Tinder Live: A commentary of sorts

Today we have a treat. I am going to Tinder live for you. Saturday morning, London time and there’s a good chance quite a few Tinderellos have woken up and thought, “Why is there no woman here to suck my cock?” Ok that’s unfair. They probably woke up thinking, “I would like a woman in my bed, a woman I will cherish, adore and make sweet love to.” And that is why they are on Tinder.

Let’s see who we can find shall we?

Here’s JP. He’s given me his resume. He’s one of the Tindlosophers – people who like to display their personal philosophy on their ‘About’ page. No Kiekergaard here. Just the startling revelation that “The secret of health in both body and mind is not to worry about the past.” This is good as I have swiped him left and shall no longer think about him. Ergo I am on the way to being healthy.

Joe (48) is on a skateboard in dramatic pose, the kind that comes before hospital. On the assumption he is now unable to walk let alone skateboard , I decide not to look any further.

Ben is wearing a series of funny hats and pulling faces. I feel embarrassed for him. And pity. This is not the foundation of any relationship.

Rob looks like he has escaped from Wormwood Scrubs. Why do most English guys look like thugs in their photos? This does not happen in Paris or Rome where Jean Paul and Paolo always make an effort. Ok it doesn’t help that the Anglo types have baldness in the genes. And paleness. And fat. Seductive huh?

It’s only 9.16 am and we have reached peak beard. The only men who can wear beards successfully are dirty, foreign types with a careless overnight coating of stubble that makes them look like assassins or footballers, both of whom you’d spend a night with.

There is a guy on a motorbike wearing a turban with an axe over his shoulder. I check to see this is not Tinder Afghanistan.

Have I mentioned this is a flawed app? ¬†Deeply so. On occasions Tinder shows me women. I am not one of Sappho’s crew. But anyway here’s Rita, 38 and she is the Global PR Manager for a big professional services firm. Is that wise Rita? I don’t think so.

Vic is married. I know this because he has a picture of his torso and says that if I swipe he’ll meet me on WhatsApp. Now listen up guys, if I’m going to have an affair with a married man I expect to meet him in his own W1 pied a terre he keeps for such purposes. Or The Connaught. Either will do. I have standards.

Lee is skiing. I have only seen 21 skiers today but it’s just 9.25. Give it time.

Mick loves his kids. Peter loves his kids. Andy loves his kids more than anything. ¬†Vijay loves his kids. Everyone loves their kids. Is this a dating app or the Jeremy Kyle show? And maybe, some of you shouldn’t have left? Just putting the thought out there…

Tinder tells me there is ‘nobody new’ around me. This means it will show me the guys I’ve rejected. Now I know Tinder says that once you swipe left they are dead, figuratively (well who knows they might be dead in which case they have no business tempting me with pictures of what I could have had) but this is a fib. Because what Tinder does is show you the same guys over and over again. And I am weary of this Tinder. I did what you said. And you betrayed me. Now I feel that you are offering me my rejects, throwing them back in my face saying ‘this is as good as it gets.’ Damn you Tinder, you promise so much and yet when all is said and done, you give me Steve with the bandy legs and a beer in his hand.

I widen the search area. An ‘error’ has occurred in applying my settings. We start again. It is 9.35. There is still ‘no-one new’ around me.

9.46. Tinder has got stuck. It is not sure what to do next.

Why can’t Tinder work like Amazon? No hang on, that’s not going to work. My last Amazon selection included One Direction. That was after I’d just purchased a small set of kitchen storage drawers.

In real life you would not get 250 skiers standing near you inside 20 minutes. On Tinder this is what happens. I am unnerved imagining them outside my house. It gets worse when I add the Carbon Fibre Bicycle Men. Imagine opening the front door to find 23 chubby middle aged men in bright lycra all wanting to say hello to you. I start to hallucinate. Then I panic. I shall go and have some Xanax now.

 

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