Can you do me a favor, young internet stranger? Please? Can you just take your phone, find the Tinder app, and delete it? Like, all of it – data, too. Help me help you, because if you’ve gotten this far with me, then we’ve already accomplished the first step: admitting the problem. And the problem is Tinder.
It’s not you. I mean, how could it possibly be you? The age of Tinder died off before the summer solstice of 2014. It had its glory period, but by the end of the day, every day, it was the same cesspool of genetic anomalies that weren’t worth the first “date,” much less a second.
It was cool to have a cheesy pick-up line, or a straightforward one, or one that said absolutely nothing as to ensure a productive conversation with someone approximately zero to a hundred miles away from you. It was an adrenaline rush to get a new Tinder message before likely never responding. Or, on the off chance you did respond, psycho-analyzing every singly syllable with your nearest, dearest, “promise you won’t tell another living soul” friend who can’t judge you because you know too much. Or living in the constant fear of Chris Hansen showing up at your door because they’d send something to the tune of, “Oh, I’m only 17. I don’t know what it says 23 lol.”
But it’s not cool anymore, and we need to talk about it.
What’s new? What’s exciting? What’s changed since I wrote what you’re likely to see in some 20-somethings Tinder profile during its peak… two years ago? Are you less likely to accidentally right swipe a blood relative and then vehemently pray to God they never find out? Does paying for it give you the illusion that it’s a more reliable sex source than just buying a drink at the bar?
I know you’ve deleted it before. You found someone, you didn’t need it — and you were even more afraid of getting caught with it — and so you got rid of it. But then that relationship didn’t work out. What are the kids up to these days? Do they still use Tinder?
You may have changed, but Tinder hasn’t. It’s still full of people Grandma would come back from the grave for, just to bend you over her knee if you brought them home to meet the family. It’s still full of people you would never want to risk accidentally procreation. And now, it’s almost like Facebook — your family knows about it. Your divorced parents? They know about it. Aunts and uncles? They know about it. Your baby cousin who isn’t a baby anymore? On it. Forgive them, Lord, for they know not what they do. But you do, and you’re not someone who just wants to sit around and watch the world burn.
It’s not you. It’s society. It’s the people who still talk about it, it’s the Internet for telling you what’s new with it, and it’s the instant gratification that comes along with finding someone to bone online. Quit talking about it, find something a little more worthwhile, and just let it die.
You’re better than this. Delete the app then go out to happy hour somewhere. You’ll find someone who has a job and can afford a few drinks after work. And isn’t that all anybody wants nowadays? .
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