As a Sociology student,
I'm very interested in everything new and shiny that everyone else
seems to be doing, so naturally, I was fairly curious when I heard
about Tinder. You can excuse a lot of things if you're studying
Sociology, it's brilliant – people watching at parties is probably
my favourite out of all these and excellent to make me feel amazing
about my introverted nature, but downloading a mobile dating app
based on society's tendency to judge a book by its (selfie) cover is
pretty good too. The Presentation of Self in Everyday 3G, if you know
what I mean. Goffman applied to virtual realities is pretty much a
hit.
If you don't know what
Tinder is, this is what you certainly don't need to, but might want
to know: Connecting to your Facebook account and tracking your
location, the app will present you with eligible bachelors and potential best friends in your area,
and you can then choose to gift them with a like (swipe their picture
to the right) or ignore the poor souls (swipe to the left). You
better double check this information though, it might well be the
other way around. Tinder will only notify you if you are a mutual
match though, so no hard feelings and sleepless nights crying over strangers with an iPhone who didn't like you back. You can then get in touch, arrange a meeting, and live happily ever after. In
order to convince others of your dateability, you can select a few
pictures (this is an art in itself), write a few sentences about
yourself, and potential matches will also see any Facebook interests
that you two share. This last point might be crucial (spoiler alert: it's not).
The first time I
downloaded Tinder, I was studying for my last exam and under the
impression that I had already watched every single bit of quality television
out there. While this was obviously not true and I discovered both
House of Cards and Masters of Sex soon after, it seemed like a compelling and powerful argument at that time - or at least a
valid excuse. I was on Tinder for about two minutes. Then I stumbled
upon one of the trainers at my gym, panicked (but thankfully not
enough to swipe to the right), and deleted my account.
I didn't delete the app
though, and signed in again a few weeks later to show it to a
friend from home. This time, I chose to do everything by the book.
Apparently, the perfect selection of pictures will prove that you
possess the following qualities and are thus very datable: You're
obviously good-looking (duh), you love working out (extra credits if
it's outdoors, both skiing and surfing are said to work quite
well), and you love to party and just generally have a good time. Aiming to show
my true self to every male Tinder user between 23 and 30 within a
radius of 20 miles, I chose a profile picture which would reveal my
deep passion for arts and crafts and social theory. I also added my
most recent Facebook profile picture to my little picture collection which everyone brave enough to face the intellectual sass and click on my Tinder profile could then take a look at.
This is my personal recipe for success:
I don't think I've
composed a short description of myself, simply because I don't think
anyone needs to know anything that my pictures fail to convey –
show, don't tell, has always been my motto. So far, I have acquired
something along the lines of seven mutual likes. I am very pleased
with that number, considering I have a self-made card as my profile
picture and like approximately one in forty people – mainly those
without crazy party pictures showing them living it up (ain't nobody
got time for that), but preferably those with puppies in their pictures so
we can become great friends and go for walks around Arthur's Seat
discussing the futility of Tinder.
These seven matches also may or may not include one accidental match. I feel very bad about that and hope that someone has also accidentally liked me, to balance out the negative karma. He messaged me too, but I have been too horrified to open the message so far. Now, every time I log onto Tinder, it tells me that I have a new message – both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. One of my other matches actually got in touch too, wondering if he was right to assume that I was not from Scotland. Fair enough, I thought, I would respond to this enquiry truthfully. Unfortunately, the next question was whether I “had done anything fun lately”. I'm not entirely sure what he is expecting. I don't think I will reply to that anytime soon.
These seven matches also may or may not include one accidental match. I feel very bad about that and hope that someone has also accidentally liked me, to balance out the negative karma. He messaged me too, but I have been too horrified to open the message so far. Now, every time I log onto Tinder, it tells me that I have a new message – both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. One of my other matches actually got in touch too, wondering if he was right to assume that I was not from Scotland. Fair enough, I thought, I would respond to this enquiry truthfully. Unfortunately, the next question was whether I “had done anything fun lately”. I'm not entirely sure what he is expecting. I don't think I will reply to that anytime soon.
To wrap up these musings,
here is a list of my five favourite Tinder picture prototypes: 1. The
one where he is doing something crazy on a night out, having a blast.
2. The one where you can't tell which one out of the twenty guys in
the group picture he is (Hint: Probably not the one you are hoping
for). 3. The one where he is posing inbetween two ladies, potentially
also on a night out (Such a catch!) 4. The one where he is taking a
topless mirror selfie (sounds too good to be true, but it is very
much reality), and last but not least, 5. The pensive look out of the
window into nature, and potentially your soul.
To end on a positive note,
I will probably like your profile if you can pull off a kilt and lack
picture prototype 1 to 5. If there is such a thing as Tinder law,
this is it. But to be honest, it is probably time to end this fun social experiment anyways.
