I remember the first time I used a dating app – it wasn’t even an app, as we didn’t have smartphones yet, it was Match.com; and at that time, people looked down on those who had to turn to platforms for their romantic interests. Let me take a necessary sidestep first: the way I learned to meet women was being drunk in bars as often as possible, and as late at night as possible. This is just the way it mostly was in college, and this practice carried over well into my thirties. It wasn’t until I was pushing 40 that I couldn’t keep up in that way. I lost the desire for late nights, bar tabs, and hangovers. But I was still in my 20s when I tried Match, as I’d had some friends get on there and have success. It didn’t really generate a lot more for me than my at-the-time tried-and-true method of barhopping, so I set aside those platforms for quite some time. It wasn’t until I’d grown tired of constant nightlife that I gave into what would eventually, and sadly, become the norm.

I’m on the left sweating bullets and saying dumb stuff. She’s thinking, “What’s with this guy?” (Image comes courtesy of Tirachard Kumtanom, and was retrieved from here)

This did include some forays back into Match, but mostly OK Cupid, and eventually the main apps, including Tinder, Hinge, and Bumble. And I must admit that I didn’t really understand how to use these things at first, at least in terms of self-presentation. For some reason, I thought I should be deep and philosophical, spilling my heart out. For the most part, no women are looking for that on these platforms. Call me a slow learner. For whatever reason, I kept the text of what I used on OK Cupid – I assume because I got on and off it so frequently that I just found it easier to copy-paste. See below for an admittedly cringe-worthy “bio”:

If the following is not what you are attracted to then pretend it’s all a joke. If it is exactly what you are looking for then something is wrong with you: I’m a very sarcastic person, but when it is directed at “you” it is because I like you and am picking up on the minute aspects of your personality. If I stop giving you a hard time, then the writing is on the wall…. I always take it a little farther than it should go. I’m a habitual line-stepper (Chappelle’s Show, anyone?)… I will always be the devil’s advocate – challenging the given in the name of the possible is vital to a growing self/relationship/society. Don’t rest on your inherited beliefs! [insert city] loves their heady beer, but I, my friend, am a man of the people. I’ll drink from, and with, the dregs of society. Now, that doesn’t mean I imbibe too often, but I know the importance of having a few beers with good company… Give me an empty forest (with my dog in tow), a loud rock show (dog will stay home for this one), or a quiet backyard and a good book (with my dog by my side), and I’ll show you me in my element… Sometimes I find that other people can speak for me very well; either through a good quote or a thought-inspiring poem. Other times I find that I am the only one that can convey my thoughts, and sometimes the only one that understands them… I try not to have expectations, but I’m often loaded down with dreams. I know how to separate the two… I’m pragmatic with an overlay of wanderlust. I’m diplomatic. I’m fiery, though quick to cool down. I’m extremely self-aware (I think I am anyhow), and I hope that I am aware of your wants/needs/comfort… I don’t think we ever do, or ever should, stop learning. So, tell me about yourself – I’m listening!

Needless to say, it wasn’t exactly working consistently. I’m actually curious how many women made it past the first line before they sent my profile to the trash bin. But over time, I figured out the algorithm (or at least what was attractive to some women), but I was still an inconsistent batter. If this had been the Major Leagues, they’d have sent me down to Single A for lack of reliability and performance. But lest I paint myself as a total loser, I did have some “success.”

Eventually, though, I moved off the platforms and onto the apps, where perhaps thankfully, they don’t allow you that much space to hang yourself with stupid commentary. But trust me, you can shoot yourself in the foot with as a little as one bad attempt at a joke. Here are a few of my “about me” statements from the apps I’ve used in the past: (1) “I was raised by MTV in the 80s and 90s, so all you need to know about me can be learned from watching re-runs of 120 Minutes, Headbanger’s Ball, and Yo! MTV Raps”; (2) this next one is from an ad from a ski magazine I used to subscribe to in the 90s when I was in high school, so I framed it as speaking for me: “My parents still have my 5th grade report card. The one the reads, ‘Has good insight, but lacks common sense.’ They keep it framed next to a picture of me skiing off a 70-foot cliff”; and (3), this one, which only works on Bumble (because of their bee identity/imagery) but is my personal favorite, “There are only two outcomes on Bumble: getting stung or getting honey.” That one’s pretty clever, even if I do say so myself. Each has proven “effective,” if you catch my drift, but ultimately the results have been ephemeral.

I’m off the apps more than I’m on them, whether it’s because I’m dating someone or simply because I find the whole online dating thing to be frustrating and borderline depressing. But I will comment on one recent engagement, currently in the making as we speak. Come press time, though, it may have faded out into the ether as so many others have before. I got on Hinge on a Monday night and began sending out messages to women. It’s a game of numbers, so you have to throw your line out dozens of times before you get a bite. Typically, I’m not shy of doing so to women who are clearly out of my league – what’s there to lose, after all? Anyway, this one particular beauty replies back almost instantly, and we engage in an enjoyable back-and-forth, me demonstrating my quick-wittedness and humor, her eating it up. This goes on for a couple days, and then we make plans to meet up on the upcoming Sunday for brunch – not my idea, but hers. I assume we’ll have bloodies or mimosas to break the ice, but alas, we don’t. So, there I sit, nervous as all hell, trying to keep this gorgeous woman interested, but feeling like I’m messing it up every time I open my mouth. After 90 minutes, we disperse, and the entire drive back to my house (she lives about 30 minutes away), I’m cursing myself for my failed performance, very “woe is me.”

I get home, and shortly thereafter receive a text from her – phew! I didn’t completely blow it! But I’m still aware of having offered up one of the worst date performances in my life, and eager to regain ground and move this thing in the direction I want it to go. She’s supposed to be heading out of town the following weekend, so I have to try and keep her on the hook via text for an extended period of time. It’s exhausting. At times it feels all-consuming. It’s often impossible to gauge tone and affect through text, so I’m working with few signals to really know how it’s going. I’m expecting defeat. I’ve become my own worst enemy. All because of these apps and this beauty…

I have no other form of social media because I despise them as a form of communication and expression (but to each their own). And I’m well aware that dating apps are very much a form of social media, arguably the worst kind. They really boil down to being a meat market, one where aesthetics is king, and we can thoughtlessly rate someone as being below our standards with a quick swipe. But here I am, having snuck through the guard, swimming upstream, peacocking to be the most attractive suitor. My god, it’s all too much. I wonder if I get cut loose from this current gal if all the overthinking and self-induced stress will have been worth it. I’m guessing probably not…

Marco Esquandoles
Perpetual Bachelor