Originally, my idea was to experiment with the social networking app Tinder for 48 hours. However, it took less than four hours for me to be absolutely grossed out with the state of the Tinder-verse, and I had to power through to even make it to Just the thought of opening the app and seeing the little orange dot informing me of a new message makes my stomach churn the same way it did when I had the stomach flu last winter and wanted to die a horrible, horrible death on the bathroom floor.
I made sure to keep the most memorable candidates forever immortalized with screenshots to share with my husband later and trust me, it was a genuine bonding experience.
My only knowledge of Tinder pre-experiment was the occasional screenshot from single friends on Facebook. I knew it had a sort of "hot or not" element when it came to swiping right or left, and I also had a vague understanding that the app was meant for those looking for a casual hookup. Keeping those things in mind, my guard was already up, and I felt a bit like livestock headed into auction: Would I sell?
Would I attract quality farmers? I took a deep breath and signed up. At first, it was fun reading through each profile and judging each candidate on what matters to me now at a work ethic, a sense of humor, and proper grammar. Rather than what would have mattered 14 years ago: world travels, nice clothes, and expensive cars. Hint: Wearing a black mask while sitting in a cemetery is not.
Perhaps this is a Midwestern Tinder phenomenon? There was also a consistent theme of craft beer, dogs, and guitars. Perhaps for every mask-wearing, carcass-holding guy on Tinder, there's a mask-wearing, carcass-holding girl just waiting for him. Who knows? There was also an abnormal amount of men who were very upfront about why they were on Tinder, yet advertised themselves with photos of their kids, which Get thee to Ashley Madison , fellas.
