I’m done with Tinder. Yup, it’s over. Consider me retired. Someone take my phone and drag the Tinder icon to the ‘uninstall’ icon. Let’s be clear what my grouch is not about. It’s not about the one Tinder incident which everyone in college loves to exaggerate and joke about (screw you Bunty, I did not ask you what you were wearing). It’s also not some regurgitated crap about how vain Tinder makes us, because I’m the last person who’ll give you that perspective.

It’s been a good run but I’m just sore. It’s tough to keep up any longer. There is literally a mark on my phone the size of my thumb which stretches to the right. My touch screen has eroded in the right-swipe portion of the screen. I’m done with swiping right to women who I wouldn’t ever want to meet. I’ve had enough anxiety from accidentally swiping left on gorgeous women. I’ve had enough self-hate from accidentally swiping right to women who you unmatch immediately. I’ve had enough shame from the few times I tapped the super like button and no one responded (I was professing my love, you heartless fool). Tinder is a young man’s game, and if I’m being perfectly honest, it should be no man’s game. Maybe the internet is too vast. Maybe there are way too many stunning women out there that I can view four photos and a bio of but never be able to meet. These are women who offer me a glimpse into their world, only to disappear forever. I feel like I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean without any navigation tools, with a photo book of beautiful islands, and my boat looks really ugly. (Most women have stopped reading, most guys nod depressingly)

Tinder has left me full and starving all at once. I believe it’s time to go back to a simpler time. Remember that old school method of chasing women? Forming a ‘crush’ on someone, lingering in the Acad talking to them even when you’re done with your consult, hanging around at Chetta at 12.20 till Chetta cock blocks you by pulling down his shutters, attempting to volunteer for events in the same stream as them so you get to hang out. Having conversations over text that steer wildly from mundane chatter to intense flirting till you back off because you may as well have been typing with your dick, back to mundane chatter. Figuring out which party they’re going to and figuring out excuses to talk to them at said party.

At the time all of this felt like too much work. But now? I miss it. I miss the old school experience of chasing after only one woman because it made me want the relationship even more. It made me shy when discussing my top 5s. It made the experience of the real thing something my mind couldn’t quite fathom, and made me look forward to it. Tinder is a lot like ordering from Foodpanda in Nagarbhavi. There are way too many options and you finally decide on something and they don’t deliver to your area. I have a feeling I just want to stick to eating at Rohini.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this meme I see on my news feed frequently (this is also how I start conversations with women on tinder). It has this Asian girl who in response to a dichotomy says, “Why not both”. I feel like tinder is the manifestation of that meme, where you can be talking to 4 women all at once with the sole intent of inviting them to your Bone Zone. More than that, your success or failure depends on how good your “text game” is, and not the person you are. There are texting rules that govern how you should talk to these women, and if something goes wrong, it’s because you didn’t follow that rule. We put so much stock into our texts so that at the end, we can look back at it and say, “Oh he didn’t text back enough” or “I texted this girl too much” like we broke a rule that gets us disqualified. That’s a lot easier than looking back and saying, “I tried, and the girl didn’t like me, and that’s something I can’t change”.

My point isn’t that Tinder isn’t great. The point is that maybe we were better off not knowing. That’s why I’m going back. I’m going to a top 5 world. I’m choosing volunteer streams after I talk to the woman. I’m staying at Chetta till 12.20. I’m hanging around in the Acad even when I’m done with my consult. I think it will help my taste for the real thing. I think it will help you, too.

My first year of law school, we were set up randomly with roommates. Within a few hours, we had figured out how we were going to deal with the sudden lack of space and our presumed active social lives. Every night, one of us would go out to party, get hammered and do a lot of women while the other one would study in the library and diligently take notes. The next day, we would switch. Some of you first years reading this may be nodding along, thinking “great idea” as you run to the hostel office to get a perm form, thinking about which woman on your top 5 you want to hit on first. This is why you’ll be first years, because you’re very dumb. Tinder in Nagarbhavi has a higher chance of matching you with a supermodel than an idea like this working. Every evening in first trimester, I’d check my wallet at 6:00 pm, decide I’m out of money, go to the next room and learn that everyone is out of money, and then make the excruciating walk to the mess to sign good ol’ roomcheck. I didn’t party every night (sorry, 16 year old me) and I didn’t even see a single breast that trimester (other than my own, and my roommate’s). First year sucks. You have no idea what you don’t know, or how you overestimate yourself, and for that, we envy you.

I don’t know if I’m writing this for first years. There’s no way you’ll listen. You’re too cocky. You’re thinking, “Screw you, I’ve seen Project X, I’ll have this student body wrapped around my finger within a week.” And why wouldn’t you be? You just aced an incredibly tough entrance exam. A town of people looked at you as the smartest thing to happen since Uday Chopra quit acting and you are set up for a future as the next big thing to shake the legal world.

But so is everyone here. You’ll get to college and realize life at home wasn’t that bad. You had food, laundry and masturbation without having to shoo your roommates away. Sure, you couldn’t waste all your time dozing off and jacking off (or you could, I don’t know how weird your family was) but at least you had a constant reminder of your greatness in the form of “good job’s” and “We’re proud of you’s”. Instead of courses you could bunk and nail, you have History I. Instead of class teachers who would fawn over you, you have an endless stream of condescension. The 95’s you used to whine about now seem golden, given the 51’s you celebrate. This is not including PI’s, laundry, or that girl who you thought wanted a quad party hookup when she was just preparing to puke on you. First year is rough. You can ask anyone what they think and their answer will be a bunch of grunts and expressions symptomatic of PTSD.

But don’t look for sympathy. If you look in the eyes of any senior, beneath a hangover, you’ll see fear. The end of the free ride is coming. Either they’re past third year, and have to deal with a job, a career and the choice of fulfilling their dreams. Or they’re awaiting third year. A train is going to him them, and they know exactly when. These seniors would switch places with you in a second. They would take History I, bad quad parties, PI’s all over again to know that they could relive the good moments that come after it. First year is brutal because change is brutal. Change is the ride to the hilltop before the view. That view is coming sooner than the dark abyss of life, and this is why we envy first years. The friends you’ll make, the blackouts you’ll have and the stresses about class that aren’t even a stress at all. Good luck this year, and remember, you are very dumb. 

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