Tender From Tinder: Part 1

I was lying in the Hammam at The Standard in South Beach, when it suddenly occurred to me that I could use some female company.

My first experience with Tinder was not impressive. But that was years ago, so I decided do some window-shopping.

Women in Miami are incredibly hot. It was no surprise that I found myself constantly swiping right. I put a few profile pics up and a quick blurb about me being in town for “business” until Dec. 19.

The matching system with Tinder is pretty well-designed. I like the idea that I “matched” with someone and knew that they found me attractive enough to merit a conversation.

Three hours later I had 15 matches with some pretty hot women, and even a message from one crazy-looking blonde wishing me a happy Thanksgiving.

I was having conversations, but it seems like on Tinder there’s a whole lot of hemming and hawing before actually meeting in person. I think everyone is grazing, in a sense; starting tiny conversations with multiple people at once and seeing which ones fall through the filter. It’s speed dating.

People with good pictures will get the majority of “likes,” which also means that they will have the most matches in their age category. This also means that they have the most options, which means that they can afford to be pickier.

Attractive women benefit the most from this system. They can strive for the best pick. Men usually just carpet-bomb every attractive woman and hope for some positive fallout.

Either way it looked like the Blonde was my only real opportunity. She called and we had a short conversation, agreeing to meet for dinner. Once the conversation got stale, I excused myself on the premise of exhaustion, but as I started the obligatory “end-of-call” politesse and verbalized my enjoyment with meeting her she hung up on me mid-sentence. I shrugged my shoulders and figured something hadn’t gone quite right and that dinner was off.

Put off a little by the abrupt hang-up, and despite my weariness, I slunk out of The Balfour and onto Ocean Drive, getting lost in the Miami nightlife. 12 hours later I was trying to push through my hangover at the pool when Blonde sent me a text. I hadn’t even saved her number in my phone.

“What time are we meeting for dinner?”

Puzzled, I asked my sister for advice.

“She sounds crazy. Avoid her at all costs.”

I considered it for a few seconds and then texted Blonde back.

“How about 7:30? You choose the restaurant.”

“Come on, sis, what’s the worst that could happen?”

To be continued…. VT

R. Chase is a local writer and surveyor of single life on the Bourbon Trail. Follow him on Twitter at @Rchase