When I told friends that I was going to get a Tinder for the week of Valentine’s Day, there was a range in responses, but the eyebrow-raise and the nervous-not-sure-if-you’re-kidding laugh were the two most common ones. I’m not the kind of person who would use Tinder: I’m shy, I use Internet Edge (the newer version of Internet Explorer), I rarely go out on weekends, and I’m more interested in a committed relationship.
But I’m curious. In my Anthropology class on drinking culture, one of our texts theorized that situations that accept or promote drunkenness represent a kind of “time-out” in that they are separated from the context of normal, daily social behavior. When we drink at parties, for example, we can get away with saying things we normally wouldn’t say or doing things we wouldn’t normally do. The rules are looser. Tinder (and most dating sites and apps) embody their own kind of “time-out.” Almost everyone using the app is looking for some kind of connection—usually a romantic one—and this baseline situation creates a unique atmosphere that encourages straightforward flirtation with (sometimes) complete strangers. Tinder especially stands out in how up-front people are said to be about their willingness to just hook up. When you match with someone, you have both acknowledged attraction for the other, and the conversation starts from there.
That being said, I didn’t download Tinder with the intention of hooking up…or even with the intention of developing a relationship. I made a profile and started swiping because I wanted to see if the expectation that everyone was on here to hook up was completely true. I signed up for Tinder to see if I could have a real conversation, to interact honestly with another human that I would not normally have met in real life, without the intention of hooking up with them.
From the way people talked about the app, I expected a lot of gross pickup lines and one or two genuinely interested (and interesting people). After a week, only three of the twenty-six conversations I had were weird in any way. One guy dropped a kind of sexual comment that I would have expected; another asked me to make a sandwich for him (I put that I eat a fluffernutter sandwich every Friday in my description); and the third asked me on a date after a conversation and then asked why I was even on Tinder after I turned him down.
However, the rest of the conversations were harmless. Six or seven didn’t go past the “Hello, how are you?” stage and a handful more consisted of short conversations that were reminiscent of the small-talk you might have with someone while in line at the grocery store. Four were messages with guy friends, with whom I had funny conversations. And ten of my conversations were honest, back-and-forth, getting-to-know-another-human-being conversations. One was a business major at OSU who also wasn’t a huge fan of going out; another was a runner at a nearby college, and one of my favorite conversations was with a guy who was planning to work with premature babies.
And not once did any of those guys try to make a move. Most of the time, they were more than thirty miles away. We were never going to meet up, but they still started a conversation, asked questions, answered mine—they acknowledged the impossibility of a hookup, but still seemed interested in getting to know another human being. If the conversation went on long enough, I asked if they’d ever just made a friend on Tinder, not hooked up. The consensus was yes—I also asked a handful of friends and teammates who echoed those sentiments. Sure, people find hook-ups on the app, but that isn’t the inevitable end to every conversation.
In the end, I can genuinely say that I made at least one friend. To my greatest surprise, I enjoyed the experience: I met people I never would have met, had conversations that would never have happened, had a few boys tell me I was beautiful and intelligent, and continued to spread awareness about the magnificence of the fluffernutter sandwich. The fact of the matter is that Tinder is what you make of it. If you are genuine and honest about what you are doing on the app (or anywhere, really), people will either move on or decide to have a legitimate conversation. It doesn’t always happen the way you want it to, but isn’t that how real life works, too?
In real life, I’ve walked away with a few good librarian pickup lines to add to my reservoir and a little more courage to talk to that cute boy standing in line with me at the post office. If that isn’t a successful experience for this “tattooed wannabe librarian who runs for fun and eats a fluffernutter sandwich every Friday,” I don’t know what is.
Image credits: Taylor Hazan