Well, that’s it. I’ve done the unthinkable. I’ve deleted Tinder. The app’s gone – no more swiping, no more polite small talk that dies halfway through, and no more “Hey stranger” messages from people who ghosted me three weeks ago.
It’s funny, really. When I first downloaded it, I thought it was the future of dating. A brave new world of romance, where connections were just a swipe away. Turns out it’s more like a supermarket with bad lighting – endless choice, but nothing that actually looks appetising.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a few decent chats. The odd coffee that didn’t end in disaster. But mostly, it’s been an exhausting cycle of “Hey, how’s your week going?” followed by radio silence – or worse, a reply three days later that says “Sorry, I’ve been sooo busy” (translation: they met someone with a dog and better hair).
And it’s not just them. I’ve been guilty of it too – half-hearted messages, swiping while bored, or letting someone disappear because the spark didn’t immediately hit like a rom-com trailer. It’s made dating feel less like getting to know someone and more like auditioning for a role you’re not sure you even want.
Tinder sells you this idea that love is just a swipe away. But honestly? It’s more like a fruit machine – bright lights, instant thrills, and a constant sense that maybe, just maybe, the next pull will hit the jackpot. Spoiler: it rarely does.
So I’ve binned it. And weirdly, I feel lighter. Like I’ve deleted more than an app – I’ve deleted the noise, the pressure, the constant sense that you should be looking for someone. Maybe I’ll meet someone in the real world again. You know – in a pub, or at a gig, or while reaching for the same bottle of wine in Tesco. A crazy thought, I know.
For now, though, I’m content being off the grid – romantically speaking. No swipes, no matches, no chat bubbles. Just a bit of peace and a reminder that sometimes, being single isn’t a problem to fix.
Maybe, just maybe, the right person’s out there – and not in 200 characters or less.