- I'm a self-confessed online dating addict, using apps like Tinder, Grindr, and Bumble almost constantly.
- I decided to give up all of my apps for a week and just try something totally new for me: meeting people and dating the old-fashioned way.
- Here's what I learned in the end, including how I've been using apps wrong this whole, entire time.
Sometimes it feels as though Tinder is my phantom limb. Without the help of the millennial dating app on the subway or waiting on a friend who's in the bathroom, I'm kind of at a loss. I'm always kind of reaching for it, even when my phone isn't there or my Wifi is spotty. For me, dating apps like Tinder, Grindr, and Bumble have become a high-stakes version of Angry Birds, but with the added bonus of compliments from occasionally… often, even, attractive guys and actual dates.
That's the thing about my whole self-admitted dating app addiction.
As vapid or inconsequential as dating apps may sound in theory, they are actually pretty meaningful tools for establishing human connections, particularly for people like myself, who don't have the heterosexual privilege of meeting just about anyone in just about any bar in just about any city. It's an addiction that's rooted in the need for survival.
I've been on the gay dating app Grindr since I was 18, but even before that, I was a young gay kid.
I was one of very, very few LGBT people in a small town who was open about their sexuality, chatting with other potential romantic partners – OK, this was before "Catfish" and I was naive.
No, I never met anyone as a kid, but I was using the internet as a substitutional lifeline for the normal teenage milestones that I just didn't have the privilege of partaking in. After years and years, it's become second nature to me, and though I now live in New York City and often meet plenty of men in bars and get hit on in real life, I still find myself reverting back to reaching for my phone and those good old dating apps out of comfort, familiarity, and of course, boredom.
Luckily, I'm not the only one doing this.
All in all, Tinder users swipe over a billion times a day and 63% of Tinder users report going on dates 1-2 times per week, where the same can be said of only 52% of offline daters. Not to mention, over 2 million people are using Grindr a day in over 196 countries and 69% of them say they don't even exaggerate their height (liars!).
Here's the problem: I feel as though sometimes I'm a little too reliant on these forms of technology for something as important to me as dating.
For one thing, I'm aware that they often provide a platform for things like racism and body-shaming, which I've seen first-hand. I've also experienced that digital communication can lead to miscommunications about things like relationships as opposed to simple hookups or one-night stands, which I'm not necessarily looking for as time goes on.
Also, I sometimes feel myself getting a little too much validation from compliments or getting hit on by faceless, nameless, or unfamiliar people on apps. It feels as though I'm not living in the moment when real, actual guys could be hitting on me or approaching me. And I've always secretly dreamed of just meeting someone face to face, the old fashioned way. I blame romantic comedies.
I decided to give up all of my most used apps, try out this old fashioned dating style of yore, and hopefully ultimately break my addiction to staring nose-deep in my iPhone, ignoring the impending arrival of the love of my life.
Day one played out exactly as I expected it to. In those more mundane moments, I reached for my phone and to quote Taylor Swift, a blank space greeted me. What would I do now as a substitute? This was particularly difficult before bed, when I check apps kind of as a winding down procedure before going to sleep, sweet dreams of "hey what's up" and "you're cute" playing in my head. I stared at the ceiling. Counting sheep just wasn't as fun.
After that, I realized that this was proof how ultimately unhealthy my relationship to dating apps really could be. This wasn't what these things were even intended for, yet here I was using them as a social crutch or retreat during times of monotony as well as some sort of strange bedtime story.
In their stead, I decided to try a meditation app before bed every night.
And actually, I ended up feeling much more relaxed and refreshed before setting my alarm and turning my phone over on my nightstand for the night.
But I also noticed two things after a few days: I was thirsty for compliments, feeling disconnected from that sense of male validation. I was also feeling very detached from the dating scene because if I didn't have these handy mini-matchmaking tools at my fingertips, how would I meet men?
Turns out old-fashioned dating is actually a whole lot of work. In my head, I just assumed people met on the street, but not through things like catcalling or harassment. It was a fabled moment of mutual, clearly consensual eye contact – or something? It sounds ridiculous, but immediately, I realized people usually met at places. Groundbreaking stuff, I know.
So, I took it to the streets and then into bars, bookstores, and coffee shops. And, especially at bars, I did notice other people noticing me and striking up conversations. I was more present and probably more approachable. I challenged myself to at least try asking for a number or two. It felt a bit brave and I was successful, which was a fun confidence-booster.
All in all, it was rewarding, but it meant making dating a priority, actually delegating time and energy beyond swiping right.
It took engaged conversation and attraction as well as plenty of clear communication. Did I meet my future husband? No, I don't think so, but at least I kept my eyes peeled.
And there was the other glaring issue: why was I so starved for attention? I mean, yes, we all love a compliment, but those can't be the morsels that provide sustenance to get through the day or feel attractive.
Without dating apps, I had to know I was attractive, and in fact, I had to retain even more confidence in order to tackle dating face-to-face as opposed to faking it from behind a screen. Going out a limb requires being self-assured enough not to look down for too long. Eventually, I learned that, though obviously that isn't too say I'm not still insecure or that I'm superhuman. Not at all.
After a week, I happily re-downloaded my dating apps and got back into the game. But instead of treating them as my phantom limb or a mindless video game, I reminded myself of just how useful they could be in aiding my desire to date the old-fashioned way, combining what I'd learned with what I already knew. Old school meets new school.
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