Advanced Apathy: Vapid Observations from a Drunken Decade of Dating: 2015

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Tinder: A Reflection on Modern Dating

It recently dawned on me that it's been a while since I've explored new dating sites, a realization that hit me as I was busy swiping on Tinder. For those unfamiliar, Tinder is a mobile app that uses your Facebook profile to create a simple dating profile. What began as an app for casual hookups has now become a viable option for serious daters. And it's free, sort of—more on that later. My first impression of Tinder was that it was bizarre and superficial. Once you open the app, it uses your location to find matches nearby. The only filters you can set are the age range and distance. As photos appear, you swipe left to reject and right to accept. If both people swipe right, you're a match and can start texting through the app.

My Conflicted Feelings on Tinder

I've struggled to write about Tinder because of my mixed feelings. On one hand, it's easy, fun, and a quick way to check out potential matches. You can glance at a picture and instantly judge if someone is "worthy" of your time. We all do a version of this in real life—scanning a crowd, spotting an attractive person, and instantly checking their ring finger. However, something about Tinder feels much more shallow to me. The swipes are a quiet, thoughtless acceptance or rejection, and I'm just as guilty of this as anyone.

A Real-Time Analysis

To illustrate this, here’s a real-time analysis of some of my recent Tinder matches (names and ages have been changed):

Amber, 25: Very pretty, four-word profile. SWIPE RIGHT
Lindsay, 29: Two similar interests, no written profile. SWIPE LEFT
Renee, 30: No written profile, attractive, kids in every picture. SWIPE LEFT
Jenna, 37: Not attractive, lots of pictures of cats and kids. SWIPE LEFT
Sammie, 28: Very cute, tons of tattoos, one similar interest, no written profile. SWIPE RIGHT

What did this little experiment teach me? That I can be a terrible, superficial person. But isn't that the point of Tinder? You make split-second judgments and move on to the next person. While technology has changed how we meet people, we have to ask if it’s for the better. We're now screening potential partners based solely on a few photos, shared interests, and a couple of sentences. A swipe left banishes someone from our lives, while a swipe right puts them in a "maybe" pile.

I'm not saying this is entirely wrong, but it does feel like we've become our online "profiles"—easily created and just as easily discarded. After writing down whether or not someone is "worthy" of me, I have to admit that a swipe left for myself feels well-deserved.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Smoking! (And other reasons women have broken up with me)

When I started thinking about why women have ended things with me, a few reasons came to mind. Here they are, in no particular order:

Their mom told them to break up with me. (Yes, this happened with my ex-wife.)
They couldn't see a future with me.
They typically date guys who are "more fit." (This really makes me question the "honesty is the best policy" thing.)
They wanted to get back together with an ex.
They love oral sex way too much.

(I made up one of those. You can guess which one.)

New Reasons

Recently, I've run into two new and rather unique reasons for getting dumped:

"Because your mom is technically my boss."
"Because smoking cigarettes is more important to me than this."

Let me break these down for you.

The Boss's Daughter

Yes, her mom was technically my boss—and I mean that literally. My boss found out we were dating and told her daughter to call things off, and she did. This one felt all too familiar, echoing my first reason.

The Smoking Issue

This one was truly fascinating. I met Deb on Match.com. She was spunky, cute, fun, and not Mormon, but she smoked like a chimney. Now, smoking is usually a deal-breaker for me, but I'll be honest, I was running out of options. We lived an hour apart and would hang out about once a week. We'd have a few drinks, she'd smoke, and I'd pretend it didn't bother me.

I did eventually tell her that I wasn't a fan and that it did bother me. She would go off to smoke away from me, and I never said another word about it. Other than the smoking, we got along really well. We communicated effectively, laughed a lot, and genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

This all changed last week when she dropped a bombshell: she needed to smoke regularly without feeling like I was judging her. I pointed out that I never said anything to her about it, and she agreed. But she was clear: smoking was a part of who she was, and she didn't feel I was supportive (which, to be fair, I wasn't). So, that was it. I drove my butt back home.

It's been a week since all this B.S., and I'm still trying to make sense of it. I feel like I was in a no-win situation. Maybe the lesson here is that I shouldn't make compromises on things that are important to me—and it seems smoking counts as one of those. Or maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and accept people for who they are.

Maybe I just need to move on.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Land of (No) Opportunity

The Land of the Majority
I've never really had to struggle with being an outsider. I grew up in a small, rural town, and while we were "dirt poor" at times, I was surrounded by other lower-middle-class white kids just like me. I was always part of the majority.
A Necessary Move to Idaho
A few months ago, I moved to Idaho for a teaching job. It had been almost four years since I graduated college, and despite a few close calls, I hadn't been able to land a position. When Idaho offered me a job, I packed my meager belongings, left everything I had ever known, and moved to a state I knew nothing about.
What I didn't fully realize was that my new hometown was over 80% Mormon. As an atheist, I honestly didn't care. I believe people are people, and I was ready to move on with my life.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
The Loneliness of Being an Outlier
The people here are incredibly polite—friendly to a fault, but at a distance. They'll offer help during the workday, but they won't invite you over for dinner. From what I've gathered, once they decide you're not part of their community, you're an outsider. For the first time in my life, I'm the one who isn't the "norm." I do have a few non-LDS friends, but we're the outliers here.
Putting My Personal Life on Hold
So, how does this relate to dating? My dating pool doesn't exist. When I said that 80% of the population is Mormon, that wasn't a plea for sympathy; it's a U.S. Census statistic. This move was necessary for my career, and I accept that. But it has also forced me to understand a type of loneliness I never truly appreciated before.
I've been alone for most of the decade since my divorce, so I'm comfortable being by myself. I've had a few relationships, but for the most part, I'm used to being single.
However, living here has made me realize what it's like to be without the opportunity to meet someone. It feels as if I'm advancing my professional life while putting my personal life on hold. After a decade, being alone is starting to feel like a habit, and another year in an environment that only reinforces that feeling absolutely terrifies me.