Tinder

is that a challenge?

“It always seems impossible until it’s done.”
– N. Mandela.

Although I do forget it sometimes, it is a well-established fact in my life that I relish a challenge.

My brother, whom I fondly refer to as The Sibling, is the comedian of our family. One of ‘his’ lines from a few years ago is, without a doubt, “IS THAT A CHALLENGE?!” delivered with a mock booming voice (which isn’t that hard for him considering how low his voice is). So, “Is that a challenge?!” definitely has a special (and random) place within our family’s vernacular.

I digress.

Now, you may or may not remember that a few posts ago I mentioned that I had some Contentment items on my 2014 Bucket List. You may be asking, “How can you make contentment an item you can tick off a Bucket List, Alex?”. To which I would respond,
“You are a smart cookie and, in short, you can’t.”
Then you give me that cute confused look that you do oh, so well.

See, rather than creating something to do this year, I’ve come up with something to not do.

It all began a few weeks ago when I was chatting with a close girlfriend of mine. She’s someone who listens to me ramble about my latest love life, man drama, sagas various and their accompanying stress on a pretty regular basis. i.e. she’s a gem and a patient gem at that. We were discussing Tinder (naturally) as we were crossing Oxford Street at Taylor Square when she shared her recent observations of my love life and I. It went down something like this:

Her: “I don’t think you’ve been very happy.”
Me: “Oh?”
Her: “Yeah. You were really happy being single and now you’re not.”
Me: “Hmm. I think you may have a point… When do you think it started? Post-Hot Muso?”
Her: “No. I think it was just before him.”
Me: “So, around the time I started using Tinder?”
Her: …
Me: “This could explain a lot…”, as I hit my head against a myriad of light bulbs which had suddenly been illuminated.

It took me a bit of time to unravel exactly why Tinder, aka Ego Stroke In The Palm of Your Hand, had actually turned someone who was very happily going about her life with a big dollop of contentment into someone who was (even more) preoccupied with her love life (than usual)… and someone who suddenly found it very dissatisfying.

Here’s my hypothesis: I found Tinder disappointing. See, if you’re inundated with a myriad of ‘matches’ then it’s reasonable to think, “Hey! There’s actually a fairly solid chance that something could actually come of this Tinder thing!”, right? Well, anyway, that was my subconscious logic. And then for nothing (positive) to really come of Tinder I was left feeling… well, disappointed. No, actually ‘disappointed’ isn’t the right word. It made me feel like a less valuable version of myself, because I reasoned that if nothing came to fruition for me on Tinder for god’s sake then what kind of hope did I have in the Real World?

So, during my experience of Tinder I basically went from:

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to

Image

and then

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to

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to

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and then finally

Image

Tinder didn’t make me feel good about myself. The Ego Stroke high lasts for about 5 seconds – just in the way that you can have a mega sugar high and then crash after a slurpee. Tinder is my crappy sugar – no real sustenance or nourishment. I started Tinder in a place of contentment and what did I get from it? A big fat wad of discontentment. Brilllliant.

Once I had FINALLY come to this realisation, I knew that going back on Tinder wouldn’t make the discontentment go away. So, I decided when I was writing my Bucket List for this year that my challenge would be to go for a year without any form of online dating. Tinder. RSVP. OkCupid. eHarmony. Zoosk. Elite Singles. Seeking Arrangement. Be2. Ashley Madison. Match. ALL. OF. THEM.*

That’s right, chipmunks: three hundred and sixty-five days sans online dating. Of any kind.

IS THAT A CHALLENGE?! 

Uhh. Yes, it is. Also, how the hell will you survive, Alex?!

My internal protests lasted for about twenty eight seconds, because as soon as I committed myself to it, I was surprised to realise that I felt tangibly more peaceful. I exhaled deeply. I hadn’t even realised how shallow my breathing had been – it had been that long. Bizarrely enough, I think I found the knowledge that there would be no online dating rather comforting.

