Tinder Surprise! My Dangerous Love Affair With the New Dating App


A few weeks back, I heard murmurings of a new dating app called Tinder. Someone had dressed it as “Grindr, but for straight people”. Now, for all of you who don’t know, Grindr is – in my limited knowledge – an app that uses your location to search for potential mates that are in your area. You make contact. You agree to meet. You agree to meat.

But could such a thing work for mixed sexes? How much of a merry dance would I have to lead before I get to feast on what I set out to do? And how can I tell just how fat they are? The whole thing intrigued me, and upon meeting a friend who revealed to me that he has enjoyed modest success (or ‘sex’ as it’s known), I of course decided to dip my feet in the pheromone pool that is Tinder.

And this is how it works:
1. You upload a photo of your mug, giving a false representation of who you really are. Try and make yourself seem fun, but cool at the same time. Hide your bad features, like that crooked nose or that misshapen ear. Preferably choose a shot from a holiday. Let’s face it; everyone looks kind of do-able on holiday.

After this is decided upon, you may add four more photos. But be careful, the more photos you upload, the chances of revealing what you actually look like improve significantly.

2. Once the photos are sorted, you can add a tagline. Try something honest and heartfelt like; “Fresh out of prison and gagging for a fuck”. Or perhaps something modest like; “If you don’t choose me I’ll kill myself”. After all, just a little information can go a long way.

3. Once that’s done you’re ready to go. No long-winded profile filled with lies to trick potential suitors (that’s what the photos are for). Just your mug, and maybe a tagline. You then get touted around members of the opposite sex who decide whether you’re worthy of their flower. At the same time you are receiving photo after photo of potential mates yourself. You quickly swipe a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. If two of you confirm a ‘yes’ then you are both notified and henceforth you can begin to chat as you see fit. Or such is the case, ignore each other, rueful of the decision to ‘yes’ them in such haste.

Seems a bit harsh. In fact, it’s downright judgemental and cavernously shallow. When logged in, I feel like a medieval king, awaiting a chain-gang of potential sex partners. They kneel, offering me their best smiles and hopeful eyes. I sit on my throne and within seconds make judgment on whether this meat is worthy of my presence, arrogantly ignorant to my existence as a truly crass inhumane shallow fuckwit.

So, as you can imagine, it’s lots of fun.

And it really is lots of fun. Scanning through faces of all shapes, sizes and colour. It’s like a deluded Top Trumps, or the game Guess Who wanted to be. I suppose it’s not really any different to what I would do in a pub or a nightclub (or an old-peoples’ home). Besides, seeing people trying to appear attractive is always entertaining. But of course, ultimately, it’s all about the ‘matches’. I don’t know about other people, but for me, my first match was like catching my first wave. I think it’s fair to say that I was ‘well chuffed’. Once I had that feeling I was hooked, spending hours trying to get matches.

“No. No. No. No. Noooo. No. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. No. Oh my god. No. Oh yes. Yes. No. No. No. No.”

My mutterings can be too annoying, I sometimes feel I’m turning into that ‘Yes/No’ bloke from The Vicar Of Dibley. It wasn’t long before my flatmate started to get wise to my vocal ticks, and he was soon enquiring as to what Tinder is. Once I had explained the depth of evil, Dave seemed somewhat enthused. And pretty soon – as a household – we were gathering round my phone, perusing the female conveyer belt. Mocking, perving, laughing. Yes, we felt wrong, and shallow, and heartless. But it was fun. And that’s what counts.

Just don’t take it too seriously. Don’t get too down if you don’t get a match. Perhaps the photo of you with vomit running down your chin is putting people off? Perhaps people don’t like to see a photo of you performing fellatio on male colleagues?

Perhaps they do?

Whatever works to get your foot in the door I reckon. And girls, just so you know, photos of cleavage work.

But I will say this; If you are reliant on your personality and not your looks to get you through life, then don’t bother. You’re fucked. Seriously, you’ve got a great radio voice. Make an app for that.

As for my match? Well, within ten minutes we had set up a date. Within a day she had cancelled. I think that’s what you call a whirlwind romance.

You can also find Alfie at The Huffington Post

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