A family member has been raving about Tinder, the dating app, for so long and so vehemently that I installed it on my phone too. Apart from being under the influence of four glasses of Scotch (small glasses, I promise), I downloaded Tinder primarily because of aesthetic considerations: there is one lonely gaping space on the homescreen of my phone, begging to be filled with some app icon.
I signed in with a fake Facebook account because I didn’t actually intend to hook up with random guys on the internet. While it did occur to me that my intention somewhat contradicted the purpose of the app, I didn’t let that bother me. The app crunched my phone data (I may or may have not been too drunk to notice what permissions I’m giving to it) and it spat out a gallery of horrors in (semi-)human form.
I must acknowledge the divilish deviousness of the device because by default, all suggested matches were drawn from my area and were of reasonably adequate age. At the same time I was disappointed by the primitivity of the app in that it only offered a person’s picture, age and area. Hardly anyone bothered to fill in any personal details. So, that’s it, apparently. A picture is ridiculously little for me to inspire interest. I need more info when selecting my new desktop wallpaper.
Still, I was indecently amused by the guys’ photos, including one snapped in a public restroom and another showing a guy with his back facing the camera and his bottom bared (is that supposed to be funny and I have no sense of humour?). I swiped about fifty people left as nope (none in the opposite direction) and uninstalled the thing. Then I filled the blank space on my phone homescreen with a better version of swiping, a keyboard that allows you to swipe instead of typing. And it’s a match.