I Went on Four Consecutive First Tinder Dates for Valentine’s Day

Tinder and Valentine's Day respectively are among the most divisive concepts of millennial dating. Everyone knows a guy or six that loves to lambast Valentine's Day as a commercial ploy, while others take to social media to prove they are loved by someone other than themselves. Meanwhile, Tinder has spurned many a think piece about hook-up culture and its irrevocable destruction of romance. Subsequently, the notion of meeting up with Tinder match after Tinder match on the most amorous day of the year seemed almost comically desperate—so I did.

Personally I only ever used Tinder to, somewhat cruelly, troll matches to entertain friends. I had never met-up with anybody, nor considered using it for real mostly due to fear of having tell others where I had met my brand new beau. Despite having close friends that are in very successful Tinder-fostered relationships, I have been convinced they are but rare anomalies floating in a sea of very thirsty people all about the tap and gap. But what if we got it all wrong and there are a lot more souls seeking meaningful connection than casual sex? Furthermore, does anyone single genuinely buy into feeling lonely on Valentine's Day, just because it's Valentine's Day?

Turns out dates are actually really easy to get. I downloaded Tinder on February 13, which only left me 24 hours to find four people (a nice, even number, I decided) willing to go out with me.

I spammed maybe 50 matches, copy pasting "hey, what's up?" then immediately asked to meet up, all while pretending like I forgot it's Valentine's Day tomorrow (many were dubious about this and rightly so). At this point I decided I wouldn't tell any of my matches why I was frothing to meet-up, in order to keep the romance as authentic as possible.

It's easy to gauge from their response to a casual wuu2, who was crazy and who wasn't (Mike, 28: 'crying myself to sleep, wbu?') and after some mild sweating from maintaining many separate conversations, I had organised myself four dates, over four hours, on V Day.

Luke was my first Tinder/blind date ever, which meant I was particularly nervous and questioning my ability to assimilate to a stranger.

He was late (this was painful) and arrived in jandals, a backward cap and Dirty Dogs (this was incredible). He was a lot older than me and worked in construction (I know next to nothing about construction, but treaded water as much as I could). He wouldn't look me in the eye, but talked about his dad A LOT (he was a war reporter so I get it).

There was no mention of how many dates he goes on or why he's on Tinder. I don't know if I expected this or not, I mean, why is anyone on Tinder? Is there even a right way to answer that question should it arise? He did, however, mention he was going on a Valentine's Day bike ride with his pal and showed me a picture of his bike on Facebook. I realised I was crossing generations when he flailed with his own tagged photos and said: "I'm not good at the Facebook thing". I left knowing more about his dad than I did him.

I arrived fifteen minutes late for my date with Scott, probably as a result of my interest in Luke's dad. Scott worked in retail, looked like he was trying to be Jon Kortajadnjasdf from A Single Man, but in all senses of the word was a really great guy. What gives huh?

I noticed by now that there seems to be a competition between the two dates as to who is the least invested in Tinder. Both guys thus far had asked how long I've had it—the least amount of time makes you seem cooler btw—and acted like they've never dated anyone from the app at all, despite their eagerness to meet up.

Scott told me I was the easiest date he's ever set-up (which made me feel bad) and that girls can sometimes be "shady", but I seem really genuine (which made me feel worse). Several times I wanted to tell him I was writing a story but I was in far too deep. When he recommended a VICE documentary the irony got too real, I left a very persistent Scott only by promising to follow up for dinner plans later in the week. He sent me a Happy Valentine's Day text, while I was waiting for my next date. Brutal.

James was American and of all four seemed incredibly excited to meet up on Valentine's Day. Our Tinder messages read:

James: "Are you just wanting to go on this date because it's Valentine's Day?"

Me: "Do you?"

James: "Fuck yeah, would suck to be alone on Valentine's Day."

James stood me up, which was actually kind of welcome because I needed the break, but also why James? Why. Surely stand-ups must be Tinder paradigm that comes with the territory, but what if James had been my only date? What if I had thought there was real potential? So there you have it, for an hour, I was alone on Valentine's Day. I can only hope he didn't meet the same fate (can I?). Whatever, I don't even care (do I?).

Joel, bless him, kind of reminded me why Tinder exists. He was both the fastest talker to ever exist and shaking like a chihuahua. The best part was he was reviewing me as he went along. This seemed ironic because he didn't really let me speak at all, but all the same he managed to gauge that I was "deep", compared to the many, many shallow people (those poor souls) he allegedly meets. He then told me I was "doing very well" on our date, like I was auditioning for The Voice. This seemed to be a common factor in each of my dates, they very comfortably told me what they thought of me. Perhaps this is the go-to to get another meet-up.

He said one of his primary goals was to be a hot dad by 25, then suggested, based on my reaction, that perhaps he needs to reevaluate his priorities. Dreams are free.

Although he paid for my drinks (yikes) which was kind, Joel was easily the most pretentious of the three. He is not fuccboi, he assured. He is a connoisseur of coffee and craft beer, he professed. "I don't really understand RnB," he tells me in cute/fun/flirty way—which I didn't appreciate. Most of his friends were basic bros so he doesn't know why he's friends with them, he regrets. Throughout our entire interaction, I couldn't shake the feeling he was scouting a baby mama and that is terrifying.

Although a hook-up culture totally exists, I realised during my many dates that my views were more a result of the 'men want sex, women want love' heteronormative ideal that we've bought into since the dawn of time, rather than any real experience.

When Scott text me today asking about my day, my moral compass would neither allow me to ghost nor reply as normal, so instead I came clean.

Consequently, discrediting Tinder or Valentine's Day has become so ubiquitous it's boring. It's impossible to ignore that both are cultural phenomena that successfully establish human connection. It's so easy to believe that men turn to Tinder or organise Valentine's dates just to get laid while women are desperately searching for true love, whereas in reality I don't think anyone is really giving anyone enough credit.

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