Of course, I do genuinely wonder if I’ll meet anyone interesting this year, but I do find it encouraging to remind myself that all of our parents and older family friends met each other without the help of RSVP and eHarmony. It’s also reassuring to know that I do have a track record of meeting people in somewhat bizarre places (if you can consider that reassuring?)

It’s been tempting to log back in over the past nearly four weeks, but so far I haven’t gone back to the dark side… and the vast majority of the time I think I really like it this way. I can feel the contentment I’ve missed so badly slowly, drowsily waking up from its anesthetic.

And anyway, there’s the chance that when I’m spending less time looking down at my smartphone screen I’ll be able to make eye-contact with more gents in real life…

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…. and perhaps one of them will bear some resemblance to Dan Humphrey.
Alex x

* I would like to assure you that I did not have an account for each of these. (Or did I?) No, Alex, you didn’t.

instant crush.

Image“Uhh, 18 yards. That’s my house there with the blue front door.”
– William Thacker, Notting Hill.

 

It’s that time of the year again. And by ‘that time of the year’ I mean ‘the time of the year when we get to vote in Triple J’s Hottest 100’. Obvs. 

I am yet to vote because I am still compiling My List, but something that I can say with surety is that I do have a particular soft spot for this song. (That’s “Instant Crush” by Daft Punk ft. Julian Casablancas if you couldn’t be bothered to look at the hyperlink.) It just makes me want to dance. No, actually, it just makes me dance. God, I love it.

It’s a funny notion the idea of instant attraction, isn’t it? I, being the romcom-loving cheese ball that I am, adore those moments in movies when the two characters who we all know are going to end up together meet each other for the first time. Hollywood has a way of making those moments – whatever they are – sparkle. The result of this for me is that I am always, secretly (well, no longer so secretly), on the hunt for these moments in my own life. And if I can’t find them sometimes I go ahead and create them. I don’t recommend trying that one at home. I am sure you can find something better to do with your time and plus, you end up looking and acting like a stalker. Cute!

I know there have been many scientific studies on attraction – dissecting it into factors, variables, chemicals, hormones, the symmetry of facial features, scent and body language. However, I am no scientist – sorry to disappoint – but I have done some of my own fieldwork, I guess…

 

A few weeks ago I decided I’d give Tinder another whirl. Yeah, I know. Again. My ego wanted a stroke and there’s something about that notification of another Tinder match that is disturbingly unparalleled, ok? Online dating of any sort is a funny thing. Expectations, hopes and reality can collide in such volatile and surprising ways. It becomes a particularly funny thing if and when you get around to meeting up with someone.

Their photo caught your eye. Their blurb made you smile. You start chatting. They seem nice. They ask if you want to meet up. You accept. (And then you stalk them on as many social media platforms as you can think of.)

You drive to the date with the vague comfort that you already know this person a little. Well, in a way. But as you’re sitting at the appointed bar/cafe/restaurant waiting for them to arrive it’s all a game of chance, isn’t it? They’re going to walk in. Say hi. Sit down in front of you. And then, within seconds, perhaps less, you’ll know. All of your online conversations and analyses of their profile pictures become irrelevant when you make eye contact for the first time.

There’s a pair of green eyes – clear sea green – staring back across at me. We fill the gaps in the conversation with glances in opposite directions, deliberately wasting seconds. I part with an “It was nice to meet you” as I give him a peck on the cheek and turn to walk across the road.

 

Then, on the other hand, attraction can catch you off guard, arriving with a thwack to the side of your head…

You have mutual friends and you happen to go up to the bar at the same time at a recent gathering. You haven’t spoken that much before, but you get chatting and then you end up sitting next to each other later on.

As it turns out they’re lovely, interesting and they have substance. Laughter intermingles with the Pimms. And then you turn to properly look at him. There’s a pair of eyes – a tie-dye of tropical waters bordering upon a reef, with a ribbon of golden sand winding its way between the aqua and turquoise – and they’re utterly mesmirising.

Later you’re lying upon the floor with your mutual friend and she happens to bring him up during the conversation. It is then that your brain starts to put the pieces together.

