I don’t believe there is anything inherently wrong with Tinder and these other dating apps.
If anything, it allows more and more people to connect.
In a world dominated by social media, where we all project the best versions of ourselves to the world, Tinder feels like a referendum on your image. Regardless of the medium — in person or through a screen — rejection stings. Apps like Tinder make us more willing to initiate a conversation, and as rejections stack up, we fall deeper and deeper into dissatisfaction. So next time you swipe through Tinder: The person doesn’t match back?
I suffer from an unpleasant, sometimes paralyzing, condition lots of gay people have in common: gay anxiety.
For me, my gay anxiety comes on really strong when I get a manicure, which sucks because this self-identified mascara lesbian loves to gaze down at her shiny, deep red nails.
I start to feel the anxiety swish through my body as I round the corner to my local nail joint, and it reaches its peaks when the manicurist and I start to get intimate.
is a television fantasy/family drama about a teenager named Joan Girardi (), who sees and speaks with God and performs the tasks that God gives her.
So many of us have become disillusioned and dejected by the current state of dating.
Despite this ability, Tinder and these other apps have begun to grate on me as well. And like so many of my friends and peers, their use more frequently results in emptiness rather than satisfaction.
Based upon this growing dissatisfaction, my roommates’ complaints about Tinder resonated with me.
When the straight community avoided approaching people in public due to fear of rejection, the LGBTQ avoided approaching people in public due to both the fear of rejection and the fear of harm.
Tinder gave us the ability to connect while lowering our risk.