I’ve been with my now husband for going on 8 years. I was 19 when I first met him and we got married when I was 23. To avoid that introduction pegging him as a total creep, he’s only 6 years older than me.
The last time I used a “dating website” for my personal use was in 2007 and it was called MySpace. This was the original eHarmony and Facebook all rolled into one. Picture it as the Craigslist of online dating but before people began using Craigslist to murder each other.
Everyone had a profile that gave you a pretty good idea of who they were. If done correctly, a solid MySpace profile should have included:
- At least 5 (or more) pictures of you. No cat fishing, no angles, just some pictures of you and your life.
- Complete or mostly complete “about you” info
- All 8 spaces of your “Top 8” filled
- A song representative of your life at some point or from a band you love
- A pensive, funny, or inspiring quote next to your picture
That, my friends, was the formula for early 2000s love. I can attest to this because I met numerous people from MySpace, found a boyfriend on there and was broken up with via the email feature. It really was your one stop shop for all things sex, love and rock-n-roll.
Now, no one cares about you.
Today, if you’re hot enough in 1 picture and have a witty enough bio, you get the “yes” swipe. Not entirely sure on which swipe direction that is but it’s whichever one communicates “I want to bang you.” Because no one cares about you more than a tweet’s-length description, Tinder sets itself up for penetration-only dating.
There isn’t much to know about Tinder that your single friends can’t show you in 5 minutes. It’s slightly similar to the Rorschach test but your genitals determine what you see, not your suppressed childhood traumas.
I’m sure if I was single and ready to mingle with my vagina, I would absolutely use Tinder for it’s intended purpose. But from a relationship perspective, I would fucking suck at it.
I care way too much about people’s personalities and a lot less about the way they look. This means (husband face aside) as long as you make me laugh and don’t scream “registered in your county,” I’ll probably have some type of an attraction to you. This doesn’t work too well considering those men, too, just want to put their P in your V. Now you have a less hot version of a sex partner that makes jokes mid-hump.
Alternatively, withholding a swipe on a 7 and giving it to a 10 means you’re competing with all the other ladies thumb smearing their screens for him. If he doesn’t return the interest, I’d assume he’s a dick and uninstall Tinder. Realistically, he probably just found someone whose mobile dating game is more on point and less complicated than what you put out there.
Then there’s my profile. This is where I would really suffer and get swipes from the Middle-Earths. As mentioned, I’m big on personality which I believe is my best asset. Whether that’s true or not to others, that’s how I feel. My profile would likely consist of a marriage between a normal picture but a complete over share in my bio:
“Hey there! I’m a 5’4″ unnatural blonde with Kim K’s booty and Kristin Wiig’s humor. I have IBS so if we could avoid eating cheese or spicy food that would be great. I can’t breathe out of my nose when I sleep so my morning breath is less than a bouquet of roses but I love professional wrestling.”
Suddenly I feel overwhelming sympathy for my husband.
I’m sure evolutionary instincts would kick in and I would adapt to the online dating world quickly. It’s not overly complicated and keeps things simple enough, a caveman could do it. I’m sure within about 5 years, that is exactly that app that will exist. Ne-Tinder-Thal: It’s like a paleo diet but for your sex life:
Female. 135 lbs. Fertile. No known allergies. Orlando, Florida.
Online dating isn’t what it used to be and I would be eaten alive. I’m eternally grateful for husband face and his love for me despite my would be profile description.