Really?
Perhaps.
Wait.
No.
I don’t think you are.
You can’t be.
It’s inconceivable.
Hold on a sec.
Actually… I think you could be.
What?!
Oh, man.

Here we go again. Perhaps. I think.

Oh, and Happy New Year, chipmunks.

Alex x

the bachelorette: alex’s adventures in tinder-land (the epilogue)

“A simple hello could lead to a million things.”
– A quote I found on Pinterest.

Well, hey there. Believe it or not, it’s nearly time to wrap up this Tinder-land Saga fandango. Sorry to be a party pooper, but don’t worry – I’ll still tell you what happened.

So. Hot Muso and I went on a date. Woot! But before I get caught up in that we have the pre-date to discuss:

The Pre-Date: 

As you may or may not know by now, I have a slight tendency to completely freak out in the hour before going on a date. Up until then I’m chilled as, but as soon as there are less than 61 minutes before I see the gent I am going on a date with things get a tad untidy… Clothes get thrown around my room, I frantically scribble eyeliner across my face, a barrage of profanities are used, I invariably end up sprinting to the bus, I sweat like a neanderthal, oh, and I squeal hysterically on the phone to a friend. Yep, you get the idea: it’s not particularly pretty. Frankly, it’s always a bit of a miracle when I arrive at a date in one piece and then act like a relatively normal human being for the following few hours.

Except things were a bit different this time round because my hysteria kicked in not one, but two hours before the date.. and it wasn’t my regular kind of freak out. Oh, no. That’d be too easy. Instead, I became so irrationally nervous that I started having chest pains and mild heart palpitations. That’s right, kids! I was giving myself a baby heart attack! Why do you sound proud of that, you dingus? 

As I decided that arriving at the date alive was preferable I quickly adopted a mantra, “I am calm and collected and I have nothing to worry about”, which I repeated like a religious zealot until I was able to successfully trick myself into believing it was true. You already know that he’s a lovely guy, so you don’t have anything to worry about! Really? Ohh.. Yeah. You know what? I don’t actually have anything to worry about! I can’t believe I have to put up with this chick every single day. 

Once I’d calmed down I only had one more dilemma to solve before arriving at the date: determining how much cleavage was too much cleavage for a first date. Hmm. A dilemma, indeed. I consulted my friend on the issue, but discreetly taking photos of your cleavage whilst on a packed bus is actually less easy than it sounds. In the end I went with my gut (less is more) and my friend agreed. Phew. And by the way, please don’t go scrolling through my camera roll anytime soon.

The Date:

Now onto the actual date: Believe it or not, I actually made it there. In fact, I arrived there on time. Bravo, Alex!

It was a good date. God, Alex. Use some better adjectives. Ok. Sorry. The date was lovely. It felt comfortable and easy and it was filled with (more) great music. He is a muso, after all. We went to a bar in Darlinghurst that has live blues a couple of nights a week, which was great. It was a fun (and strategic) first date idea as the music was always there to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation (not that we had any). Good one, Hot Muso! 

On that note (oh, that was punny, Alex), some of you may remember that a few months ago I realised that I’m pretty crap at conversation on first dates.. mainly because I usually do anything within my power to not talk about myself. Handy, indeed. (You can read more about that debacle here). Anyway! So, I actually talked about myself rather than bombarding Hot Muso with questions! I’m sure I could have done better, but I was still SO damn proud of myself. Yes, that’s right: I was giving myself a mental high-five whilst on the date. Small achievements, amigos. Small achievements.

Rolls eyes, sighs audibly, continues typing.

My only complaint about the date was that I was hungry. I like eating, ok? And I don’t feel that I need to justify that to anyone. Originally the plan was for a (late) dinner and drinks, so I hadn’t eaten that much in preparation for dinner. Logical. It always annoys me when I rock up to a restaurant or cafe and my companion has already eaten, even though we have specifically organised to eat together. So, I didn’t want to be rude by having already eaten. But then we ended up meeting a bit later than planned and we just drank. So I ate sauvignon blanc for entree and main and had an amaretto on the rocks for dessert. It’s not that I don’t enjoy drinking (duh), but I was RAVENOUS by the time I got home.

