Shiver me Tinder?
What the fuck is Tinder?
I know I must sound like a retrograde twenty-something-year-old, the truest form of the hipster, but I swear to the power of contouring (the new new messiah) that I have no idea what it’s for. Swipe right, swipe left, left, left, oh God no, definitely left: Wasn’t it easier when people casually met at a coffee shop? Shit, I miss the nineties I never actually experienced.
For your benefit only (okay, my own) I opened an account to explore the depths of this app, cyber-interviewing many young men about what they used it for. I hoped, I truly hoped, that it wasn’t just a glorified booty call app, but deep inside I was sure that it was, though I definitely suppressed these feelings as to not feel like a total skank.
Regardless of Tinder’s futile attempts at getting me laid, I still managed to annoy the shit out of many French men and I didn’t even have to open my mouth do it. Others were quite compliant, on the other hand, in giving me the necessary information to start writing this post. I went through a lot of fuckity fucks for you guys, you better appreciate this, you damn fools (who am I even talking to?).
Is sex the purpose of Tinder? Is it the sole purpose of Tinder? Well, those nice men that didn’t ask me what I was wearing, did ask me, however, if I was down to meet (otherwise known as down to fuck, but in a clean-cut, maybe even more rapey, way). At least they were decent enough to invite me out for a drink first (also pretty smart, because for all they know I could be morbidly obese while toting a glorious mustache that would make my Mexican heritage proud). Of course, there were a few guys who were completely agreeable, had similar interests, and who I will eventually go out with.
Tinder got creepy real fast. I was going to keep the account open for at least a week, but after five days I started to remember Taken as if it were a bright and shiny flashback signaling a pre-pubescent PTSD. My dad is not Liam Neeson.
Maybe it’s the México in me talking, but Tinder is perfect for date rape. I mean, what if I had gone on my date last night (don’t worry, I didn’t), at some dude’s apartment, only to want to leave after fifteen minutes, leaving the guy with his balls the shade of a pale, baby blue? This is like the classical case of Was It Really Rape?. It would have been, trust me on this, no matter “how much of a spanking” I might have needed (and, yet, I still complain about my sex life). Is it really rape if I didn’t want to have sex, but was feeling the need for speed really deep inside of me? Rape might be a good option at this point. (I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, don’t freak out).
My conclusions? It’s a booty call app with the possibility of turning into our generation’s new dating site (once we’re all thirty-five and newly divorced). As one of the boys I chatted with put so keenly, there are three types of men on Tinder:
Exhibit A: The Hopeless Romantic. This species is rare and uncommon, but he’s most likely on Tinder because everyone has it, other than the fact that he’s a guy with certain needs. He’ll only swipe right if he’s genuinely interested in your description, and will talk to you about it for a while before asking you out. He’s looking for sex (duh) but he’s also looking for a connection. He’ll fall in love with you before he puts on the condom. This is as close to modern day romance as we’ll get, ladies. Chivalry isn’t dead, it’s just being used to get laid.
Exhibit B: The “Tinder is an Extension of My Penis” Douche. You guys remember the Vagina Monologues, right? Well their Tinder chat history could be the male reciprocal of that. They do not waste time; their profiles don’t even have descriptions, just shirtless pics. “Are we going to fuck? Because I do not want to waste time!” I’m told women should be mysterious as to keep their allure, needless to say, so should men. A girl needs a little excitement, flirting, to get her juices flowing. Sex isn’t good without foreplay. Foreplay isn’t good without witty banter. It’s the rule. You can’t skip these steps, unless you want your woman to dry up and enter a pre-menopausic era.
Exhibit C: The Liar Liar Pants on Fire (literally). I love these guys, really. These are abundant on Tinder. They will immediately ask you out. Maybe they’ll feign interest in your interests, but that’s solely for them to know you’re not a creep. Most of them are pretty nice and they pretend like they aren’t only out for sex, but they are. Oh, they most definitely are. They know enough about the game to have “game”, and they use it to their advantage. You want to catch the culprit? You have to think like one. How do slutty girls think? They know that sex and attraction is psychological for women. We don’t think with our vaginas; we fuck with our minds.
Alas, I have met a few interesting people that, unless they fuck it up and make it weird, I fully plan on meeting. I’ve been very honest about my intentions. I mean, there are nicer ways to say that I’m using them to gather intel for my blog, but I haven’t cared about being nice.
So there you have it, questions answered (at least for myself) more questions will probably arise. For now, I will just shower repeatedly until I can’t smell the scent of skank on me (joke’s on you, I can’t smell at all).