I’ve re-downloaded Tinder. I’ve set up my account. I’m revisiting my old friend: swipe-xiety.
Swipe-xiety is one of the reasons I could never commit to Tinder in the first place. It would always be there, nestled close to my heart every time I even considered swiping right. It’s the feeling that I owe something to the person I’m matching with.
I’m aware that this is a perfectly fixable problem. I don’t owe this person anything! I’ve never even spoken to them before! How can they expect anything of me? All these feelings mixed with the fact that I have a crippling need to not let anyone down ever. And by doing what I often (or used to often) do on Tinder, ignore everyone, I feel like I’m doing just that.
I imagine them at home, miserable, in a basement apartment surrounded by textbooks and empty cans of Dr. Pepper. Suddenly- my face! A bright light in the darkness of their 20-something lonely, gym sock scented despair. They swipe right… it’s a match!! They’re elated! Finally, a girl cute and committed enough to launch them into enough motivation to quit their jobs at Chipotle and get back on the market goal wise! They send an eager first text, perfectly summarizing all their hopes and dreams for our relationship together:
They wait. A few minutes pass. They go to the washroom. They check their phone again. Still no response. A shiver of doubt crawls up their bony, malnourished spines. They unwrap a dinner of hot pockets and while it’s in the microwave they check again. Still nothing. They spend three hours playing counterstrike online and spend $40 real-life dollars on a skin for their completely fake combat gear. Another check. Still nothing.
Slowly, realization dawns on them that a girl like me, glowing, golden goddess that I am, could never go for a pale, go-to-the-gym-once-every-two-weeks, hot pocket filled, Douglas Kinesiology student like themselves. They’re devastated. They spend the next two days without sleep, watching video game walkthroughs on Youtube and living off Dominos. I’ve failed these men. I’ve let them return to the crippling, vitamin D deprived lives they’ve been leading. This is what I’m afraid of.
In reality I’m pretty sure all guys swipe right to every girl on Tinder to increase their matches and couldn’t pick me out of a lineup of Vancouver Film Girls if there was a neon sign over my head that said “DREAM GIRL”.
But you get my point.
So while swiping most recently I’ve been fighting it. My swipe-xiety. I’m pushing it down, down, away from my heart in to my stomach where it’ll burn up by all the acid and gunk down there. I don’t owe these guys anything. I am getting matches. I don’t have to talk to them or meet them IRL if I don’t want to. I am a stone cold bitch. I am a contender. I am not going out with anyone who eats hot pockets. I am going to get over this.