What draws us to use its services? Is it the ease of connecting with people? The low investment, high reward? In truth, these questions can be awfully hard to answer depending on who you ask. The consequences of using apps like Tinder could be more universal, however.
Who hasn’t heard of Tinder?
I’ve used Tinder for about a year now, and I’ve learned a lot from it – especially about myself. My first profile was lackluster, filled with low-quality selfies matched with an entirely nondescript bio. I’ve since discovered a lot of the tricks that make a profile “swipeable.” I went from getting a match a week to several a day. At face value, this sounds like quite the improvement, but where my profile succeeded, I did not.
I began to experience a kind of fatigue after a few months of using Tinder. Most of the people I matched with didn’t spark good conversation off the bat. Only two actual real-life meetings occurred, neither of which were terrific by any measure of the word. The continued awkwardness and failure to connect with another person via Tinder was taking a toll on me – one that took me many more months to realize.
Tinder informed me last month that I had over 500 people swipe right on my little profile card. Never in my life could I imagine 500 people finding me attractive, but apparently, I’m better looking than I give myself credit for. I enjoyed the confidence boost, but it got me thinking: at what cost?
Here are my stats: 250 matches in my year on Tinder, averaging to about 0.7 matches a day. This is meager in the face of the 12 million matches made daily on Tinder, but even less impressive than the billion swipes – left or right – per day. I have never spoken to a vast majority of these 250 matches and I’m not proud of it. However, it has fed a kind of addiction. Once I matched with someone, I had already felt like I “got” them, and had no incentive to speak with them since I had already received the gratification I was looking for all along.
Personally, I like to think my quest for love on Tinder has led to a deeper understanding of myself, where I’ve learned about who I want to be and who I don’t
Tinder became a source for an ego boost rather than a way of meeting people I’m interested in. I’m certainly not the only person to do this, but it might be a stretch to call it symptomatic of https://getbride.org/sv/sexiga-och-heta-filippinska-kvinnor/ a Tinder user. Even if these kinds of users are only a minor portion of the overall population, the impact of their presence is more significant than one might expect.
Given that not all users are seeking the same thing, and there is no option to filter people out based on their intentions, you’ll ultimately come upon many users who might not use the app for the same reasons you do. This difference is critical in how matches are made on Tinder, as the profiles are only served to you on the limited criteria of distance, age and sexuality. Realizing this dilemma is one of the factors that led me to question my own motives and consider the impact that Tinder had on me.
So what’s the takeaway? Use Tinder at your own risk. I have seen firsthand how the app can affect me. Knowing what I now know, I am better able to use it for its intended purpose: establishing positive connections with new people. All in all, it’s worthwhile to open a new avenue for companionship, sex or both. Tinder is like anything else in today’s social media world – it has equal potential for good and bad, but the promise of something beneficial outweighs the possible consequences of its use.
Have I deleted the app? You bet I haven’t! Having reflected upon my use of the dating service, I’d like to try improving who I am and not just my social media image. Learning about how my misuse of Tinder has affected my perception of interpersonal connections is just part of the modern dating journey, I suppose. If you happen to be one of my matches, feel free to say hi; I’ll be sure to say hello back.