Because I will do literally ANYTHING to avoid any real work or face my real-life problems, a few days ago I downloaded Tinder.

I should say, rather, that I redownloaded Tinder.

I’m going to insert here a little crash course, a Tinder 101 if you will, for the more wholesome/busy/married-for-multiple-years/blissfully ignorant  readers that I have, just so that you can understand where I’m coming from and therefore follow me to my eventual conclusion.

 Gird your loins.

Are they sufficiently girded?

Alright, well Tinder is basically a dating and hookup app that’s popular and has been popular among young people for years now. There are several sites like it, but Tinder is sort of the Queen Mother of these dating apps. People can swipe LEFT if they aren’t interested and they can swipe RIGHT if they are. If you and another person both swiped right on each other, then you have matched. Congratulations. Now that you’ve matched, you can message each other, maybe plan a date, exchange pleasantries, realize the other person has nothing of value to say and unmatch them discreetly, et cetera.  

I should also note here that in order to have a PROPER Tinder profile, you need to have at least one picture of yourself for everyone to judge and also a bio, where ideally you would say something about yourself. Or a fun fact. A joke. Preferably not an overdone quote from The Office or cringey platitudes like “420 friendly” or “Not here for a long time, but here for a good time.”

I lost my Tinder maidenhood probably in freshman or sophomore year of college, downloading it to see which of my peers at Roanoke I would match with.

And honestly I was disappointed at my lack of matches, and I chalked it up to either me being ugly as sin (not likely, but hey, some people have horrendous taste) or because people didn’t want to make things awkward at such a small school.

Either way, Tinder ate up a lot of my free time. I would get sucked down the rabbit hole, swiping with friends for hours, giggling about various bios and pictures, gasping when we saw profiles of people we knew, being dramatic when people we knew didn’t match with us.

Eventually, I felt like it was getting old. I felt like I kept coming across the same sorts of guys: guys in hats and sunglasses holding fish in three of their photos, pictures of frat guys who all looked the same, and guys who were holding big stacks of money, like that’s going to be some sort of a panty-dropper for me. Jackasses, you know. Lots and lots of jackasses.  

I was seeing the same stuff over and over, and receiving the same messages, over and over, and I was bored. I deleted it.

Several times over the last few years though, I’ve redownloaded it. It’s a vicious cycle. I redownload it because I’m bored, then it gets old, and then I delete it again. All it’s ever really gotten me is a few Instagram followers, a slightly boosted ego and a lot of entertainment value. My romantic prospects have never changed.

But my most recent redownload-and-delete gave me a little bit more of an enlightened idea of what was going on with me, and showing that I might be changing.  

I liked the attention, obviously. Who wouldn’t? Strangers are messaging me saying that I’m beautiful, why shouldn’t I enjoy that?

I appreciated it, I did. But I also realized that maybe, just maybe, deep down, I’m a…

(Oh, the suspense is KILLING me! Emma is what?! She’s a psycho? A mole person? A Patriots fan? WHAT IS SHE?!)

…a romantic.

Yup. I said it. You heard it here first, folks. I think that I might be a romantic.

I want a human connection. I know it’s crazy. I feel like I say “I hate people” all the time, and honestly, I really do sometimes. But when it comes to finding love (sheesh Emma, who are you, the frickin’ Bachelorette?!), I’m realizing that I personally never will be able to find it using a hookup app.

Once I get a job and start being out in the real world with people, I just have to trust that my alarmingly good looks and sparkling brand of charisma will attract someone to me in the right way, and when that does happen, I will be able to get to know that person without any of the emojis or the gifs or the cheesy dime-a-dozen pickup lines.

In my new identity as a romantic, I’m now pledging to do things the old-fashioned way.

And what’s more, I am deciding to…

(Oh, not again, WHAT is she deciding to do? Grow out and dreadlock her armpit hair? Hire a private investigator to locate her dignity? Move to Alaska and build a career out of shucking oysters? WHAT?!)

…wait. I’m deciding to wait. There’s no reason for me to feel so desperate at this point in my life. I’m in what I would like to call a “transitional period.” One stage of my life is over (Roanoke College, how I miss you), and I’m waiting for my next one to begin. There’s no point in getting myself worked up over my adult romantic life when I don’t even have a regular adult life yet.

So, that’s my tale. If you’re using Tinder to find love, hook up, save the world one swipe at a time, whatever, good for you. Keep doing your own thing.

I know that I will not be redownloading it. If I’m bored, I can develop a new hobby. Preferably something that doesn’t involve getting “I’ve never met a girl as tall as you” in my inbox every other day.

(But THAT’S a post for a different time.)

Your Apparently-A-Romantic-And-No-One-Told-Her Servant,

Em