Is this the worst Tinder profile ever?

On rejoining, and then promptly leaving, Tinder

A friend of mine recently told me that she met her boyfriend – an attractive man whom she gets along with well – on Tinder. Personally, I’d grown bored of internet dating and the endless shuffling deck of faces a while ago. Better, I thought, to meet someone in the real world. But seeing my friend’s success, I reconsidered Tinder – perhaps I’d been too hasty in its dismissal. So I downloaded the app to see what eligible men awaited me.

Things had indeed changed a bit in my absence.

At some point, I gathered, all of Australia’s remaining single men were put into an enormous blender, churned into a homogenised paste, poured into icing bags, and then piped back into human shapes. What other explanation could there be for the army of laid-back men who like travel (so long as it’s Bali) and can only muster a strong opinion if it relates to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza.

It’s a veritable smorgasbord of mediocrity.

So bland, in fact, that looking through profiles takes on a meditative quality, not unlike gazing into the void of the night sky.

Which is not to say there isn’t the occasional standout. Sometimes a rogue unit – a person who’s exceptionally smart, funny or interesting – escapes the blender and blithely stumbles onto the platform. These men are quickly rehomed with little fuss. But other times, a person will stand out from the dross for less positive reasons.

Like Nick, for example.

By all measures Nick seemed to be a completely average person. He was nondescript in height, appearance, and education. But what made Nick exceptional was his bravery. He created a dating profile, chose his photos, and typed out a short biography explaining what he was looking for. Most men write that they want a ride-or-die, a travel buddy, or a partner in crime. But not Nick.

What he wants is a nice girl to piss in his mouth.

I have done ‘Nick’ the good turn of hiding his face and changing his name — a kindness he did not afford himself. This 33-year-old adult, who was wearing what might have been a shirt branded with his company’s name, was more than happy to proudly put his identity behind his horny, ungrammatical search.

The end result is that Tinder has left a bad taste in both of our mouths.

Was it always like this? To my enormous detriment, I am perhaps better qualified to answer this question than most. Though I won’t get the credit (and frankly don’t really want it) I believe I was the first person to talk about Tinder on the ABC.

It was early in 2013, the app had been in Australia for less than a year, and I was working at Radio National as an intern. I successfully pitched a five-minute story where I found a date using the platform, brought a microphone along, and recorded how it all went. Surprisingly both the ABC and a date agreed.

Tinder was so new at this point, remember having to explain in the script how the swiping mechanism worked. Funny how it’s such a large part of our lexicon now.

A shocking amount of men ask why I hate travel, but are seemingly happy to accept the swamp hag line.

Perhaps the biggest difference between Tinder then and now, is how few profiles there were in the early days. Single men and women would quickly reach the end of the stack, which would mean having to wait for more people to join the platform. This might sound banal and obvious, but it fundamentally altered how we interacted with one another. With fewer possible matches, each profile was more carefully considered and any subsequent conversations more deliberate.

Yes, we were all a bit less disposable once.

But were there any grown man trying to hunt down a nice warm glass of piss, you ask? Well, probably yes. But they largely weren’t so overt. I reckon you’d have to go on a least a few dates before someone tentatively broached that request. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing? Better, perhaps, for gentleman like Nick to make their intentions clear nice and early.

But it isn’t just the way we behave with each other that has changed — I sense there is a collective apathy about the technology itself. Once there was an air of novelty and possibility around app-based dating. Now it has the fug of yet another adult chore. I suppose it’s no surprise that Tinder is a churn of uninspired profiles. We’re all going through the motions, trying to find romance in the most dull of conditions.

Is there a way to put the spark back into Tinder? I’m not sure. I’m also not particularly interested in finding out. Some things just naturally fizzle over time. Personally, I’m happy to end this relationship for good.

Can’t wait until next Monday? Click here to find all my previous articles.