I’m sure many of you are familiar with Tinder, or at the very least have heard of the site. It’s a highly superficial “dating” app marketed for young people, with a definite emphasis on appearance rather than personality. Your profile can have several photos, your first name, your age, and a tagline, and since it’s connected through Facebook (like everything else), mutual friends of potential matches are also shown. It is location based, so nobody can be further than 50 miles away from wherever you are.
Living in NYC, I’ve been pretty open to Tinder. I would love to meet someone in my age group who is good looking and lives nearby, and I’ve been on several “Tinder dates” this week. Online dating seems inherently sad and desperate to me, but since I’m permanently single, I figured it’s worth a shot. I downloaded Tinder over a year ago and have matched with over three thousand guys–but don’t overreact. It is a battle for me to take this app seriously, and from my own experience and popular opinion among my girlfriends, most male Tinder users are looking for a hookup or one night stand.
This week, I went on three dates with three different guys I met on Tinder: all a few years older than me and all pretty average-looking. On Monday night, I went for drinks in midtown with an investment banker. After two glasses of wine, he suggested we head back to his place (conveniently located across the street), so I excused myself after being promised a phone call and another date. One week later, I haven’t heard from him. On Friday, I was picked up from my apartment and taken to a lovely three course dinner at an Italian restaurant, driven back home right after, kissed on the cheek, and promised another date. Brief conversation has been exchanged since the date, but I am not especially interested. On Saturday night, even though I wasn’t particularly interested in going out, I was convinced when date #3 sent a car to my apartment to pick me up and take me to Chelsea for drinks. Keep in mind, it is presently fashion week in New York and there are stylish people from all over the world flocking to the trendiest areas of Manhattan (read: Chelsea), so I wore a classic LBD and wedges. My date was wearing an ill-fitting striped t-shirt, chubbies, a baseball cap, and flip flops (it was raining). We went to a really cool bar, where he ordered me a beer even though I asked for champagne. After trying unsuccessfully to get me to go back to his apartment (conveniently around the corner) he arranged for a car to take me home, and I have never been happier to get back to the Bronx.
This unsuccessful week of dating has done nothing more than reaffirm my attitude that I do not have time for men at this point in my life. I am more interested in doing well in school, spending time with my friends, and enjoying this beautiful city I call home. My third (and worst) Tinder date made an interesting point that dating in New York is nothing more than a glorified hookup scene, and after my experiences this week, I would have to agree. In a city full of young people who work 80 hour weeks, there are few guys who make time for traditional dating, but hopefully I will find one of them.