Love Me Tinder: (Online) Dating in Tinseltown

Thursday, January 9, 2014

It's been a year and four months since I've posted to this blog. I guess life got hectic (I also broke up with my boyfriend, meaning my resident photographer was no more). My revival post is not fashion related, though fashion is (briefly) mentioned.

I'm submitting the following essay about online dating to the "Modern Love" column of the New York Times, and would love to hear your feedback. Enjoy a break from work and (hopefully) a laugh or two about my experience with the virtual dating scene. 

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I refused to ever do it in Los Angeles. Online dating in my hometown meant running the risk of virtually bumping into people I went to high school with, who I knew from around town, or who I worked with. Plus, I didn’t need to do it in LA. I had my crew, meaning I had plenty of wing-people to help me meet guys organically.  

I had done it a couple years back when I was in grad school in Boston. I quickly realized grad school was quite different from my undergraduate years, and that people were not looking to get their party on mid-week. Plus, my best friend from class had a boyfriend (who is now her fiancĂ©e), and the few others I knew were equally coupled up. Joining OkCupid in Boston seemed like an easy choice: It was free, meaning I wouldn’t meet anyone dying to be married tomorrow, and I was far away, meaning no one I knew would see that I was on a… err… dating website.

On OKC, I met a guy in the closet, a few Boston bros who pretended they weren’t, a cute neuroscience Ph.D. student who loved his thesis more than the idea of dating me, and a nice teacher who I had to end things with after his kissing didn’t improve (subsequently, my friend began messaging him on OKC and luckily, they had better kissing chemistry).

A Master’s degree and one serious relationship later (a guy I met at a bar in LA), I found myself in my first Los Angeles apartment ready to try out the dating scene again. I went out a lot with my girls and gays, and met a lot of people. Some I made out with. Some I gave my number to. Most were pretty lame.

For a few weeks, I lived vicariously through my female coworkers who were online, browsing strangers’ profiles and remembering my days in Boston of the long-winded messaging and ultimate date initiation, only to end up disappointed that the chemistry was lackluster and the laughing courtesy, at best.

But for some reason, I joined again. Maybe it was my coworkers’ encouragement combined with my boredom during the slow season at work. I kept my information short but helpful, trying to avoid having the elusive “too cool for school” profile I’d heard about, where curtness comes off as borderline bitchy.

I went on a lot of first dates. During my OKC mishaps in Boston, I quickly learned that it’s easy to have good banter with someone via planned out message exchanges, and that the only way to know if something is real or not is to meet them in person. So, much to my coworkers’ confusion, I was having a lot of mid-week drinks. If I thought he was attractive and we exchanged a couple messages that proved he wasn’t a total idiot, why not go for it?

A few noteworthy dates: the recovering heroin addict who invited me to bottomless mimosas only to order an espresso and reveal his checkered past; the hippie who loved music and psychedelics and men and women, who raved about his ability to smell when a woman was ovulating; the comedian who I had no chemistry with who texted me two weeks later to get drinks, to which I replied, “Thanks, but I didn’t think we were a match,” to which he replied, “I totally got that vibe, just making sure.”

So OKC wasn’t working out, but there was another dating website waiting in the wings. My coworker had met someone on “Coffee Meets Bagel,” a site that sends you one match every day at noon (so there’s no aimless browsing), and she was determined to get every woman in LA hooked on this new online dating model.

Bagel was better. I met a cute Midwestern boy who I had a few dates with but who ultimately liked his beers and bros better than being an adult. I met an attractive lawyer who convinced me that he wasn’t a boring lawyer, only to unconvince me of that fact four dates later.  I met a creative type with a real job (jackpot!), but quickly realized that if you’re nick-named after a jungle animal, the possibility of something lasting is slim, to say the least.

I was discouraged. I had been single for about a year (and yes, was having a lot of fun), but I was really ready to commit myself to someone. So I did what any single girl who was looking for a meaningful relationship would do: I joined Tinder.

From its induction into the online dating scene, Tinder was known as the “hook up app.” It’s easy to use and is rooted in a location-based “hot or not” platform, where you can swipe through dozens of people to find those nearest to you whom you find most attractive.

I can’t remember what put me over the edge and got me to download this seemingly superficial app. I asked my coworker if she could remember, to which she replied: “Likely because, why not? It was easier than OKC and Bagel, and I think it was just during a time when we were all trying whatever was out there.” I think that’s right. It seemed fun and easy and I had heard about more and more people joining it (and even having success beyond just hook-ups!), so I thought I’d try my thumb luck.

And tinder was fun. It was fun at bars when you were bored with your girlfriends. It was fun to show to people who had never heard of it before. It was fun when you saw people you went to high school with, and it felt less taboo than when you saw them on a full-fledged site. Some of the guys I recognized from the dating sites I had been on, others had the shirtless flexing pic I had heard horror stories about, but a lot of the guys were actually pretty hot.

It was fun when you found someone worthy of swiping right for, especially when the “It’s a Match!” popped up on your screen. I made a rule for myself that I would swipe with ease, but that I wouldn’t initiate any messages.