To those who think that I could’ve easily fixed the situation by saying, “Hey, I think I’m going to get something to eat”, it’s not that simple – especially if you’re the chick.  It would have been awkward because:
a) it then reminds the gent (who organised the date) that he has been a mild dingus in giving your stomach mixed messages. Dinner. No dinner. I don’t mind – just tell me and then stick with it, dammit.
b) you may then end up with one person eating and the other not eating and just watching. My-mouth’s-full-I-can’t-speak-at-the-moment. Tumbleweed.
c) then the awkward ‘who-pays-thing’ gets exacerbated. I’m just as happy to pay for myself as I am for a gent to pay for me, but I wouldn’t want him to think that I expected him to pay for my dinner, especially if he hasn’t eaten, himself.

i.e. COMPLICATED. Thankfully, Jen gets what I’m talking about.

Lord, I love that girl. Anyway. The food thing really wasn’t a big deal. Sorry for getting worked up about it. I fixed it all by hitting the fridge big time when I got home.

Oh, yeah. So I went home. Read between those lines, kids. As the evening was winding up Hot Muso asked me what my plans were. Being the poor 20-something that I am I explained that as there was a smörgåsbord of bus stops nearby I’d catch a bus to Martin Place, then walk to Wynyard and then catch a bus home from there as per usual.

But Hot Muso wasn’t too keen on that idea.

Hot Muso: “It’s ok. What we’ll do is we’ll grab a taxi. I’ll drop you off at Wynyard and then I’ll take the taxi back to Surry Hills.” (which, as we were standing in Surry Hills, was a big unnecessary loop for him)
Alex: *Tries to politely protest, but instead falls over from swooning* Yeah, I need to stop doing that.

So we jumped into a taxi and made the journey to Wynyard. I got out – insert something about lips – and then proceeded to my bus.. whilst hysterially texting my BFF. I’m pretty cool like that. She, on the other hand, is an absolute saint. Sœur de cœur, I am talking about YOU.

The Post-Date:

Hot Muso concluded what was a very enjoyable evening with some more gentlemanly behaviour, messaging me when I got home to verify that I had indeed arrived home safely.

Either I have very low expectations of men or the taxi thing was just further evidence that he is one of the most lovely people I have met in a long while. I don’t think I’ve been on a date with anyone who has made that much of an effort to make sure that I got home safely before. Well, unless you count, “You can just crash at mine!” Men can be so selfless. All of this was made better by the fact that I was wearing heels which I didn’t feel like walking much further in. Yewww! Anyway, I was really very touched by how thoughtful he was. (With this logic I should definitely marry the first guy who pays for my $50 taxi home from the city, shouldn’t I?)

So, what happened next?! Sorry, I got distracted by despicably low criterion in men.

My friends thought that there would probably be a second date and I was definitely hoping there would be one. But life is not a fairytale, my sweet peaches. Hot Muso messaged me the following day and then again the next week. Nothing of significance, just stuff of the “how was your long weekend?” variety. Unfortunately I haven’t heard from him since, which is a shame, seeing as he seemed like such a wonderful guy… (Not that him not asking me on another date means that he isn’t as lovely as I thought he was). Anyway. It’s ok and I’m happy to say that I’m already 98.5% over him (which, for me, is pretty stellar). 


The Verdict:

So, what is my overall verdict in regards to Le Tinder? I’m surprised to say it, but I would actually recommend using Tinder – but only on the proviso that your expectations are low and that you have a clear idea of what you want from it before you embark on your Tinder-land adventure.

Although I am happily single as ever (which probably isn’t that much of a surprise to anyone), venturing into the bizarre contemporary realm that is Tinder was actually a much more enjoyable and fruitful adventure than I thought it would be. In the meantime, I guess it’s back out into the world of Singledom I go.

Perhaps I’ll log back onto Tinder..

Alex x

the bachelorette: alex’s adventures in tinder-land (part 3)

“You can’t start a fire without a spark”
– B. Springsteen, ‘Dancing in the Dark’.

