Over the past three days I have managed to flirt my way through the many layers of Tinder, which became increasingly similar to those Dante managed to scathe in the Inferno. Difference is, Dante was never bombarded by eggplant emoji’s and water droplets (romantic, I know).
To start at the beginning of this drama, I need to explain why. I hated the idea of Tinder. I understand the appeal, but I think the reality has become creepy. Yet, I had friends doing it as a joke and I wanted to laugh too. So I went to my local App Store in the settings box of my phone, and downloaded it. At first you log on, post a couple of pictures of yourself, create some goofy bio, set up your location, it’s cute. However, it doesn’t stay that way. Swiping left and right is all fun and games but Tinder plays into one of the greatest flaws within society today. Going off something based on how it looks. The same goes for those who swiped right on me. Granted, I wasn’t the one sending pictures of my lower extremities, but they still don’t know who I am either. When you and someone swipe right on each other, you become a “match”. There’s little hearts and whatever that surround your pictures and you become free to message each other.
I started off getting messages from 22 year olds, 25, 20, a decent age range that I had selected, just to avoid the older men. In my naivety, I didn’t know creepy comes in all ages. The first couple of messages were complimenting how beautiful I was, what was my number, things of that sort. This was what I call the “Surface Layer”. Then I reached another layer, the one of “Double Messages”. I quickly learned that people’s egos are on the line here apparently, and they don’t hold back. I found if I didn’t reply, I would get hit with mad face emoji’s, or “Damn ok, you don’t wanna talk now”. I swear, the time in between the initial message and the following wasn’t even enough for me to go make myself a cup of coffee (which is exactly what I was trying to do).
Then I reached the level of “I Need To Follow You On Everything”. I had linked my Instagram to try to get more followers, even though I knew it was dumb because I don’t post, so why would I care? But, everyone else did it, so like a sheep in a herd, I followed. Those I was not responding to started going in on my Instagram. Then on my Facebook once they found my name, asking for my Snapchat, my number, where I live, etc. This got creepy. I was getting afraid I was going to start getting Christmas cards. Once I blocked and changed my profile to solely be able to contact me on Tinder, I had made my way to a more personal level. One I was heartbroken by, the “I use pictures of my Dogs in my profile to distract from the fact that I’m a Douchebag”. That’s like tripping an older woman in the street but explaining that you volunteer at a senior center, so its ok. After my interactions with the assh*les on this level, I was ready to call ASPCA, because no dog should be subjected to people like that.
On this level, which was possibly the lowest, is when the aggressiveness kicked into high gear. The messages were straight up vile. Granted, they were honest, but I was stunned that men actually speak this way to women. I got a message which so delicately read “I hope you have pet insurance, cause I’m about to destroy that p*ssy”. Now, given my friends were doing it as a joke, I figured some of these guys should be too. In my world no one really uses a line like that and expects to actually make a move. So I replied with my little laughing face, “Damn. You didn’t even ask me what my favorite color was”. To which my man Brock’s reply was “don’t care, just want your p*ssy”. And with that, I stopped answering. These men were going into detail about their desires and to be quite frank, many of them were disturbingly violent. Then with such ease, they followed with “so when are you free”. That’s the same question I should be asking them, on the phone, when they end up in some county jail after fulfilling a fantasy. But I digress.
Tinder was not fun, I didn’t even get a laugh out of this. It gave me anxiety in all honesty, having to block and secure my profiles, make sure everything was deleted for real, take down pictures. And I know “I did this to myself”. I understand, however, wrong is wrong. And the way we speak to each other is vile and quite sad. No one, even on a hookup app, should be spoken to that way. Hooking up doesn’t disregard the fact that we still deserve respect. So if I could give you anything from this journey through Douchebags Inferno, it’s don’t be distracted by a nice profile picture, but MOST importantly, remember that some people use pictures of their dogs to do evil. Just saying. It’s a sad, inconceivable truth, but all things are possible apparently when you’re on Tinder.