As the
entire card shop window passing public will be aware, Valentine’s
Day is coming. Like a thoughtless, emotionless, charging rhino made
entirely of money, hurtling towards a cliff of doubt, overlooking a
ravine filled with guilt and determined to bring everyone over the
edge with it, it is coming. One way or another it will engulf you.
You will love it, hate it or spend a suspicious amount of energy
projecting the impression that it just doesn’t bother you at all,
yeah? Maybe it doesn’t, whatever, this isn’t about you.
I’m quite a solitary creature - I
enjoy my own company, often seek out a safe space away from other
lifeforms and regularly want to destroy pretty much every other human
I come into contact with. However, I also find myself feeling quite
lonely, quite often. You’d think this disparity would make me a
mysterious, intriguing puzzle, waiting to be unboxed and
painstakingly pieced together in order to reveal the delightful image
that, in this case, isn’t even nearly on the box. You’d think
that one of these two feelings would override the other so that I
wouldn’t keep finding people, building something with them and then pushing
them away, often through the now obviously flimsy walls of the thing
we built, causing untold emotional damage. Possibly to them too.
You’d think more people would swipe right, right? Wrong.
I recently tried Tinder. Let’s just
get that out there, shall we. The whole deal - paid for it and
everything – and it hasn’t helped. If anything, it’s magnified
a few of my deeply rooted issues and I didn’t need that. This
gnarled up, burnt out tree stump is really fucking securely rooted
already. As an example, I am horribly shallow. I knew this but had
allowed myself to normalise it, using Tinder has put a stop to that.
I have spent an unhealthy amount of time swiping left on a series of
probably quite lovely people. Not visually lovely, obviously. Weird
nose. Swipe left. Fat neck. Swipe left. Too thin. Left. Awful
clothes. Yep, you’re getting it, left. Sure, we do this irl but
people look different in the flesh, their attractiveness changes
depending on their behaviour and, crucially, we can’t physically
brush them aside like a trading card that doesn’t have the stats
we’re after. Also, perhaps more importantly, I am not getting many
matches (or whatever they’re called) myself. I have never felt as
undesirable as I have since I signed up. A quick google reveals that,
statistically, users spend over an hour a day swiping images of
strangers into either the I Would or Would Not pile. Over an hour. A
day. God, it’s pathetic.
I’m aware that Tinder has a
reputation as a hook-up app rather than a long-term relationship type
thing, and I’m aware that I am not a hook-up type of guy. I’ve
tried it, I didn’t like it and I wasn’t very good at the bit
where you leave them alone afterwards. Still though, I’d imagined
that more people would be interested in knocking boots, even if the
mere suggestion would make me incredibly nervous. I’m fine, I feel
like that needs saying having read what I’ve typed so far. I’m
just not sure what I do now, where I go from here. I’m not even
sure this digital dating thing is the best way to go. I’m getting
Old, I realise that, and thusly I’m finding it harder to move as
graciously along with times as I once did. They are a-changing a
little too much in some areas, if I’m completely honest.
So, do I give up now? Because nobody
wants to talk anymore, in a can I buy you a drink, do you come here
often kinda way, and my expectations of looks and relationships have
been pushed to ridiculous heights because of films and television and
probably porn and previous partners and my eyes and oh my god I’m a
monster. Why am I not just happy to be? What am I hoping someone else
will bring to the life table? Why the shit am I asking you?
Ultimately, I have decided I won’t be using Tinder after the month
is up. I’ll be using it until then, obviously. I’ve bloody well
paid for it and there are children in Africa who’d love to silently
judge the fuckability of complete strangers while hoping someone’s
positively judging them back. Poor little sods.
I’m happier, and more comfortable, awkwardly approaching women in bars, slurring something hopefully
hilarious and charming at them and seeing if they lunge at me in a
sexy way or a violent way. Or a violently sexy way. Also if I don’t cancel my subscription
soon I’m pretty sure I’ll be walking up to them and rubbing my
thumb across their face while cheerfully saying ‘NOPE’.
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