I have not moved from my couch for 12 hours. I have seen every episode of Blood, Sweat and Heels and Real Housewives of Atlanta. I did mange to go work out for a couple hours but definitely just trudged along halfheartedly on the stairmaster while harassing men on Tinder.
Are you aware of this Tinder situation? Probably. Because most people are more hip to modern day dating trends than I am. Meanwhile I just jump from three-year relationship to three-year relationship. I don’t know what dating is. I’m a penguin, y’all. (Serially monogamous, duh.)
Anyway, Tinder is kind of like sitting at the bar with your girlfriends and judging every man that walks by except you’re in sweatpants on your couch watching Bravo looking at a stream of photos on your phone and the men are doing the same thing to you on the other end and if you both like each other’s picture you get matched so you can then text back and forth, and this I suppose is supposed to lead to something I’m probably not down for.
In my brief social experiment with the app, I can tell you that Tinder is at best an opportunity to be judged by strangers and at worst an excellent way to get murdered. In short, it is not a positive contribution to the world and I can’t. get. enough.
From what I can gather, women on Tinder must be so concerned with a man’s height that the men have taken to putting it in their profiles. Some even add a sarcastic (as I read it) “I promise I’m taller than you in your heels” qualifier to their stats. What a world. What a world… To give you an idea of what’s going on on the girls’ profiles, one guy summed it up for me this way:
“You almost hit the Tinder trifecta: yoga pose outside, mission trip abroad, anddd skydiving. Missed it by one! We would’ve also accepted competition horse-related sports or bridesmaid picture.”
Man profile pictures include: cropped-out-old-girlfriend-but-can-still-see-her-blonde-hair shot, holding-someone-else’s-baby-so-you-know-I’m-good-with-kids-but-don’t-have-my-own shot, camping-hiking-rock-climbing-boating-and-otherwise-outdoor shot, and dog shot.
I’m guessing Tinder’s goal is to keep you in the app as long as possible because that makes them more valuable to whoever will undoubtedly buy them out in another multi-billion dollar acquisition, but they severely underestimated my addiction to cellular devices and ability to do absolutely nothing but scroll through photos on a rainy Sunday. In one two-hour gym session I’d already made my way through all the men ages 30-39 in a 50-mile radius. Using what I think were some pretty stringent judging criteria, I ended up with 18 matches. There’s a PhD candidate (neuroscience!), a photographer, a football player, Ryan Lochte (??), a handful of lawyers and only one guy who uses lots of winky faces. I have low hopes for them all.
Here’s a 100% real conversation I had with a guy who said he liked pickles:
That’s the whole entire conversation, yep.
(Also I’m just kidding, Ryan Lochte didn’t pick me–RUDE–but he is in there for real.)
In addition to learning what Tinder is, I also went Uptown for my sister’s birthday Friday night, got as far away from Uptown as possible with my friends on Saturday night, made s’mores with giant sugared shamrock cookies instead of graham crackers (HELLO), learned that my hydration status is -1.7 (on a 5 point scale) and then drank SO much water, and finally went to the grocery store for the first time in like a month because I’ve been recklessly spending my new paycheck on restaurant food and finally decided to reign it in.
That’s my life. I’ve said too much again.