This post comes with backing music by The Falls, The British Blues and Huckleberry Hastings.

It feels like it’s been a while since we started this free fall jump into Tinder-land, doesn’t it? Apologies for the silence – life’s been happening.

Now, where did we leave off? Oh, yes – I was trying to find a deep and meaningful angle to Tinder, wasn’t I? ‘Trying’ being the operative word. And then I mentioned that I actually met up with one of these rascals In Real Life, right?

Ok. Now let’s get going. You may want to strap yourselves in: I come close to out-doing myself in the idiot stakes this time.

I should start by introducing this gent to you. From his Tinder profile he looked pretty attractive and there was a bit of flirty banter between us (rather than the bog standard ‘so-what-do-you-do?’ conversation). Consequently, he knew nothing about me apart from having a semi-formed idea of what I looked like. I, on the other hand, was able to ascertain from our conversation and his profile that he was a muso of sorts. Thus, he shall be given the exceedingly creative fake name of ‘Hot Muso’.

So. Hot Muso asked me out for a drink (which I accepted), but we were yet to find a time that suited us both. In the meantime we exchanged surnames with the purpose of Facebook-stalking each other (so Gen Y). Then from his profile I saw that he was going to be playing at the same gig as another artist that I really like.

Guess which thought popped into my head next? Yep – you guessed it.

(Alex Brain) “I could go the gig and meet him there!” No, Alex! Are you expletive mad! You want to rock up to some gig and announce, “Hi! I’m that chick from Tinder!”?? Oh, you won’t seem like a stalker AT ALL. Then what happens if it’s really awkward or you don’t get along well or he’s the world’s biggest arse-hat? Have you considered how far you’re going to have to awkwardly shuffle in order to reach the door? Have you thought about that, princess?  Hmm. She makes a point.. But, wait! I love this artist and I want to go to the gig because of them. I would want to go regardless of Hot Muso, I promise. She raises her eyebrow.

So, what did I do? I bought tickets for my friend (who was willing to being roped in) and I. How I managed to reach this level of crazy still perplexes me.

Tinder 02 The sum total of our relationship prior to me crashing his gig. Yep. Deep.

Cut to the chase, Alex! What actually happened? Sorry, I got distracted.

So, I knew the venue would be pretty small, but I was hoping it’d be large enough that I’d be able to easily hide in the darkness and avoid meeting Hot Muso. Foolproof! Thus, I decided that I wouldn’t tell Hot Muso that I was going to be there because a) I could avoid him seeing me and b) I didn’t want to give off too many stalker vibes. So, in summary, he didn’t know I was coming to the gig.

As my friend and I were walking up the stairs of this Surry Hills venue we could hear some people warming up their voices. Dreading who could be at the top of the stairs I offered for my friend to go ahead of me. She politely declined, insisting that I go first. Damn it.

So, when we got to the right floor I walked through the door into the first of a small series of empty rooms and corridors. And on the opposite side of this empty room, facing towards and looking directly at me was Hot Muso. Ehrmagerd. Ehrmagerd. Expletive. Expletive. GAHHHHHH. Wait, Alex! Hold up. He’s pretty hot. But, although I wanted to, I couldn’t run away. I paid for that ticket, dammit. So, instead, I had to walk directly towards him in order to continue towards the venue, during which time our eye contact didn’t break. We were eye-contacting each other so much that I forgot about the whole ‘walking’ thing and tripped – Expletive! Bravo, Alex! – before rushing off as fast as my butt would carry me into the corridor.

Oh, god. Get me out of here.

Then, the gig. All three of the artists/groups were utterly sublime. Regardless of the fact that he I was interested in him, Hot Muso’s voice was breathtaking. Just mildly entranced.

Oh, yeah. And that large-enough-to-conceal-me venue I was hoping for? Yeah, that didn’t work out so well. It was tiny! There were about 100+ people packed into this minuscule room illuminated by candles. That’s right: no corners to hide in.