The plan was working pretty well. I met a superhot DJ/entrepreneur who was working on opening a wine bar in Hollywood. When he picked me up in his vintage Jaguar and ran into about five girls he knew between the walk from the car to the bar, I knew a committed relationship would never be in the cards with this dude. But the kissing was fun.

Then I met someone who I thought did have real potential. A design engineer from Stanford, he had the creativity and the smarts I had been looking for. It was also reassuring to know that cool, smart, attractive people were unabashedly using this app.

We hit it off immediately. We met on Sunday, and were already meeting up again on Monday for a show. I began travelling for work and we texted often, sharing a similar sense of humor and appreciation for the LA art and music scene.

I was excited about our budding relationship, and was confident we were on the same page. His avid texting, even when I was away on business, was surely a sign of his interest, right?

Apparently not. Things were great when I got back but quickly turned sour. He began acting very withdrawn and when I immediately confronted him about it, he blamed work. Disappointed and confused, I gave him an out and told him to be straight up with me. Still no truth. Alas, why men say one thing and do another is another post for another time. I continued along my Tinder journey.

Work got busy and I was traveling a ton. After Stanford, I decided to just have fun and let whatever was supposed to happen just happen. Tindering while traveling proved to be pretty entertaining, and while I never actually met up with anyone, I did send some pretty funny “Tindering in Detroit” pictures to my coworkers back home.

On my last trip of the year, I received a message from Nick, a cute lawyer with a good beard who I had swiped right on about a week prior. Like the lawyer from before, Nick also played the “I’m not a lame attorney” card, saying that his coworkers made fun of him for his tailored pants and fade. He was impressed when I guessed he did IP transactions, (the only “cool” law I knew of) and I promised to not judge him based off of my previous experience with a seemingly against the grain lawyer who turned out to be anything but.

We met at 7 and Grand, a whiskey bar in Downtown LA. I spotted him immediately—I had asked him how tall he was (being 5’9 ½ myself, I always round up to 5’10), and he told me he was also 5’10 (I later learned he lied—he rounds up too, but he’s only 5’9 ¼ ). He was leaning against the bar sporting those nicely tailored pants he spoke of with what I thought was a hipster-cool carabineer for his keys sticking out of his back pocket (I later learned it was a hook). I assumed he was arrogant.

I tapped him on the shoulder to say hello, and immediately went to the bathroom to have an internal pep talk with myself. I told this guy I wouldn’t pre-judge him based off his profession and my past experience with know-it-all lawyers, but that’s exactly what I was doing. I vowed to have a good night. And I did.

Nick and I have been dating exclusively for about two months. Yes, we are in the very early stages of our relationship, but it feels good. We are both strong and independent people who somehow complement each other quite well. He likes that I call him out on his shit; I like that he has perfectly mastered the art of being confident but not cocky. It doesn’t even bother me that he’s ¼ inch shorter than I am.


I can’t predict the future, but since meeting Nick, I can say that Tinder has worked for me. In the beginning, I had wished that we had a better story like some of my friends do—selling him a piece of furniture on Craigslist or meeting at an art gallery opening—but I decided to own our Tinder reality. We quickly learned that we have some mutual friends—a coworker of mine was a good friend of his in high school, and we found out that while in college, we both did a program in Washington, DC at the same time. We certainly could have met through one of those scenarios, but it was Tinder that finally brought us together. And I think that’s romantic in its own right because after all, what’s modern love without a modern introduction? 

(end of) summertime sadness

Friday, September 7, 2012

My coworker, Corey, is a very talented photographer... so when he asked me if I wanted to shoot some photos on my roof, I was stoked. 

I bought this rag & bone dress at Cusp on sale for $110.00 (originally 350.00) and was excited to get to wear it, especially with my also-on-sale Alexander Wang heels from Barneys Co-Op. 

The sun is slowly starting to set earlier and earlier, so we raced home from work to catch the last bit of light. Though this may mark the official end of summer... I'll continue drinking wine on my roof at least until November. 









laborless weekend

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

This past weekend, we celebrated Tessa's birthday in the desert, complete with a mid-century modern home, pool rafts, and ice cream sandwich-vodka ice blendeds. While there isn't a whole lot to do in Palm Springs, we certainly made our own fun... which consisted mostly of tanning, eating, drinking, napping, and a bit of ukulele playing. 
Not much fashion in this post... mostly just skin. 
half the crew
carpool


ladiez

gentz


hold tight 
inside out banana 
pucci poo


ice queen
...until next time. 



WINTER DREAM

Tuesday, August 21, 2012


At the very last minute of (our) American summer, I decided to take a vacation down under to experience my first Australian winter (if you can even call it that). I never thought I would be one of those people who, three weeks before intended departure date, books a flight to the other side of the world. But there I was, seven unused vacation days staring at me in the face and my window of opportunity shortening. So book it I did... all the way to Brisbane, Byron Bay, Newcastle, and eventually, Sydney. It was random, financially irresponsible, and so much fun.

fresh off the plane and feeding the roos



Mama and her Joey
Brisbane Wheel

Byron Bay
Smiling Alpaca




Newcastle
                                                              (yes, my feet are totally disproportionate to my size)
Bondi Beach

Bondi
A Bondi Winter

Sydney, you're magical. 



















...and I leave you with this. 




           I love this country/continent/island.