Photo credit: Thom Weerd
Yep, it happened.
I was swiping away so intensely that I actually strained the muscles in my eyes to the point that the nerve endings decided, “Nope, no more. Here’s some searing pain to put us both out of this dating hell”.
In my defence, the pain was mainly in my left eye due to the multiple guys I ‘noped’ flying off to the left of the screen, but still, I can see that this situation is wholly embarrassing.
It was only a couple of months ago that I deleted the app for good after deciding that 98% of the men on there were half-naked and whole-idiots, but that was before I moved to London and had a whole new pond to fish. Have you seen the men on Tinder here? They’re like friggin’ gods who all work for some indie record label and learn Italian in their spare time. One guy volunteered with young hipsters at the weekends, teaching them how to craft perfect man buns and beards of their own. I mean, you just can’t argue with that kind of heart.
Of course, there’s still the odd selfie-loving lad who offers gems such as:
“Your beautiful babe. Wanna hook up?”
“So that’s no then?”
What can I say, basic grammar is a deal-breaker.
But like anything in life, moderation is key. One can’t just sit on Tinder all night talking to strangers about the best independent coffee house in London or waiting for that super-hot guy with tattoos to like you back. That’s how you give yourself blue light induced migraines.
So as I was lying there in a darkened room with a wet flannel slapped across my face and a stash of Ibuprofen to ease the pain, I had one of those life defining moments of clarity. Do I really want to be the girl who spends an evening watching rom coms whilst swiping on a dating app and shoving multiple cubes of Dairy Milk into her mouth? The answer is no, Lauren. You do not want to be that girl.
So that’s it, no more Tinder for me. It’s for the best.