Phoebe Tries to Find her Tindered Spirit

Sometimes I like to play tinder. Which, I recognize as I write this post is probably something that should not be admitted on the world wide web. And is probably even furthering my forever singlehood. But, I feel like, based on the number of mirror sefies I have swiped through since downloading this oddly addicting app, there are enough humans out there who also occasionally play tinder that perhaps we can all take a moment here and reflect on this cyber match-maker that uses the only criteria people ever really needed to find their soul-mates, a Facebook profile picture. And it’s a pretty serious app, because after you establish that you are both on the same caliber of physical attractiveness, you can delve into the more important things, like religion, politics, what have you:


Anyway, a little history. I downloaded Tinder on a sunny day in Seattle back in June, when I had no friends and too much time on my hands, and I figured, “Hey, today seems like a perfect day to meet my soulmate.” And I touch screened my way to the app store and hit download. Since that time, however, I have not found my soulmate and, rather, I have lost about 99% of faith in humanity because, I did not realize how many people do not know the proper use of homonyms (They’re/their/there GUYS COME ON), and I also did not realize the astounding number of people who write, “people” as “ppl.” Seriously Generation Y, I thought we cut that shit out around the same time that we stopped using AIM. I digress.

Anyway, I’ve actually only gone on a whopping one, “Tinder date,” if you will, and I would give it about a 7/10. And the main reason I deducted points lies in the giant problem of putting all of our soul-mate stake on a profile picture. And that problem is height. And well, the guy I went on a Tinder date with was, I’d say 4’11”-maybe 5’1 on a good day. And he just couldn’t be nicer, it was a great time, except, there I was at a whopping 5’8″ feeling like I had scoliosis by about hour 2 because I was so focused on hunching over at the bar so that we could speak within 2 inches of each other. But the worst part was the goodbye. I mean, goodbyes after any date are pretty awkward I would say, but this goodbye really took the cake.  And it went something like this. We finished our drinks and the check was paid, and it was generally assumed that our date was reaching its end. So we stood up from our barstools, (and my back sighed a few cracks of relief that I was done pretending to be Quasimodo), and I was back to feeling like an Amazonian next to my Tinder nugget. That’s when I realized I had about 20 seconds to figure out how to execute this goodbye. My first instinct: a hug. It’s a classic, warm, but platonic, way to go about saying goodbye. Except then I realized that in order to go with the embrace and race exit strategy I would either have to get into full squat or full hunch position. Both seemed super awkward. 15 seconds. Next idea: a handshake. No. No. We did not just sign a business deal together, the hand shake was out of question. 10 seconds. A friendly wave? No. Lord, no. So in my remaining 5 seconds, I panicked. I half went in for the hug, but I didn’t fully commit, and it ended up looking more like a painfully awkward curtsey. And then, I did it. And I just pray that there were minimal eye witnesses, because I just can’t handle walking the streets of Capitol Hill knowing that people out there might remember this moment. I pat his back. And I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. I curtseyed and pat him on the back. I honestly don’t know what came over me.

Let’s move on. Anyway, after that horribly failed date, I’ve resorted to mostly just using Tinder, the way I use, say Instagram. As an occasional time-killer on public transit or on a lunch break.

And because I am a natural conversationalist, I usually start off strong- with something like this


So for those of you who couldn’t follow the intellectual depth of the above conversation, I will translate it in layman’s terms :

Me: “Hi, I’m Phoebe. I love pizza. And so many slices of it.”

Tinder: “Hi, Phoebe. Want to go for a ride on my canoe? Who am I kidding, of course you do!”

Tinder: “Sorry, did I say my canoe? I meant my super fast speed boat!”

Me: “Sounds neat, do your Grandma and Grandpa live nearby and enjoy fishing?”

And I would say generally, I don’t even reach the message phase of most of my right swipes, because, mostly, I’m vain and I love just the actual game part of tinder. The game part being how fast I can judge a person’s face. But, of course, I will occasionally sift through the message part. And some people, it’s just like, why? A few examples below.


Why don’t you ask yourself that, and try again.


Oh, I’m sorry, I must have missed that you were a leprechaun in your about me.



Hey there. You’re gross and I hate you.

So that always kind of just ruins it for everybody. But even worse than that, is when you occasionally take the 18 seconds it requires to respond to a Tinder human and they do this to you:

you are literally more vain than me, and that story wasn't funny.

You are literally more vain than me, and that story wasn’t funny.

But I would say a majority of my conversations go something like this:

IMG_4882 IMG_4883

And I feel pretty good about that.

So, as I reach the end of this post, I guess the take away message is that it’s not always easy to find your tindered spirit. And there are a lot of things out there making it really hard, including but not limited to: mirror selfies, faceless pictures, bad grammar, and more generally, the internet. So I leave you with this, Generation Y. Don’t lose hope. You never know when you might swipe right on a catch like this.


God speed with the swiping my friends.


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