My Self-Esteem And Dating Apps

My involvement in online dating came hand-in-hand with having a smartphone. For the past three years, I’ve superficially judged thousands of so-called “romantic interests” based on pictures alone. As if an HD selfie from a trip to Mexico City granted automatic entry to my bedroom.

I’m talking about Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, and even Raya. An app that I, both pridefully and embarrassingly, pay $10.81 a month for.

My brain has become clouded by my lack of e-romance success. It’s not necessarily disappointing, but it is frustrating. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m phenomenal at curating the perfect profile. My description is short and witty. My pictures are all high quality. There’s no presence of filters or memes. Oh, and my song is always a shitty one-hit-wonder - people seem to like that. 

I’ve learned to thrive in these algorithms. But my issue isn’t getting matches. My issue is interacting with them. 

A few months ago, I received a snarky message from a match. Which said something along the lines of “you’d have more friends if you opened up to more people.” All due to my failure to reply to his texts. Though I knew he was just angry, his comment still stung. 

I knew he was right, but I also knew I was happy with my friendships and on-and-off hook-ups. So why was his message bothering me so much? Again, I barely knew this person. 

I came to the painful conclusion that I had lost interest in him because he had already given me what I wanted: validation.

Trips to my psychologist have given me an array of self-love techniques, but none have influenced me more than the compliments I’ve received from strangers online. Healing and learning are amazing, but they can also be lengthy and painful. The quickest way for me to ignore my insecurities was to simply log back in. Sure, it was a temporary fix, but it got the job done. Did it ever truly satisfy me? Not at all. 

Deep down, I wanted the attention I was receiving to come from loved ones: friends and former significant others. If my ego would have allowed me, I would have reached out to my loved ones. Unfortunately, being vulnerable is easier said than done. 

Unhealthy is the perfect word to describe this pattern I had made for myself. The one which consists of re-downloading and using the next app in my rotation. This was all done with the intent to cope with my vulnerability, rather than satisfying a genuine desire to date. 

Recently, I’ve educated myself on the impact of my actions. A quick surf through the “r/dating” subreddit led me down a rabbit hole of vents regarding men and women like myself. 

These posts would describe the frustration behind “being led on” by a match, only to be ghosted or given choppy replies. Seeing the other side of the spectrum opened my eyes to some of the damage I was doing. Not only to the people around me but to myself as well.

My latest enlightenment isn’t a self-encouragement to keep trying e-dating. I’m glad I finally understand how selfish I’ve been online. But I don’t think I’ll ever find honest interest in being a part of these apps. At least for now. 

I have, admittedly, witnessed a couple of Tinder and Bumble success stories. Year-long relationships, to be exact. Many of my friends are also great at meeting up with their matches under casual pretenses. It all makes me happy, but it always fails to appeal to me. My past relationships have stemmed from flirty gazes across the room or playful compliments. 

Perhaps, my adoration for “meet-cutes” is antiquated, but they’ve worked for me. I love the thrill of going up to a stranger with the intent to flirt. It’s something I won’t ever achieve from sitting in my car and waiting for someone I’ve never met to text me “I’m here.” Not to mention, any validation I experience through touch, sight or hearing will impact me more than a notification on my phone. 

Struggling with my self-esteem has been a long journey. One I am happily traveling. Still, as I mentioned before, I have two apps downloaded on my phone. I don’t know if I plan on getting rid of them any time soon, but I’m hoping I can, at least, say goodbye to one. 

Having these apps on your phone can be quite comforting. They don’t really require much effort, and it can be nice to go on those dates from time to time. What’s not nice is making people feel disposable, or using them for your own good. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that Tinder isn’t therapy; which I never imagined I would need to learn.