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The original was posted on /r/twoxchromosomes by /u/Moist_Policy_71 on 2023-08-29 11:44:44.
I was in a long-term relationship when the apps took over dating culture and I vividly remember feeling so relieved at the fact I wouldn’t have to bother with any of it. Unfortunately, the relationship tanked at the 7 year mark and I now had to deal with tinder if I wanted to get back into dating.
Really struggled with the entire “Pick people based on bangability, then see if you can actually like talking to them” aspect as someone who often develops physical attraction because I find their personality, energy, etc. attractive first, but I eventually matched with a guy I thought was super pretty.
He (weirdly enough) worked in Tinder’s marketing department, loved to talk about how unique his mind was “as a creative” and didn’t respect my boundaries by repeatedly trying to pressure me into sending nudes, but I managed to quash the growing ick by telling myself it would be unfair to not allow him a fair shot on the date we scheduled.
We agreed to meet at a nice restaurant in Manhattan in the evening, but when I arrived, he texted me to explain he’d gotten tied up with an unexpected work call and would be late. Annoying, but I could deal. After an unreasonable amount of time had passed, he finally updates me that he’s done with the call, but would I mind meeting him at the bar down the block from his apartment, instead? Ugh, fine.
I arrive at the bar feeling frazzled and exasperated, but surely I can grab a drink now to help me relax–no, that’s idiotic, why would I expect that, of course not. He’s now texting me to say “Heyy it’s so late, I’m actually feeling too tired to go out, but you should def come over to hang out at my place! It’s real close!”
I’m extremely aware of how risky it is to meet this stranger in his apartment instead of a well lit, public space, but sunken cost fallacy convinces me to agree and I’m soon knocking on his apartment door while praying I don’t get murdered on my first tinder date like a complete amateur.
When he answers the door, I can’t help but notice he’s wearing sweats and looks like a guy who never had any real intention to go out at any point that evening. He looks like his pictures, which is nice, but he seems strangely distant while also making occasional half-assed attempts to act like a normal human male on a first date, i.e. offering to make me a cocktail but barely making eye contact while sort of aimlessly wandering around his place.
We get situated on his couch, drinks in hand, and I’m too busy nervously anticipating having to engage in awkward chit-chat as a person who has social anxiety and hasn’t been on a first date in 7+ years to even notice how obvious it is that this man has no interest in getting to know me. Almost immediately, he’s pawing at me, trying to pull me in for a kiss, urging me to drink my cocktail, offering me a massage, groping at my thighs and waist.
It finally hits me like a ton of bricks that he’s not a self-centered asshole screwing up a date, he’s a creep who’s bait and switched me in an overly convoluted attempt to get laid.
The realization that there’s no hope of salvaging this, that this man is approaching this interaction like I’m just the pussy delivery he ordered from grubhub (if ordering grubhub required you to spin 8 different lies to trick the delivery guy into dropping it off, I guess), left me feeling extremely dejected and emotionally drained. Nothing left to do but pull the rip cord and bail.
He was pissy, of course, like I wasted his time, but I gtfo of there as fast as possible and went home to feel sorry for myself in my own bed. It was such a depressing way to learn how the modern dating market works.