Game, swipe, match

Reflections on mobile dating in Tulsa

Imagine dragging a full-length mirror into your bathroom and propping it up beside your tub so you can shave your back. You’ve known for months now that you should buy a long, extendable razor instead of duct-taping a beard-trimmer to the flat end of a spatula. Your girlfriend used to do this for you, before your house got smaller in the rear-view mirror of that U-Haul she rented. You make eye contact with yourself. You can’t help but think now is the time to plug into the world of online dating. 

Tinder gives you a picture, a first name, and how many miles currently separate your genitals—it takes about three seconds for your gut to tell you if you’d hypothetically bang this person who at least owns a smart phone, if not a car or house or anything else.  

So, you swipe left, you swipe left, you swipe right, you swipe left, you swipe right, you swipe right, and finally you match. “Message now or keep swiping?” the app asks you. You go for it and send a flirty opener. “Are you from Australia? Because you meet all my koala-fications” is too pun-y. You decide to go with a “Hey, gorgeous :-)” and hope for the best.  

She messages back, and quickly. Before you know it, you’ve exchanged real phone numbers. She texts you first: “It’s your future wife.” Maybe this should’ve been a red flag, you’re not sure. The attention is nice. One thing leads to another, and now you’re exchanging nudes with a girl you didn’t even know a few hours ago. You’re super into it. Maybe this Tinder thing is going to work. The next day, when the small talk resumes, you learn her summer plans include a family reunion in a small town in rural Oklahoma. 

Oh, shit. 

So do yours. 

Your stomach sinks as you realize you’ve been trading sexts with a distant relative. 

I’ve heard a few stories like this, and I’ve personally logged enough time looking for love (or something) through a screen to come to the conclusion that Tulsa is just not quite large enough to meet new and exciting lovers through dating apps. In Tulsa—which is more like a big village than a small city—these apps are best for meeting people on the fringes of your social playground, or even just informing you that people you already know are available. 

Either way, it’s basically impossible not to come across familiar faces here. For example, when I swiped right on a local criminal defense attorney, I felt like I already knew him from seeing his face all over town on promotional lighters for his law practice. He swiped right on me, too. I messaged him first and enjoyed, in my opinion, some amusing conversation. When I asked him if he wanted to meet for a drink, he asked me why I only have one picture in my profile, and why doesn’t that picture include a clear view of my body. Incidentally, I found out, he has a “no chubby bunny rule going.” When we finally met at a bar near his house, I chalked up any heat between us to the humidity.  

Tinder’s made it cool, or at least not-weird, to troll for strange online. Their method: innovative grassroots marketing. They hosted super rad parties on super rad college campuses with lots of free booze; the only price of admission was you had to sign-up for their new online boy store. 

Suddenly, thousands of available millennials were swiping at each other, and then everyone wanted to play. The awkwardness of Plenty of Fish, Match, OkCupid, etc, is avoided on Tinder because both people have to “swipe right” for a conversation to begin. This double-opt in, followed by a messaging format that feels almost just like texting, makes conversation easy. It’s like Hotornot.com, but with the opportunity for action and engagement. 

The model plays off—and even exploits—the part of the brain that lures gamblers to keep trying for the jackpot. You’re rewarded for socializing with lots of positive bells and buzzes. It feels good to win; it feels good to match. Both are validating to the extreme. But with this game the stakes are arguably higher because of the real-world rewards. It requires less dexterity and focus than Tetris, and if you’re good enough you can win companionship. 

Or money, depending on which game you’re playing. 

Everything about whatsyourprice.com is suggestive of an escort service, especially the bolded notes proclaiming that this is definitely not an escort service. It’s set up in a way that the “generous” (usually older men) pay to take out the “attractive” (often young women). Makes sense. My time is valuable, and for a 60-something retired millionaire in Broken Arrow, an evening with a college-educated 20-something is worth $100 dollars plus the dinner bill. 

I suggested we meet at Smoke on Cherry Street. I found him at the bar and ordered the first of several Sazeracs. He gave me a birthday card with the cash inside, which was probably the least awkward way that exchange could have occurred. He ordered the quail off my suggestion, and the rest of the evening was surprisingly pleasant. 

He told me that it’s difficult to get women to show up for first dates on more traditional dating websites (the ones without cash incentives). 

Sure, there’s something maybe a little skeezy about the power imbalance inherent in any kind of money-for-companionship exchange, but I was never solicited for anything sexual, and none of these men I met even tried to kiss me. I made my own rule not to go on a second date with anyone from whatsyourprice.com because I thought it might give the impression that I wanted more than dinner. Turns out, the “generous” pool is rather shallow around here, and after a few dates I stopped getting “offers.”

I suggested this site to all my young, attractive female friends. They had varying levels of success, which made me wonder: what is it that makes one “good” or “bad” at the online dating game? You’re good if you get a lot of matches. If you’re a woman, it helps to be funny, smart, and attractive—but not too attractive, lest you’re mistaken for a bot. You should have multiple photos of various angles, at least one that shows your entire body, and no group photos if you can help it. If you’re a man, similar rules apply, and you get bonus points for having a dog. It’s really not much different from dating in the wild. So, we keep swiping until we find someone to stroll through Guthrie Green with, because the real game starts offline anyway. 

But, remember, some of your matches are really just looking for someone to shave their backs.