I’ve been very passively on Tinder for the last 3 months. Okay, maybe not very passively. You know what, based on the volume of matches I’ve been able to gather in 90 days, I suppose not passively at all. I wanted to share some feedback on my personal Tinder experience, but first I feel like you deserve to know my Tinder Stats.
John. PJ. Zachary. Barry. Tim. Justin. Frank. Brian. Russ. Chris. Amadeus (EQUAL OPPORTUNITY TINERER). Mark. Michael. Nick. Bob. Steve. David. Steven. Sercan (YIKES SERCAN AND TRICIA ON A SAVE THE DATE? THAT SHIT AINT CUTE). Sean. Nate. Kevin. Dirk. Billy. Scott. Wayne. Russ. Kevin. Brandon. Tyler. Ian. Rhodri (DESPERATE FOR SOME ATTENTION THIS NIGHT, CLEARLY). Steve. Ted. Brad. Gil. Dean. George. Chris. Justin. Justin. Todd. Michael. John. Ben. Chris. Henry. Thomas. Joey. Gregory. AJ. Michael. Dennis. Sky (ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, TRISH? DAD, THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND, SKY. YEAH, I DO NOT SEE THAT GOING OVER WELL). Carl. Zachary. Roy. Brian. Freddie. Scott. Mike. Conor. Nick. Steven. Jay. Evan. J. Matthew. Sean. Daniel. David. Eric. Jonathan. Andy. Sean. Andrew. Jarrod. Walter. Jay. Justin. Rick. Jay. Ben. Russ. Ken (AND BARBIE? I HOPE HE’S BLOND HAIRED AND BLUE EYED JUST LIKE ME). Ryan. Kostas (WHAT? I LOVE GREEK SALADS). Greg. Francis. Phil. Marc. Lucas. Chris. Matt. Ryan. Jeff. Brett. Michael. Jeremy. Brandon. Scott. Eric. John. Charles. Matt. Brian. Anthony. Steven. Jack. Brian. Adam. Kyle. Sean. Rob. Chris. Michael. Gary. Nicholas. Mike. Robert. Dana. Aaron (OMG, IF MY STRAIGHT SOUL MATE IN REAL LIFE IS SOMEONE NAMED AARON I WILL DIE A HAPPY WOMAN). Cliffy. Adam. Eric. Coach Joe (EASY COACH. WE GET IT.). Christopher. Tony. Ben. Scott. Jeffrey. Steve. Mike. Gianni (KINDA LIKE SNOOKI AND JIONNI. OMG. LIKE. SO CUTE). Jason. Matt. Michael. Jamie. Austin. Matt. Robby. Mark. Robert. Sean. Sean. Chris. Jarred. Frank. Mark. Nick. Adam. Dan. Tommy. Andrew.
John (7 FOOT TALL, WHITE, PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL PLAYER WHO MATRICULATED FROM AN IVY LEAGUE COLLEGE. HINT: THAT MEANS HE’S SMART, TOO SO WHEN THE PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE THING DOESN’T WORK OUT ANYMORE HIS BRAIN STILL DOES! PLEASE DON’T LET ALL THOSE SHINY WORDS DISTRACT YOU FROM THIS VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION HERE: THE WORST SEX I’VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE. THAT ATHLETE MIGHT HUSTLE ON THE COURT AND HOLD A RECORD FOR ASSISTS IN HIS PROFESSIONAL LIFE, BUT DAMN IS HE LAZY AND SELFISH OTHERWISE. LEAST ATHLETIC PERFORMANCE I’VE EVER HAD TO BE A PART OF).
Garrett. Brian. Alex. Jeremy. Derek. Dave. Tyler. Andrew. Dan. Mario. Andrew. Latimer (HONESTLY, I CAN’T). Alex. Brett. Mattie (THAT’S A SUPER GAY WAY TO WRITE YOUR NAME, SIR. UNFORTUNATELY, CLEARLY IT DIDN’T BOTHER ME ENOUGH TO NOT TINDER LIKE YOU THOUGH). Anthony. Michael. Scott. Jay. Pete. Matthew. Seth. Thomas. Mike. TJ. Ron. Christian. Tom.
