The other day a girlfriend started telling me about this guy she wants me to meet. I don't know when being 24 and single suddenly equated to old-maid status, but it seems that everyone is trying to pull a Jewish mother and hook me up these days. The guy she told me about seemed lovely -- smart, fit, dedicated to his friends and family -- until the very last sentence that rolled off her tongue almost effortlessly: "Oh, yeah, and he's on this app called Grindr, like, all the time."
Don't get me wrong: I'm on Grindr, and I use it almost as much as I do Facebook or Twitter, but that's why it repels me to hear that this seemingly perfect gentleman is there too. I absolutely hate about 90 percent of the men I encounter on Grindr. Why? Most, if not all, of them are using the app first for sex and second for a relationship -- you know, if it gets to that point. Guess what, though: I'm guilty of using the app for sex too. I'm only human.
So why can't I take the situation with a grain of salt and trust a guy until he gives me a reason not to? Because I know that Grindr is ruining our chances of finding substantiality. It's making us pickier than ever when it comes to romance. If you're on Grindr, think about your routine. You start talking to a really cute guy -- for sex or otherwise -- based solely on his looks. Then another cute guy messages you, or you find another one to message. It's suddenly as if the first guy didn't even exist. It's a midlife crisis executed in the span of five minutes: Something shinier and better has already come along, and you didn't even have to buy a Corvette. Good for you.
But let's take a look at what happens when you actually start meeting these men in person. Let's say you're on the app for a LTR (long-term relationship). The aforementioned first guy takes you out to dinner (or vice versa); you're having excellent conversation and really hitting it off. He proposes to see you again, and you're totally into it. Don't you dare deny, though, that you're thinking about that second, third, maybe even fourth guy who messaged you the same day. These guys are now asking you to go out, and you've already set dates with them too. Now, because you're conditioned to want the next best thing, you're suddenly creating a Google calendar just for your Grindr dates. Pathetic? I'll let you be the judge. Here's the kicker: These guys you're going out with are most likely doing the same damn thing.
Nonetheless, if you're like most of the Grindr gays, as I like to call them, you're probably just looking for a casual play date, someone to let off some steam with, right? I don't know about you, but I've found that the more men I casually play with, the harder it is for me to want, or even find, true romance. Why would I want romance when I'm perfectly independent and can have sex whenever I want it, from whomever I please? Call me a prematurely bitter old queen, but I think Grindr is bound to create cheating down the road, because it's conditioning us to want something new all the time -- not that we don't already want something new all the time; just ask anyone working customer service in electronics.
This brings me to my next thought: monogamy. Oh, monogamy, you silly little social construct. A good portion of gay men, maybe those not so acclimated to the PC vernacular, say that monogamy is killing today's gay (and straight) couples, so nonmonogamy must be the way to go. But I have to first think about what's causing monogamy's death. I'd like to think, as I'm messaging a Grindr gay right now, that this small yet powerful app has a lot to do with it. However, I'm not sure I agree. Monogamy is the healthiest option for gay men. More on that later, folks.
If this guy my friend wants so badly to set me up with is like me and takes to the daily grind for his own advantage, why, then, is it so difficult for me to accept him as he is? I think it's my own guilty conscience, knowing full well that Grindr is terrible for me, so, in turn, it's making everyone terrible who uses it. Was that too over-the-top? Probably. Call me the gay Carrie Bradshaw, but I leave you with this: Is Grindr becoming our millennial cocaine? There's nothing like a good "sup" to get you high with romance.