After the gig we were all milling around mingling and chatting. Now, here’s the thing: I knew that I recognised Hot Muso, but I had absolutely no clue whether he had recognised me. My friend insisted that I go and say hi – which I nervously agreed to – not that I had any idea how I was going to go about it. Was I just meant to butt into his conversation and say “Hi! I just wanted to say that I loved your music. Oh, and by the way, are you Hot Muso? Cos I’m Alex, that chick from Tinder”? What a smooth talker. Anyway. Hot Muso went to the bathroom, the exit of which we were fairly close to, so I formulated a Game Plan to intercept him on his way back to his friends. Easy enough, right? Inhale, Alex. Inhale.

Double Denim Double Denim Kim K

Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that I had donned double denim à la Kim K.
Hmm. Well, at least I know that Kayne would have approved.

But when he emerged from the bathroom the plan quickly unraveled when Hot-Muso-whom-I’ve-never-met-before-in-my-whole-entire-life-and-didn’t-know-that-I-was-going-to-be-at-his-gig walked over to me and said “Hey, Alex”, as he lent in and kissed me on the cheek.

Let’s quickly cut to the Alex Brain to see what she had to say about this: Ehrmagerd. Ehrmagerd. Ohmylord. GAHH. Expletive. Expletive. Say something! Coherent! Be coherent, Alex!

Yeah, so just the regular from her.

As it turns out, Hot Muso is a lovely guy. We all got chatting and he introduced us to his friends and then we all ended up going out for drinks in Darlinghurst.

At the bar I chatted to one of the other musos who plays with Hot Muso (aka a bandmate) whom I’m pretty sure was flirting with me.. Anyway. Eventually I was able to properly chat with Hot Muso.

I’m not sure whether you’ve ever experienced this before, but once I started talking to Hot Muso it quickly became apparent to me that he had a heart of gold. He probably was and is one of the most kind, genuine, thoughtful and caring people I have met in a long, long time. And I checked that I wasn’t imagining it by asking his mates and they verified that he’s just a gorgeous person. All of the other gents of recent pale in comparison. Pastel pale.

ANYWAY.

I took advantage of every opportunity possible to ensure that he knew that I was from Crazytown. For example, I told him about how I have a tendency to freak out and categorically lose my sh!t before I go on dates. 10 points to Alex! My friend also quipped that I was going to blog about him.. which wasn’t exactly part of the Game Plan.. but, frankly, it didn’t matter considering that it was nothing compared to everything else from my performance that evening. And, as we all know, she was right. Predictive psychic power right there.

As we were chatting it turned out that he did in fact recognise me as soon as I walked into that empty room earlier in the evening. Oh, shucks. Then Something. Something. Lips. Something. Lips. Lips. Huh? What? Such rascals.

Then:
Hot Muso: “Hey, Alex. So do you actually like going on dates?”
Alex: “Yes, I think I secretly do.” Except I just have to tell myself that when I’m squealing with nervousness.
Hot Muso
: “So, would you like to go out on a date with me, Alex?”
Alex: “Yes. That’d be lovely.” *Falls over from swooning*

And so I skipped home (well, actually, I managed to get a lift. Boom! So lucky!) and promptly logged off Tinder indefinitely..

Alex x

the bachelorette: alex’s adventures in tinder-land (part 2)


Le Tinder Adventure continues..

I have come to the (deep and meaningful) conclusion that Tinder is, without a doubt, a rascal. A classic example of this is when you’ve been matched with someone, but neither of you have taken the first step by sending the other a message. Tinder then butts in with bossy little encouragements to get the conversation started which, despite being passive aggressive, are rather hilarious. Or at least they are to me. Some of my favourites thus far have been:

“You’re not getting any younger.” Cheers, bro.

“They probably look better in person.” So reassuring.

“See this box? Type something into it.”

“You both like things. Talk about them.”

If Tinder was a gent I’d swipe ‘Like’ for him.

I’ll be honest with you: the initial sheen and novelty rapidly wore off after Week One and I became rather ambivalent about the whole thing. Now, I am So. Over. Tinder. Then why on earth did you keep using it, you dingus? Good question, amigo.

