It’s going down, I’m yelling Tinder

Call me a bit behind on the times, but I resisted the urge to download Tinder for as long as I could. What with horror stories of inappropriate requests and meeting men from Dundee *cringe*, I saw no point in wasting my time with the nonsense. But boring nights in and wine-fueled procrastination led to a chance download of the world-renowned dating app, which is geared much more towards casual hookups and verbal harassment than it is to meeting actual people.

Despite all of these obvious deterrents, I figured this could be a new source of entertainment. Seeing as I’ve read every Buzzfeed article dating back to 2006 and I’ve seen nearly every binge-worthy series Netflix has to offer, I sought out the hilarious app everyone was talking about for mild amusement.

Step one: Download and adjust your profile. Only the best profile pics should be seen, and some clever quip that emphasizes your best assets should be on display.

Step two: Start swiping. Now I know, some people will swipe right for everyone just to start up raunchy conversations that they can laugh about. Call me superficial, but I prefer to connect with people that I actually find attractive (shocking, isn’t it?). Small disclaimer, I let my friend see my phone and she started swiping left and right however she pleased, so there are a few odd ones that I’m hiding from.

Step three: Start connecting. Now, I don’t mean to brag, but matches started rolling in. The question is, do you strike up conversation, or do you just wait around? While a few friends matched up, most were actually guys around St Andrews that I’ve never met. So I waited.

All I’ve heard about from friends with Tinder is how guys always make suggestive convos and, from my guy friends, how they swipe right on every girl just for kicks. Obviously I did not do that, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve quickly learned that it is not at all what I had expected. Match after match started off with a quick hello, and rather than conversations going downhill after five seconds, in a few hours I’ve received multiple offers for meeting up for drinks. Let’s be honest, this is a major ego-booster for anyone, and that’s a definite appeal for most crowds that use the app.
I can’t say I was sure where it would lead, but a cocktail or two has never gone amiss. So in slight hesitation of tonight’s plans, I’ll look to Chelsea Handler, effervescent comedian, novelist, and talk show host (basically my dream) for a few words: “I went out with a guy who once told me I didn’t need to drink to make myself more fun to be around. I told him, I’m drinking so that you’re more fun to be around.”

The First (and probably last) Date

So here’s the play-by-play. First, I’m asked for drinks at his. Is this like when a guy asks you back to his for coffee on a night out? They definitely aren’t planning on brewing any coffee. Craftily divert attention with dazzling conversation, and slyly arrange for drinks at the pub instead. He’s late. He’s five minutes late. Commence heavy drinking. Ah, wait, he’s coming through the door now. Let’s get the ball rolling.

Okay, I know it’s the 21st century, and feminism and equality and all that jazz. Call me old fashioned, but when a guy asks you out, he should at least offer to buy you drinks. Mounting frustration over multiple attempts at a witty exchange (which was similar to trying to volley in tennis when you’re alone on the court) and the added company of alcohol was definitely not a recipe for disaster. At least he’s not an axe-murderer, or a fifty-year-old paedophile.

Stifled conversation filled with awkward pauses and wandering eyes made for a long evening. After two hours of this, it was time to leave. Ever the gentleman, he walked me home. Suffice to say, the night ended with an awkward goodbye, and an unexpected invitation to future dates.
Following the infamous first blind date, it appears I have a large number of unexpected suitors.

In an attempt to avoid another awkward meeting, I’ve stuck to strictly social-media based interactions. There are really some lovely people out there, from the slew of St Andreans that you match with, and subsequently run into walking down Market Street a few days later, to the 20-somethings that live miles away and are well-versed in all forms of flattery; we’ll avoid discussing the endless number of guys that pop up from Dundee.

Tinder has now proved not only to be a site for actual hook-ups and dates, but also a major self-confidence boost every time that magical “it’s a match!” shows up across the screen of your smart phone. I do have a few personal favourites in my match section. First, there is the gin-loving, Barbour-wearing 28-year-old who wants to know “what I like to do for fun and what makes me smile” and who thinks I’m at St Andrews as a descendent of William Wallace. There are the ever-appealing boys that quote Journey in hopes of getting laid, as well as the lovely ones who want to know about my hopes and dreams (I wish I was actually kidding about that). And let’s not forget about the overtly sexual one that over-uses Emoticons and tells me how beautiful and amusing I am (I’m not arguing with him though); however, he also thinks I’m posh (I am not posh). What I’ve found to be most interesting is that men are attracted to me, not only based on the pictures of my profile, but on my information; with the use of a more obscure Anchorman reference, I appear to be the girl of every man’s dreams. Who knew my favourite film would help me in the dating world? Certainly, this study has proved to me that online-dating is not nearly as appealing as one may think. It may end well, but it can also end in an utter disaster. Regardless, I will keep at it, if not for the anthropological research, then surely for the #banter.