Ten Days of Tinder: Germans, Americans, and French Oh My
As any expat in Paris knows, it's hard to meet someone. By my own (unscientific) data, if you live on wine and cigarettes and can get by in French, you probably don't need much help. Those of us who don't fit in those categories, however, may turn to Tinder. The revolutionary hookup dating app has transformed online dating from something for old (sad) people into a hip way to find a hangout partner for a Saturday night. But before get your smartphones out and start swiping, I have to forewarn you about the losers I've encountered. The last ten days I went on a dating spree, and here is the best of the worst. (Note: I didn't join Tinder to go for long walks on the beach, so if you're at work maybe bookmark this for later.)
Image credit: Grand Island
Thursday: I meet a German guy, which is exciting because I speak German and have hardly anyone to practice with. The dude is pretty attractive, so I figure I'll overlook his unexceptional height. He's also well-educated and has even taken gemology classes -- a plus, since I love jewlery. After that promising start, things start to go downhill. We order a bottle of wine, which is gone in a half an hour without much help from me. Then he orders another and his drinking officially crosses from "social lubrication" over to "alcoholism." We head to another bar where he gets yet another carafe while drunkenly telling me, "you shouldn't wear such ugly cheap jewelery when you have nice jewlery too." Maybe you should shut it after 2 bottles of wine?
Once he polished off the carafe, he tries shoving his tongue down my throat. Tip: Any guy who does that is going to suck in bed. I was getting tipsy though, so I was still holding onto hope for him. Yes, even after the jewlery comment -- did I mention I was tipsy? He asks if he can sleep in my living room and because it was freezing outside, I agreed. Of course, we ended up in the same bed and one thing leads to another. I told you, lots of wine. Suffice to say, I found out that he was not well endowed, and couldn't make up for it in any other way whatsoever. The next morning I was happy to see him go.
Image credit: Yanqi Ding
Monday: This time it's an American guy, who looks kinda cute in photos. He tells me he's running about 15 minutes late, so I have a drink outside, hoping that if he's ugly in person, I'll spot him first and hide under the table. Twenty minutes later I see a short, unattractive man who vaguely resembles the guy, as if a distant cousin. Nope, that's him -- he looks nothing like his photos.
A friend once told me that women know within 7-10 seconds of meeting a guy whether or not she will sleep with him. For him, it took me all of three to know it wasn't happening. After his first beer, he tells me: "You're so cultured and smart, none of my usual lines will impress you. Like, usually I can tell a girl I work in fashion and her clothes fall off." Eyeroll.
When the check comes, he sits there and looks at me awkwardly. I think, There's literally no way this guy is expecting me to pay after telling me about all of the fashion designers he works with. I was wrong. He sits uncomfortably until I pull out my wallet and hand him 11 euros for my drinks. He pays the rest on a credit card and as he's putting his wallet away says, "Well we can thank my boss because I put it on his card!" I conclude in the end that 11 euroes was worth it to never see him again.
Ok maybe not that short. Image source: Gage Skidmore.
Wednesday: Today's guy is French and claims to speak flawless English, which is believable given his texts. He looked alright in photos but I guessed he may be a bit short (hint: You can tell by the elbow/body length ratio or height in doorframes). So I figure I have nothing to lose and agree to go out for a drink that night, hoping to call it an early night since he lives about an hour outside of Paris. I was right about him being short and he was also dressed like a bum, but his English was actually flawless. We get to a bar near my house and he tells me that he doesn't drink or smoke, which is a bad sign. You have to choose to either not smoke or not drink but doing neither is weird. Being an idiot, I decide to try to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I order myself some wine and start chain smoking.
He spends the first half hour sipping espresso and talking about mixed martial arts fighting. I can't even pretend I actually care because each time I open my mouth he talks over me. He thinks I come from a family with money and overshares that he didn't, and that his family has been in debt their whole lives, yadda yadda. Two glasses of wine later...
When I finally tune back into the conversation, he's talking about all of the tactical knives he has, how much they cost (a lot for a poor guy from a poor suburb), how they operate, etc. for another delightful 45 minutes. He also tells me that I "need to buy a tactical flashlight to protect myself" on the mean streets of Paris. I finally pay the check since, you know, he's so poor.
He ends the night by asking to come upstairs to use my bathroom, which I drunkenly agreed to. While upstairs he goes on my computer to show me which flashlights I should buy and tries to get me to kiss him until I tell him he has to leave. He sends me a text later which I obviously don't respond to and I haven't heard anything since, thank God. And no, I never bought the flashlight.
Source: Wikimedia-Sandra Kimbell
Friday: A Czech guy who shows up half an hour late with no endearing qualities I can see. I figure I might as well sit and enjoy a few free drinks anyway since I don't have anything to do until much later. I ask what he does: "I used to model but now I'm an actor in small commercials. I don't want to be famous though, I just want the money."
As such, the conversation revolves around partying. After a few drinks he proceeds to stick his tongue down my throat. About half an hour later and some terrible attempts at making out, he's obviously freezing so I agree to have another glass of wine at my apartment, thinking that if I get drunk enough I could consider sleeping with him. While at my house he downs two glasses of wine, smokes a few of my cigarettes, then picks me up and throws me onto the bed without so much as asking me if I would actually like to sleep with him.
He more or less rips my clothes off while I try to focus on his torso that made up for his ugly face. To avoid being too graphic, I can say that this guy has watched far too much porn and has no real understanding of how to ask for oral sex, or where to finish. Three minutes later, I go to the bathroom to clean up, and when I come back out he's thankfully fully clothed. He lingers in my apartment drinking my wine and smoking my cigarettes while I roll my eyes wondering when he's going to get out. Best part? On his way out he makes another failed attempt at getting me to put my hands in his pants until I tell him to get lost.
Highlight: Finding my friend's boyfriend on tinder with photos of himself with another girl, looking for a girl to have a threesome with him and his girlfriend (not my friend).
After suffering through that clusterfuck I have decided to retire from Tinder. That and I may or may not be dating up to three men I met on Tinder right now. My tips for anyone (especially women) attempting to date on Tinder are the following:
1. Check his elbow length to torso ratio. Long elbows = tall man.
2. If his photos don't show his face clearly, he's ugly.
3. If his group photos are only with other guys, he's the ugliest one.
4. If you aren't totally sold on him, don't bother. No point in suffering through mediocrity.
5. Avoid model/actors at all costs.
If you have any of your own Tinder horror stories, please share them in the comments so everyone can have a laugh.