Well, I was still messaging some guys who had some potential (whatever that means) through the app.. whom I was hoping to meet up with before logging off indefinitely. So, despite my waning enthusiasm, I continued to inundate myself with photos of men within a 20 mile radius of my present location.. which left me salivating smiling, chuckling, grimacing and furrowing my brows more than once. And not just because of some truly bizarre selfies.

Zoolander 01Swipe right. Obvs.

See, despite its tacky reputation, I actually think that Tinder is onto something: physical attraction is an essential and undeniable part of overall attraction (particularly so if you’re seeking something short and casual). In a way Tinder is just facilitating what we do every time we walk into a bar, a uni tutorial or a train carriage in that we can assess in a matter of milliseconds who the most physically attractive specimens are within our vicinity. And by ‘we’ I am referring to myself.. and I hope to god that I’m not the only one who does this..Anyone??

So, has Tinder just harnessed and digitised what is innate and involuntary and placed it in our palms? Well, yes.. but it’s not as simple as that, either. For starters, can you truly tell whether you’re attracted to someone through a maximum of five 42cm2 photos? That’s a lot smaller than life-size.

This question popped into my head when I was staring at the faces of some guys whom I’ve previously dated upon my phone screen. My first reaction was to laugh hysterically – purely because it feels pretty crazy to see any familiar face on Tinder – but especially so when it’s one that you’ve already studied up-close in real life. After that: the swipe decision. I swiped left (Nope) to each of them because, although I am still vaguely attracted to a few of them, we stopped seeing each other for a reason. BUT would I have actually swiped right (Like) to any of them if I hadn’t previously dated them and I was going off their Tinder profiles alone? Interestingly, I came back with a resounding No. Which is bizarre considering I can remember pretty clearly just how attracted I was to each of them in real life..

Liam Hemsworth 03Week Two: I’m sure you can guess way I’d swipe for
the newly-single Mr Hemsworth.

So, personally, pixels don’t actually guarantee attraction (or a lack thereof). I guess that awesome electricity fluttering through your veins when you’re instantly drawn to someone just can’t necessarily be felt through pixels. Which is fine, apart from the fact that technology is increasingly becoming a mainstream way of meeting new people and that it allows us to quickly and dismissively make a call on whether someone is worth our time or not (with the simple swipe of our thumb, no less). Oh, and you completely miss out on the electricity-fluttering-through-your-veins thing.

See, although I’m glad to have moved on from each of these guys I dated, I don’t regret having invested some time and emotional energy in them because they’re all lovely (and, coincidentally, attractive) guys. However, if I was deciding whether to go out with them based on their Tinder profiles then I would never know how great they each are or just how intoxicating the chemistry between us would be..

Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention: I met up with a guy from Tinder. And it was actually fine.
(Ok, it was much better than fine.)

The third and final installment of the Twilight Tinder Saga will likely make reference to a hot muso, some breathtaking music, Alex being an absolute dingus, sweltering heat and double denim. You’ve been forewarned.

Alex x

the bachelorette: alex’s adventures in tinder-land (part 1)

And the things that happened when I hurled myself down this bizarre rabbit-hole..

Background:

Now, I won’t lie to you: I’m hooked. It may even be a mild addiction.

I have been watching the new series, The Bachelor Australia.. and I am loving it hard. This is mainly due to the fact that I spend nearly every minute of it in hysterics. Oh, the gaudy McMansion, the emotional rose ceremonies, the cartloads of makeup, the stilettos at lunchtime, the melodrama and bitchiness. It’s divine.

Although I am being very cynical and judgemental, for which I do apologise, there are some things which I would genuinely like about participating in the show: namely, going on all of those awesome dates. Oh, let’s just casually take a private plane to a deserted beach where we’ll go horse riding and then have a romantic dinner. Oh, if you insist. Oh, and Tim isn’t too shabby either.

Now, over the past week I’ve been having a little taste of how Timmy must be feeling.

Enter: Tinder.

