Similar to Snapchat, Instagram and Twitter, this red-flamed icon can be found on thousands of smartphones across college campuses. At the beginning of this year, my iPhone folders looked just like everyone else’s with Tinder sandwiched between other social media platforms. Until the day that I deleted it out of existence; in my life, that is.
As many would argue, the app is designed primarily with the goal of hookups in mind. So, one would wonder what a 21-year-old hopeless romantic virgin such as myself was expecting out of such an atmosphere. Better… I expected better. But at the same time, I should have known better.
I’ll try to spare my horror stories for another time, but there’s one prominent point that I’d like to address. Whether you’re on the app seeking a one-night stand or a relationship, you should keep in mind that at the end of the day, it’s only an app and it should not define you in any way.
Over the last couple of years, I let this one app take a huge toll on my self-esteem, which wasn’t all that high to begin with. I cycled through countless disappointments, allowing guys who I’d never even met in person to ruin my day due to the absence of a little red notification at the top of my screen. I obsessively checked the time every single second to make sure that I wasn’t yet again forgotten (or in today’s terms, “ghosted”) by someone who, less than 24 hours ago, told me that they couldn’t wait to take me out and get to know me. It began to feel as though my life was on repeat, as I was constantly left wondering why I wasn’t good enough or exciting enough to keep men interested.
I would observe my friends, envious of how easily they remained detached while attracting multiple guys.
“I just don’t take it seriously,” they would tell me, not knowing that I cried into my pillow the night before over some dude who didn’t matter. I began to wonder what was wrong with me, and why I cared so much when it seemed as though no one else did at all.
After venting to a friend for the umpteenth time about getting ghosted, she spoke the words aloud that I was unwilling to tell myself.
“Maybe you should just get off of Tinder,” she said. At the time it made me so angry because I took the words personally. I felt that she was telling me I was too sensitive, that I was pathetic because I couldn’t handle a freaking app. But, after I calmed down a bit, I realized she only meant well when she said this because she saw how horribly it was affecting me… and, she was absolutely right.
So, I took her advice and completely terminated my account, and ever since that point I’ve had no desire to reinstall it. I’ve come to realize that I’m just not the type of person who’s cut out for Tinder, and that’s ok. Shifting through pictures of people like racks of clothing is not the way that I want to meet a potential partner, and since when did caring become a bad thing? After all, the desire to make meaningful connections doesn’t make you pathetic. It makes you human.