Alex (ONLY TINDER LIKED HIM BECAUSE OUR ONE MUTUAL FACEBOOK FRIEND WAS PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL JOHN AND I WANTED TO MIND FUCK BOTH OF THEM).
Marc. Peter. Bobby. Rob. Dustin. Teddy. Luke. AJ. Joey. Marcello (I FUCKING LOVE CARBS). Christopher. Willem (JUST EW). Matt. Jonathan. Raphael (WHY?). Dan. John. Mark. Eddie. Dan. Matthew. Max. Patrick (CAN’T DO IT – PATRICK JENNINGS PROBLEMS #PTSD). Justin. Gino. Sam. Gabe. Matt. Michael. Brian. Keith. Brian. Adam. Matt. Brendan. Cory. Nick. Kyle. Patrick (IT’S PATRICK AGAIN. I’M STILL TOO SCARED). Bobby. Matt. Gehrig (REALLY BEING OPEN MINDED HUH TRISH. I MUST HAVE BEEN DRUNK). Richard. Gore. Corey. Anthony. Brendan. Chris. Tyler. Jeff. Dan. Bill. Ryan. Darin. Doug. Ralph (AS IN PUKE). Troy. Josh. Dan. Nick. Mike. Bob. Michael. Miles. Steve. Justin. Greg. Tim. Matthew. Jeff. Kevin (HE’S MOST LIKELY A TERRIBLE HUMAN WITH NO SOUL). Chris. Billy. Dan. Jim. Jim. Tyler. Brian. Meeka (DEEEEEP SIGH. I’M EMBARRASSED).
Ryan (SMOKESHOW FROM MY HOMETOWN WHO I LOVE LIKE A BROTHER AND ALSO WOULD ALLOW TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME IF IN A CONDITION WORTHY OF BEING TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF… I SENT HIM A MESSAGE THAT SAID “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE!!!” TO WHICH HE NEVER RESPONDED!).
Matt. Jon. Marc. Doug. Marc. Polyvios (IS THIS MY REAL ADULT LIFE? No, BUT SERIOUSLY, WHO AM I?) Nawid (PFFFF… SO MUCH EQUAL OPPORTUNITY… JUST TO ALLOW SOMEONE TO HAVE ONE CONVERSATION WITH ME AND THEN NEVER SPEAK TO THEM AGAIN). Paul. Jason. Jay. Kirk. Mike. Sean. Nicholas. Keith. Tom. Greg. Sean. Jonathan. Anthony. Michael. Brian. Thomas. Alexander. BJ. Chris. Michael. Jason. Bill. Brendan. Zak. Eric. Eric. Kyle. Daninel. Nick. Ben. Buddy (THAT’S A CREEPY NAME). Matthew. Tom. Joe. Adam. Devon. Rory. Mike.
Dan (SOME ABSOLUTE, FUCKING, TOOL WHO SOMEHOW HAD A MILLION COMMON FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH ME. HE IMMEDIATELY MESSAGED ME TO LET ME KNOW HE “KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT ME” FROM ONE CONVERSATION THAT HE HAD WITH SOME LOSER THAT I CAN HONESTLY SAY I’VE NEVER BREATHED A WORD TO. HIS FOLLOW UP MESSAGE OUT OF DESPERATION WAS “I’M NOT LIKE PATRICK JENNINGS” TO WHICH I RESPONDED “THEN I PROBABLY WON’T LIKE YOU.” HE PROCEEDED TO SEND ME A HORRIFYING ITTY-BITTY-DICK-PIC AND THAT WAS THE END OF THAT. I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE THE CONFIDENCE ON THAT GUY! HE MUST HAVE FAMILY MONEY.)
Jon. Mike. Dave. Steven. Andrew. Jonathan. Mark. Grant. Jason. Ryan. Javier. Chris. Peter. Jonathan. Dan. Justin. Christopher.
