It's a long way from prom night, and today we have an app for everything, including finding love later in life.
In the seven months since I've used the app Tinder to find love, I've gone on so many dates I've half forgotten faces and completely forgotten names. It's not hard to rack up encounters. Those of us on Tinder reach for it during work breaks, commercial breaks, while the kettle boils. When you swipe right for yes on a profile of someone who has already said yes to you, your phone lets out this addictive sexy little buzz. It's a Match! Tinder exclaims albeit prematurely. Now you two can message each other. I've accumulated about 100 matches since I started. Shamelessly at this point.
Tinder now strikes me as this massive, constantly refreshed, virtual cocktail party to which everyone with a smartphone is invited, thick skin optional but advised. From some of the press it gets you'd think Tinder was a fast track to depravity but, in my experience interacting with the 51-year-old and up crowd that I've selected (the app lets you select a minimum and maximum age, which after 54 then defaults to 55-plus), most people's initial intention is to be charming followed by a lovely get-together, the ultimate goal being a relationship.
Not getting a leg over with as many partners as possible assemble-line style as Vanity Fair famously documented with the under 30-set. If you ask me, making the most of Tinder's up-to-the-moment convenience says something cool about you from the start.
Granted only about half my so-called matches get in touch with a message. I gather some men swipe yes indiscriminately and cull from there or are in it for the ego boost of a match and only that.
If I do hear from a man, it's usually within 24 hours. I leave this first real move up to the guy; I find you learn so much more about a man if you wait to see how much initiative he takes. If he's interested, you'll know; ambiguity, his anyway, is out the window.
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