By: Jenny Haacker
So long are the days of traditional dating and magical love stories. The modern form of dating and romance has taken shape as popular mobile dating apps like Tinder and Bumble.
If you’re not familiar, these apps let users filter through potential matches with the ease of a swipe. Plain and simple: swipe right for yes, swipe left for no. If both users swipe right, boom. Instant match.
But what really prompts individuals to swipe right? Tinder and Bumble allow users to include a short and typically uninspiring bio consisting of useless information. No, I do not care that you can bench press 200 pounds, or that you like to “turn up” with your boys on the weekend.
Some of worst bios (And yes, these are bios, for all potential matches to see) that I’ve personally or my friends have encountered include these gems:
“I like to spend a lot of my paycheck on pretty girls. My pictures don’t do me justice but I’m not as ugly as you think I am. Messaging me first is a turn on, but also not messaging me is a turn on. Just make sure to respond when I do.”
“Not looking for a girlfriend. Just a hot girl to have sex with, only here for the weekend.”
“Looking for a feminist to buy me dinner, then fuck away her daddy issues for dessert.”
Once you get past the bio, the next struggle is figuring out if you want to invest your time in a potential match. I myself have experienced (endured?) multiple Tinder dates and even engaged in one Tinder relationship. Some of the worst topics of conversation encountered during my short-lived Tinder phase included a doctor who talked about his masturbation routine during dinner, the almost-pop-star whose original soundtrack was stolen by, of course, Justin Bieber, and, last but not least, the guy with an interracial sexual fetish.
This brings me to my one and only Tinder relationship.
To protect the poor soul, we’ll call him Michael. The Michael/Jenny love story is like nothing most will experience in their lifetimes. Michael and I met on Tinder back in October of 2016. He was charming, likeable, normal (500pts), and had a bio that passed the test.
Michael and I dated for about two months. After a month of dinners, drinks and movies, he asked to be exclusive. About a month later, I was at my local gym when two girls rush to me in a panic,
“Jenny, are you still dating Michael?”
I respond, with a reluctant and increasingly nervous, “Yes… Why?”
Lo and behold, I learned of Michael’s interracial sexual fetish. In the time that we were dating, Michael had produced a fake Tinder profile disguised as an African-American man. Keep in mind, the Michael I had been dating for two months was white. A brown haired, Caucasian male from Washington state.
After confronting Michael, I learned that he had been talking to multiple women at once and had an interracial sexual fetish requiring him to embody an African-American male to feel sexually satisfied.
Never in my life have I been more confused. I’m a 5’2″, blonde, white female, so, you tell me: how is this supposed to work?
After an hour-long phone conversation trying to understand Michael’s deep-rooted emotional confession, I decided to leave Michael and Tinder for good.
Although this experience brought me some perspective and possibly the most outrageous Tinder nightmare story, I think I’ll leave Tinder to the more adventurous daters in my generation. And, of course, that’s not to say that love can’t be found on Tinder or other mobile dating apps. But as a 22 year old, already sick of the digital dating world, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to resort back to magical love stories and more traditional ways of dating.
Swipe right if you agree.