Tinder has basically become synonymous with stigma, but then how do we explain the static popularity of this app that? It’s pretty simple, actually….we’re all using it, and we’re just too embarrassed to admit it.
Inspired by mutual friends’ Tinder success stories, I hesitantly decided to download the app and connect it to my Facebook. In doing so, I was now available. I was exposed. I had entered the Tinder sphere and in the first few minutes of being there it felt comparable to standing naked in the middle of Union Station. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping to find or discover, but I found that giving others the agency to anonymously decide if they were attracted to me made me feel vulnerable rather than empowered.
Immediately I began swiping—mostly left—until I got my first match. Excited by this prospect I waited to see if he would message me. He didn’t, and I was confused. After all, isn’t this app supposed to be about connecting people to each other? This pattern continued: match and no message. Instead, the matches that I got just sat there, flaccidly, in the right messaging section of the app. Then I had a revolutionary thought: what if I message him first? No. Is this even an option? As I attempted to push aside all of my previous conditioned cinematic brainwashing that women should be pursued and not the other way around, I mustered the courage to message him first. I felt empowered.
While I’ve learned that apps like Tinder can be used to level the patriarchal playing field, they do not erase the societal patterns that we have created and continue to reinforce. Instead, Tinder enforces the presentation of the “digital self”—an ever-expanding and popular form of identity in which we use our identities to create a narrative-self online. Meaning, we tell ourselves that we are “this kind of person” or “that kind of person” and create a front to match the internal narrative that we have fostered. In the case of Tinder, the front takes the form of the Tinder profile, and the notorious Tinder bio.
These representations of the self and interactions are no more than the product of socialization. However, I have come to find that there are three distinct types of men (who identify as heterosexual) on Tinder:
The One Who Wants to Hook Up
He’s upfront, at the very least. Often times the hook-up guy is also the frat guy. It’s not uncommon for this guy to have multiple group pictures, shirtless pictures, or have the term “KCCO” (Keep Calm and Chive On) in his bio.
The One Who Wants a Relationship
He can be harmless, but more often than not, there’s usually something just a little bit off…
The One Who’s Just on Tinder “To Meet People”
It’s an app based on mutual attraction. In the words of Harry Burns from “When Harry Met Sally”, “ Men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.” So, slow your roll, man, and get real already. You’re using Tinder for one of the previous two reasons. You just don’t want to admit it.