Once you’re done, Tinder send your pictures of your recommendations, which you can either like (by clicking a heart button BECAUSE YOU LOVE THEM), or reject (by clicking a DIRTY GREAT BIG CROSS).
You see between one and five photos, and the aforementioned one-liner ‘about them’ and that’s all the information you have before making a snap judgment – yes or no.
If they like you back on an equally superficial level, you get a notification and can start chatting.
It means you’re never going to get pestered with messages from anyone you haven’t already explicitly liked.
Clearly the formula is working – the app’s success has been meteoric.
General wisdom has it that you shouldn’t settle on the first nice-ish bloke (or bird) who comes your way.
Fully primed, and in need of a distraction, I download the app and check out my recommendations.
I’m not sure how many of men on there realise that the app uses your Facebook profile picture as a default, as I quickly spot several who appear to posing with wives or girlfriends. That aside, it turns out I’m really very good at making superficial judgments about people based on very little.
He put a winky face at the end of each entreat, just to show how serious he really was. When I went through the matches in my area, I discovered several people I knew, plus a few more friends of friends (Tinder tells you if you have any Facebook friends in common with someone). They all claim it was for dating – most seemed to view it as the ‘acceptable’ side of online dating, and said it was easier than trying to meet people in bars.
By the end of the weekend, a couple of the guys I’d been chatting to asked me out for a drink, which was the point of the whole exercise, but I found myself stalling because I wasn’t really sure what they wanted from the whole encounter.