In case you weren’t doing the math, I did it here for you:
And out of those 305 matches, I received 123 messages.
And out of those 123 messages, I responded and engaged in conversation with 101 (ignoring 22).
And out of those 101 conversations I deemed ONE person worthy of a face to face meeting. He just so happened to be a professional athlete, and I thought I was batting 1,000. Well come on… I had to. Is there even a choice when a professional athlete is involved? Regardless of all those fancy buzz words, I’ll always remember it as a terrible experience. If any professional athletes out there feel so inclined, and want to clear the air I’d be open minded to a different sport, maybe.
Out of the ONE message I had built up the courage and confidence to send to
my dear friend Ryan Mula (that’s right everyone, that’s his real name look him up) I received ZERO responses.
With these Tinder statistics, and my Tinder experiences nestled safely under my belt, I realized a couple things: First of all, I always dreamed of having a professional athlete’s baby, but now I know that I no longer have any interest. Their professional life requires them to challenge their mind, body, and soul to a point that leaves very little room for much else. I need too much physical and emotional attention to ever be remotely satisfied by some lazy professional athlete who thinks he can just lay back and enjoy the ride. I think I’ll stay clear of the pro’s from here on out. Like, we get it. You can get blown by whoever you want. But I’m all set. Thanks for the opportunity. Best of luck this season, John. More important though, I treated my Tinder match folder much like an online shopping bag; I was carelessly throwing in rompers, high waist pants, leggings, pencil skirts, and bandeau tops into my shopping cart with absolutely zero intention of ever buying them. None of those clothes look good on me or ever flatter my ass. For the men reading this, let me break things down for you into terms you understand. I liked a man who was wearing skinny jeans in his photo. I saw a picture of a man that I selected as a match for me that had smaller forearms than I did. Why did I ignore it, you ask? Because I was just online shopping. I liked the idea of him. What’s the harm in putting him in the shopping cart just in case I get the urge to become emo, stop eating carbs and drinking beer, get super skinny, and start wearing thick black eyeliner? I selected musicians with long hair, tattoos, and gauged ears. I put in conservative yachting tools, and thugs. I couldn’t have sprinkled my selections any wider. I couldn’t have possibly been more open minded.
The problem with all of this is that yes, maybe I like the idea of something so much that I might go as far as to try it on for size. Recently I went into Urban Outfitters and tried on a precious blouse that unfortunately didn’t seem to fit over my forearms. I liked the idea of the blouse, but deep down I kinda knew it probably wasn’t going to fit right. I tried it on anyway. But it took me 20 minutes to get off. I’m serious. I was sweating in the fitting room, and almost had to call for back up. What a waste of 20 minutes. A perfect fit blouse for someone else, but definitely not me.
I think I’m over the idea of online shopping for men. As you can see the numbers don’t lie. 101 conversations and one, lone, terrible face to face experience. What a fucking waste of my precious time.
Some days I wish I could be the high waist pants girl walking through the financial district. Sometimes I want to be the girl with the high riding boots with a pair of the cutest black leggings under a flowy top. Every now and then I just get the urge to show my inny outty and want to bare my mid drift like Eva wearing a bandeau top, but that’s just not me, and I don’t have the attention span for dieting. I like the idea of it, all of it. I like the idea so sometimes I’ll put it in my shopping cart, but it usually just sits their idle… for infinity.
I think I’m done with the Tinder world. It’s been an interesting experience, and one that I will take with me, but I just don’t think my soul mate is the kind of man who is waiting around for someone to put them in their online shopping cart… no one ever buys that shit anyway.
I can’t invest in anything online. I end up getting it, and then it never fits right.
Maybe I just like the idea of finding someone… but have no actual real desire to find someone. That would explain the whole… let me not be interested in any man who genuinely likes me, but the one who is emotionally unavailable and ignoring me, I’m going to try my hardest to make him fall in love with me. Because at the end of the day, I just like the idea of finding someone, but I actually have no real desire to do it.