Tinder. Couldn’t have a worse taste in my mouth if I was sucking on a packet of maggots. It’s been six months of swiping my self confidence straight into the ground, and I’m that crack addict who’s friends and family have contacted A&E for an intervention. I hate the app. It’s a complete waste of my time.  The men who I’ve “matched up” with are a crapshoot and there’s no one else to blame but myself. I mean, I green lighted them.
I’m not going to lie, I didn’t read your profile. I blame Tinder’s sexualizing need for mutual attraction to start a conversation. It’s a tell me I’m hot or GTFO mentality. ‘If I’m a bird, you’re a bird’ Let’s bang.  Either way, this is about if you think I’m cute enough to lie about your age, right? At one point or another I remember having 400 matches. That’s more friends then I have on Facebook; almost as many people in my graduating class. And yet, nobody talks to anybody with substance or honest intent.
The potential for Tinder to be highly effective is there. It’s just being utilized to it’s lowest functionality. If you’ve been single in the past four years, you’ve found yourself swiping through your town. The app literally hands you someone in a specific radius, with a similar attraction level and gives you a foundation to contact each other further. It’s like having your best friend see the man of your dreams at the end of the bar and handing him your number for you. No work on your part, just a head nod and then a date. So why is it so damn difficult to create an ever lasting love with an app that specifically means the tools used to light a fire?
Because men are scumbags. These tools are literally lighting my fire. They’re liars, narcissists, cheaters and fakes. If he’s not four inches shorter than his profile states, he’s got a wife and kids at home. Statistics state that 20% of men on Tinder are already in a relationship. That’s promising, considering that’s become the only pre requisite I have these days. I’ve lowered all of my standards to just being with someone who doesn’t view me as a side piece and the most popular dating app of my generation crunches these numbers. This can’t be healthy.
Sometimes I think about turning a new leaf, fuck it…turning a new tree…and deleting all of my accounts all together. Just regular, old school, bumping into my high school crush at the grocery story type dreaming.  And then I’m back on OkCupid with my slightly better pool of men. Except they’re probably doubling their odds by having a profile on Tinder as well. Which means that god awful statistic bleeds into the group of men who actually spend time answering thought provoking questions. Those OKCupid gold star heroes I once found myself going on dates with, are also swiping dirty. So is my fruit isle fantasy fling. Sigh.
It doesn’t matter how many god awful dates I agree to subject myself to, Tinder is easy and that’s what I’m saying when I use it. I’m saying…I want a man who’s ‘About Me’ section is just a link to more pictures of him in his RVCA shirt, because I don’t care what kind of degree he has, I want to know where he parks his boat. I defend the site for my own use because I feel like no matter how stereotypical the app may be, I’m smart enough to follow up a sexy head shot with a powerful personality. Despite the difficulty level of sifting through the toilet bowl of men on Tinder, I always hold faith that I’m cool enough to find the diamond in the rough.
With that said….somebody please take my phone and permanently delete the option to re download this enterprise of filth. I’ve got carpal tunnel and an open schedule next week and Mr. Conceited-Married-Liar probably hasn’t swiped left a day in his life.

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