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Chapter Twenty-Four
According to self-proclaimed dating expert Roxy, the best way to get over one man was to get under another. Now whilst she had aninterestingway of putting it, and I didn’t see why the saying couldn’t be ‘the best way to get over one man is to geton topof another’ (why do we have to always be the ones underneath?), she did have a point. So, last Sunday after my catch-up with Bella, I’d decided to dip my toes firmly into the online dating waters.
Despite its reputation for just being a seedy hook-up site, I’d heard so much about Tinder that I decided to find out what all the fuss was about for myself. A week later, I could confirm that my first foray into the MAD (another Roxy acronym, for middle-aged dating) world had been an eye-opening experience. As far as I could make out so far, there appeared to be seven stages of Tinder:
Stage 1: The Set-Up
After downloading the app, I discovered it needed to be linked to Facebook. So I set up a fresh page, to avoid my dating escapades colliding with my professional life (yes, it was possible clients might spot me, but as long as I conducted myself ‘appropriately’, I didn’t see cause for concern). I gave myself a new moniker:Thea(because it sounds like the ‘phia’ at the end of my name) and age. Not because I was ashamed of being thirty-nine—just because common sense said that if I shaved a few years off and said I was thirty-five, I’d widen my pool of opportunity. These little white lies, I was reliably assured, were the premise based on which online dating existed. The truth could be revealed if all went well during the first date…
Whilst I was fine to alter my name and age, I drew the line at uploading heavily photoshopped/filtered pictures or snaps taken a decade ago, as that would bereallydishonest. Plus, it’s a false economy. If you blow up the size of your boobs because you think that’s what a man wants to see, it’s only going to lead to disappointment when you meet in real life. They’d just need to accept me as I was.
Following some photo vetting with online dating expert Roxy, I uploaded a selection of real, untouched pics which fitted the ‘triple S’ image I wanted to project: ‘sophisticated, sexy and sense of humour’. Said images included the shot of me in the outfit Lorenzo had gone crazy for from my birthday dinner and one of me wearing a very fitted blue Victoria Beckham dress which showed legs and teased a tasteful amount of cleavage. After all, I wanted to leavesomethingto the imagination.
I kept my profile simple—you know, standard stuff about my love for good food and travel. Whilst not entirely original, this at least was also true. A thirty-kilometre radius seemed reasonable, and as for age preferences, I opted for males between twenty-nine and forty-nine—ten years either side of my own age. Set-up done.
Stage 2: The Swiping
This was the fun part. Well, initially at least. For the first few hours I enthusiastically swiped away at high speed, casually rejecting hundreds of photos without giving the blatant shallowness of this app a second thought. You’d be surprised how many things you can think of in a millisecond that cause you to swipe left.
Yes, there’s the obvious things, like the fact that you’re not attracted to them because you feel they’re too short, look too young, too old, have too much hair, not enough hair/bald, look too serious, too smiley, not smiley enough (yep, like I said, the premise of this app is totally shallow). But in my opinion, the photos men post are also nuts. These also fall into several ‘turn-off’ categories. For example:
a)I’m so hot I only need one photo. Seriously, guys. Everyone has that one killer photo. But I need to see a few of you in different settings to be sure that pic isn’t just a fluke and to check the attraction is there—don’t put all your eggs in one basket with just one.
b)Look at me I’m sooo hotpose-y photos. You know, the ones of them flexing their muscles at the gym in the mirror, showing off their six-packs, etc. Photos with celebrities, selfies in bed…I know, on a site which is based purely on looks, you have to sell your best assets, but really… although, to be fair, in their defence the above are probablyexactlythe kind of photos to use if you want a hook-up.
c)Look at me I’m soooo richphotos. The blatant flashiness—posing in front of sports cars, flaunting a giant Rolex type activity. Again, I guess they’re selling the dream…it’s a no from me though.
d)Totally trashedpics. Why would you post a photo of you looking shit-faced? There’s a difference between having fun and looking like a total drunken dickhead. Unlike the flashy/pose-y photos which self-promote, these pics are the opposite of selling yourself.
e)I’m with the hot girlpics. You’re supposed to beattractinga girl, so why are you posting pictures posing with one? Also, being surrounded by a bevy of beauties doesn’t make me think you’re an irresistible catch. It just makes me think you’re a ladies’ man.
f)Don’t worry, the kid isn’t minepics. Why include photos with babies and children if they’re not yours? Is seeing you with kids supposed to make my ovaries explode with excitement? Doing this only then requires you to use up valuable characters in your profile explaining that they are your niece/nephew/godchild/borrowed for the day. Not to mention the fact that posting images of children on Tinder is just wrong.
g)Shadypics. Yeah, we know you look cool in your sunnies, but that’s kind of the problem. Most people look better in sunglasses, and so I need to see what you look likewithoutthem. As they say, the eyes are the windows to the soul. But who am I kidding? No one goes on Tinder to see someone’s soul…
h)Hatpics. I want to see your hair. If you’ve got a hat on in every photo, I will assume you are bald. A lot of women go crazy for bald men and find them sexy—think Jason Statham, Bruce Willis, etc. So if that’s the look you’re rocking, don’t hide it. Be confident and own it.
i)Sexualpics. E.g., zoomed-in boxer short pics or dick pics…say no more. Then again, I remind myself for the hundredth time that this is bloodyTinder—you know, the site renowned for hook-ups—so what the hell do I expect?
Before I knew it, it was fast approaching 1 a.m. and I realised that not only had I been swiping consistently since 7 p.m. but that I was on the verge of developing irreversible repetitive strain injury. What’s more, having put my business head on, I calculated that if I’d swiped left for over two thousand men and right for approximately twenty because of the extensive and frankly ridiculously rigid criteria I’d been using, I was unlikely to get a satisfactory ‘return on my investment’.
So, whilst attraction and maintaining some kind of standards were important, I recited the cliché that ‘looks aren’t everything’ (yes, I realise the irony of saying this whilst using an app based entirely on appearance) and opened up my mind a little more.
Stage 3: The Match
Unsurprisingly, the more open-minded strategy worked much better. The first few times I received a match, I can’t deny it did give me a buzz.The guy I like, likes me back! How wonderful,you naively think. Until you realise that a) most men that you match with don’t actually message you back because b) horror of horrors, whilst women often only swipe right when theygenuinelylike someone, men use dating apps as a vanity exercise to boost their ego and prove that women find them attractive. Shocking.
Legend has it that men swipe right for practicallyeveryoneto see who matches with them first, and only then do they go through and ‘vet’, by either unmatching or ignoring the ones they’re not really interested in. Worse still, some of them just do it for cheap thrills. They don’t even want a date. Knowing they got a match is satisfying enough. Boo.
Stage 4: The Messaging
But no matter, I told myself. Not all men were like that. What’s more, as an independent woman, I didn’tneedto wait for the man to make the first move. So after matching, I decided to kick-start the proceedings and message José—anextremelyattractive specimen who, whilst not Italian, had the trademark dark eyes, hair and beard that I’d become addicted to. Perhaps he was Spanish or Brazilian? His profile was blank, so I was none the wiser. Still blissfully naive and sticking with the ‘simple is best’ approach, I innocently opted for a basic:
Hi, José, how are you?
I awaited his reply (more eagerly than I’d like to admit as he was avision). My phone pinged as he fired back two messages at high speed. I was excited to see his response:
Hi, said the first message, swiftly followed by,Good, but I go back home tomorrow morning, so we should meet and have sex tonight.
