As freshmen, my friends and I giggled abashedly as we downloaded the app, only to swipe sarcastically, we affirmed.Though we stood proudly as anti-slut shamers, we turned a side-eye to those who prowled for casual sex, and even more for long-term relationships.
You can read the other pieces in this issue here and here.Especially with aggressive pick-up lines like, “Your cute wanna fuck? Contrarily, in New York City this past summer, with a much larger swiping vicinity, my coworkers’ solution to all my dating woes was always, “Have you ever tried Tinder?” In the Big Apple, dating apps aren’t taboo; they’re simply ways to make an isolating city intimate, a way to meet like-minded individuals you typically wouldn’t.In Ann Arbor, with less opportunity for mobility, stumbling across friends (or GSIs) on the app always feels too close for comfort.However, John Cacioppo, a psychology professor at the University of Chicago, found that more than one third of marriages between 20 started on the Internet.*Disclaimer: All names have been changed to protect the identities of the individuals.
The author did not identify herself as a reporter for The Daily, and no conversations have been recorded without consent.
I simply posed as the subject of my own experiment, and I’m here to relay my personal observations.
Since its release as a $750 million start-up in 2012, Tinder has boasted over 9 billion matches.
After lunch with Logan*, a 25-year-old model from London, he “teased” that I should pick up the bill because that’s what a “feminist Bumble-user like (my)self would do, right?
” Though I generally have no issue paying on dates, I want my generosity to stem from pleasure instead of obligation.
My coffee date with Patrick*, a 23-year-old recent University grad who shared few acquaintances, didn’t incite any romantic sparks, but we found a platonic affability from which we could keep in touch as friends.