Last week I did the unthinkable. Now when I say ‘unthinkable’, I don’t mean ‘unthinkable’ as in ‘the angry ex- boyfriend did the unthinkable when he strangled the girl who broke his heart’, (in case it’s slipped your notice, writing like Sidney Sheldon isn’t really my forte). I mean the ‘Unicorns will become our pets and poop happiness before this girl joins Tinder’ unthinkable. My experience with Tinder taught me a new term: Tinderella. And yes, I feel as sick typing that word as you feel reading it. ‘Tinderella’, in case you haven’t figured out and have the (extremely low) IQ of the matches who thought calling me this was cute, is a combination of Cinderella and Tinder. Hahaha. It’s funny, isn’t it? Should I wait till you guys stop clutching your stomachs with all that laughing…or as an attempt to control your nausea?
To be fair though, my tryst with Tinder didn’t really last long- I was off it after a couple of hours. I joined the popular dating app as part of a dare defined by a stupidity that’s almost exclusive to my friends, and I found a strange appeal to it. We get to choose the side of us that people see and judge: for example, my Tinder profile says nothing about my love for Taylor Swift, bad Rom Coms, and 19th century romantic literature. I don’t want to be ‘that’ girl. Instead my bio says that I’m a feminist. An animal lover. I’m smart. I like reading. The type of stuff you wish you could hint at when you’re talking to a cute guy in a club instead of just blushing and staring at your awkwardly small hands (yes, I may or may not have awkwardly small hands). We create a ‘tinder personality’.
I also realized, that the guys on Tinder often belong to various ‘groups’ that are defined by their Tinder personalities. They can be divided into a couple of broad categories (as can the girls. Or just…you know…people in general). And I have decided that listing them out is extremely important. I also think that talking about why my cats ignore me is extremely important. Clearly , I don’t prioritize trivial stuff. Now:
- The Tortured Artist: You know the type. The Byronic hero. The guy who might as well have a handbook on getting girls to fall for him. Decent looking- check. A sense of depth beneath the facade of general coolness? Check. A musician/writer/poet/ reader of great books? Check. He’s just damaged enough to show that he’s a bit of a rebel, but not too damaged, not the crazy scary dude on the streets damaged. You know that if y’all actually met in person, as strangers, you’d probably just smile awkwardly, ramble on about random books, and start singing Taylor Swift’s ‘I knew You were Trouble When You Walked In’ in your head. And then you remember how incredibly untidy Taylor’s hair was in that video and how her character obviously forgot to condition it with all that ‘trouble’, and then, suddenly, you’re glad you guys aren’t in the same room. He’s smooth as hell, and you know his lines have been repeated to multiples girls, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s fun. Plus, if you’re lucky, your reading list is suddenly much longer, you hear of new poets, and your taste in music gets infinitely better. Also, the best part? He flatters you without overdoing it.
- The sweet guy: The guy who might as well be dipped in sugar syrup. He’ll throw lines like, “it doesn’t matter if I’m never gonna get any action with you, you’re honestly extremely fun to talk to.” He doesn’t throw around funny LOL answers like Mr. Tortured Artist, but he just makes you feel…like…maybe the cliché about guys is just that? A cliche? He also never hits on you after you tell him to back off. He’s the type of guy Tinder, nay, the world needs more of.
- The seeming soulmate- The nice guy who seems to have it all. Except when you actually start talking, you have absolutely nothing in common. Nothing. I want to write more here, except there’s literally nothing to write about. There’s just general…awkwardness.
- The over sharer: 5 minutes into the conversation and you know about his last relationship, even though you didn’t ask, and you don’t really care. He types soliloquies and you type “K”s. It’s like he’s decided that a random chick on Tinder is his therapist, and suddenly, you’re wishing you were getting paid.
- The track-downer: The guy who’ll track you down on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram when he didn’t get a match and expect you to get flattered by his perseverance. A note to every guy and girl out there- tracking a person from tinder down and facebooking them without their explicit permission, is not flattering or cute. It’s scary and creepy.
The star crossed soul mate: Dramatic, right? But true. Every once in a while you come across the guy who just…has it all. He’s not bad looking. He’s a cat person. He’s a literature major. Except, cruel, cruel Tinder has decided to let him show up in your stack right before you decide to delete your account, but you swipe right anyway hoping you don’t match so that you don’t have to feel bad about deleting the app. But you do. And you want to meet the makers of the app and throw random stuff at them for fun. So you go ahead and delete the app anyway because you’re an idiot, while dramatically thinking, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in ourselves, but in our Tinder stars”, and singing a bad Taylor Swift song.