The Tinder Trap of the Paradox of Choice

In football they say: “If you have two quarterbacks, you have no quarterback,” and one might apply the same rule to dating. Sure, there are people fortunate enough to exist in the perfect storm of being so physically attractive, resourceful and sexually insatiable enough to date multiple people concurrently. But for the majority of us in this pathologically busy generation it’s challenging enough to make time for one real-life match, let alone seven cyber-matches, many of whom we can tell even less about than we can by just observing some stranger for a few minutes on the subway.

I presently have eight matches on Tinder, three of which spontaneously broke communication with me, another four of which I broke communication with, and one that I’m supposed to meet for brunch in 20 minutes. The latter, of course, is the reason for my ignoring the others, as I don’t have time to date six or even half that many people at one time. I’m trying to avoid the “Tinder-trap” of spreading my attention too thin, and finding myself as big a loser as a team with no quarterback.

Once was the day where for people outside the club and party scene, it was kind of a big deal to meet someone. That night or the next day you’d speak to a friend, and it was noteworthy: “I got some girl’s number,” or “I met a cute guy!”

More recently were the days of paid dating sites, then Cupid, which made it dramatically less of a deal, but still significant. Online dialogue meant exactly that: dialogue; which meant you were at least in the fetal stages of getting to know someone. A match on Tinder, however, is almost wholly insignificant, definitely not noteworthy in conversation, even to your best friend sitting in the same room with you at the time of the match.

“I got a match!” is like announcing, “I got an itch!” Nobody cares.

A Tinder match just means that you don’t find one another repulsive, and/or in a perfect world where our “free time” came in the quantity of our not free time you’d probably meet up. Or if you were to match and exchange numbers and then Tinder and iphones, and all of technology just suddenly combusted and ceased to exist, this could create another equation that would increase your chances of meeting. Instead, Tinder has turned this all into a game, which dating is referred to in casual speak, only now it’s become more a literal video game and less a proverbial one played in the field. This makes it terribly appropriate when the app asks you immediately after each match: “Keep playing?” We have the option to completely ignore this beautiful person who just offered us the possibility we’re all so desperate for, and continue to look for more attractive options while they do the same. This is insane.

I am constantly getting matches, constantly getting numbers and “talking,” and yet I’m going on less dates than ever before. Of course, maybe it’s me. Maybe my game is too weak or my weeks are too game — I mean busy. Maybe I’m just not good at Tinder. I can’t help but suspect this to not be the case, if for no other reason than that I hear the same complaints from everyone else.

Tinder sucks! Nobody responds.

I hate it. I deleted it off my phone… but I might go back.

Ironically, this incredible source of both connection and disconnect does apparently have its finger precisely on the pulse of the genders’ dynamic since the beginning of time, as we cannot live with or without it. Tinder’s efficiency and convenience is as much a blessing as it is a curse, as it has absolved us of meeting one another by happenstance in the real world, but also squashed the significance of any one mutual attraction. Something that was once a gem, a diamond in the rough for most of us non-model types, and even a half-promise of an encounter to follow, is now not even a guarantee that a text will follow.

Of course it isn’t uniformly or inherently bad either, as most of us know at least one couple that met on the site. I take exception to the shameful stigma attached to meeting on Tinder, as it reminds me of the negative perception of meeting a significant other at a bar in the 1980’s, which has now long since dissipated. Online dating is a logical response to society’s present climate, and an awesome tool if used intelligently with awareness.

I think we should employ discipline when swiping, to not always “keep playing” just because looking at girls/guys is fun, to not dismiss prospects because of one potential mis-speak over text, and not so quickly make yesterday’s news into last week’s news, which then instantly becomes ancient history. Yesterday’s news was just yesterday for God’s sake! Is this too transparent? Do I sound pathetic? Well, fuck you! You know what your problem is?! Ha.

P.S… Just got back from my date. It was all right. She was pretty. Definitely educated, but possibly a bit too Millennial-personality for any real connection. I hope she gives a better performance in her auditions than she did in her reach for her wallet when the check came. That said, conversation was fun and natural, and as we stood on a busy, day lit street corner, I closed with a half-joke: “I’m not gonna make it weird and try to kiss you.” I leaned in and pecked her gorgeous cheek and she seemed to hold me in hug for an intentionally long amount of time. My ego interprets this as desire. My insecurity interprets it as a compensatory apology for “goodbye forever.” I’m confident we’d probably see each other at least once again… if we didn’t have so many other options.