Oh, yes, I did. I enlisted myself as the guinea pig for this social experiment (I couldn’t find any other volunteers within the vicinity). Tinder works by creating a mini profile for you (accessing photos, your interests and friends via FB) where you can upload photos and write a blurb about yourself. From there you are shown pictures of guys (or girls) within the mile radius and age group which you’ve selected. You can either ‘Like’ a person by swiping RIGHT or say ‘Nope’ by swiping LEFT. If you’ve Liked someone and they’ve Liked you too, you can start messaging each other through the app. If one or both of you say Nope to each other you never have to know.

Hypothesis:

I got introduced to Tinder through some of my single girlfriends who like to Tind (is it a verb yet?) after having one (or four) glasses of wine for sh!ts and giggles. So, my expectations of Tinder were (and are) pretty LOW, as in, I will not be disappointed if a Chuck Bass/Nate Archibald/Dan Humphrey hybrid doesn’t come waltzing into my life. I like Gossip Girl, ok? No need to judge. See, Tinder has a reputation for being on the sleazy and superficial side, to put it nicely, where Real Proper Relationships are a strange novelty from a world far, far away.. Anyway.

Tinder                       Tinder 02
Left: Profile. Now, which way to swipe? Right: Bingo!
PS: I give you permission to pretend that I am that babe.

Observations – Week One:

 Day One: 50 matches. And The Bachelor thought he had his hands full.
I see your 25 and raise you another 25, sir. Feeling slightly overwhelmed.


So many guys surf. Hmm.
 I don’t surf.. Maybe I should get back into it… Nah.


Is it me, or does everyone have tattoos these days?
I am feeling like such a nanna.


Ok and what is with 90% of the guys I am chatting to being named
either Michael, Andrew or ALEX?! So flipping confusing.. and weird.


How long is a mile? (1.609344 kilometres if you’re interested.)


Must stop swiping ‘Like’ to people simply because they look like an ex
or someone
whom I was previously attracted to. Bad Alex.


The “trying to trick me into thinking you are a babe by using a photo with
your hot friend as your primary photo” tactic does not fool me, sir.
(I check the subsequent photos.)


Babies! Toddlers! Puppies! Kittens! Lambs!!

Yes, you are clearly taking advantage of the fact that I am a sucker for cute stuff.
And I love that. Swipe RIGHT.


Oh, look! The guy whom I was dating until two days ago.
Long time, no see, buddy.
Swipe LEFT.


How come there are so many hot guys on Tinder? It’s perplexing.


That gratuitous ab selfie? Yeah, you know the one.

Well, it’s reminding me about my lack of a six-pack. 
And I was perfectly happy without that reminder, thanks.


So is this the one time in life where I don’t have to be
ashamed about being superficial?


I hope I don’t stumble across my brother or any of his friends.
God, that’d be awkward..

It’d be fair to say that I have been a tad distracted over the past week.. and perhaps flipping through countless pictures of countless men has become a mild (temporary) addiction in it’s own right.. Awks. Actually, I think I was probably looking for another way to procrastinate when I first logged into the app.

Conversations on Tinder thus far have ranged from fairly standard meet & greet stuff to “I don’t want my Dad to see this. Ever.” to the.. memorable.. Take this one for example:

(As an introductory message)
Gent: “Hey Alex, I’ve been thinking.. Oranges must have been discovered before carrots, right?” Seriously. WTF.
(Quickly followed up by..)
Gent: “If you could design a new fruit what would it be like?” You, dear sir, have had WAY too much time on your hands recently.. and your fruit obsession is a bit intense.. #fruitloop.

Conclusion – Week One:

Week One Tally: So far, I’ve encountered three five guys whom I’ve dated or similar etc, five guys from uni, one guy seven guys from school, my friend’s good-looking brother and one guy whom I had a crush on at a high school holiday camp. He was such a babe as a fourteen year old.

Forecast: 

What’s ahead for Week Two? Meeting up with some of these rascals, trying to get my head around the perceived hotness of “first thing in the morning” selfies and whether chemistry can truly be felt through pixels.. Stay tuned. I may need rescuing from the rabbit-hole.

Alex x