Before I say anything, I will preface what you’re about to read with this: I am not new to Tinder. I am not new to the things people say on Tinder, how it works, or that people in my classes may come up on my feed and it will be awkward for the rest of the semester. I have used it in the past in hopes to find someone that shares my love for food and have a happily ever after with (mildly speaking). However, I have never used Tinder solely for the purpose of writing an article, until I decided to channel my inner Gloria Steinem to do just that.
There are roughly 54,250,000 single people living in the United States, and 49,250,000 of these people have tried online dating. About a month ago, I decided to go “undercover” and create a profile on Tinder: 100% the real me, but with no intentions of finding my soulmate or someone to just “hook up” with. I used my humor, good attitude, and endless sarcasticness (plus a love for food) to show the variety of boys (and some men) that I matched with just how awesome I am… and this is what happened. (PSA: names are blurred out to keep an air of mystery, but mostly for some sense of privacy.)
When re-downloading Tinder, I forgot the feelings and the motions that inevitably come with the app: the pressure to have an interesting and appealing profile, the excitement and curiosity that comes within the first few swipes, and the slight giddiness when you get your first match, even your first message. However, something that was new to me was the option to “super like” someone. As if it wasn’t obvious enough to just simply “like” someone, now you could show someone that you really wanted to pursue them, or wanted to really be pursued by them. It was flattering to receive a few super likes, and a few of them offered some interesting convos.
…or not so interesting.
What surprised me the most was the success my bio had with sparking conversations. If anyone knows anything about me, it’s my love for food. So, with the bio of “Be the human version of somebody’s first bite of pizza,” the food-related conversations I had were endless… not that I minded at all.
And obviously, the important questions in life were fired at me almost immediately:
I even matched with the ever-so-famous, ‘Milk.’
As I started racking up matches and laughing at how absurd my messages were (some people openly accepted my sarcastic persona, others were not having it), it struck me that a lot of these conversations would just end. No “nice talking to you, see ya,” or “I like talking to you, let’s get dinner.” Though I wasn’t surprised that the most romantic message I received was “I’ll buy you a pizza, let’s chill,” I was surprised by the fact that only 4-5 matches asked to text me, away from the app, instead. What I also noticed was there was a sort of communicative transition when going from Tinder to texting: the conversations seemed to be more legit when we talked off of Tinder, like having their phone number made it a more real conversation compared to one on an app.
As my month started coming to an end, I realized I had made a pretty big research mistake: I barely messaged anyone myself! But, this also made me realize that most girls wait for the male to message or text first, because that’s “their job.” Well, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and I was often left with nothing…
And then, my want to be funny just got out of hand…
…and some people we’re just not having it.
I guess the biggest lesson I learned was that I clearly needed to work on my game. My humor aside, I really did try taking Tinder as seriously as I possibly could. I promised myself I would last a month on the app, but halfway through, I really just wanted to call it quits. I was also very much over all of the swiping; my thumbs were even starting to hurt. However, I guess it’s true what they say: good things can come when you’re not even looking for them.
What started as a conversation about my appearance *cue eyeroll* (and a super like, fyi) turned into a really, really, really long conversation (on and off of Tinder) about my extensive food history, hate for mushrooms and his love for them, and our mutual love for Chipotle. Honestly, my goal in this case was to joke as much as I could; I would normally never respond to someone calling me “sexy.” Twenty-four hours before my Tinderella persona left Tinder forever, I decided to give this mystery boy a chance… for the article, of course. *cue Kate Hudson in How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days*
So, mystery Tinder boy picked me up on his white horse (aka black VW) and took us to the magical land of Chipotle, where I got to eat Chipotle with a boy that had pretty nice blue eyes and valued my extensive knowledge of everything Chipotle (he even let me convince him to order a bowl instead of a burrito).
Before you anticipate me writing poems about how Tinder brought us together and how I felt myself falling more in love after every bite of guac, that’s not how I felt when Prince Tinder dropped me off at my dorm (if you’re wondering, no, we did not share true love’s first kiss, or any kiss for that matter). It was nerve-wracking, scary, and not to mention dangerous to get into the car of someone I knew from just a dating app and a few snapchats. I ended up going out on a limb on a nice and extremely cute boy I happened to find on Tinder, but it also taught me that not everything is as it seems, and the boy that started a conversation with “god you’re sexy” had a lot to say about things other than my appearance. 136 matches later, I think this whole experience taught me that as much as I value in-person connections from the start, I just might consider downloading Tinder again in the future, and maybe take it a little bit more seriously next time. And, who knows, maybe there will be a second (hopefully Chipotle) date with blue-eyed Prince Tinder in the near future.
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