“And if they have feelings for you, too, that’s the best sex,” Hannah said.
“Like, ‘in love’ kind of feelings?” I asked.
Nope. “We’re talking about just a baseline level of caring about someone. Like I don’t need you to meet my parents, I don’t need you to be my emergency contact, just care a little bit,” Corina said.
“Being nice is a winning quality in guys now. If you’re just not a psycho-killer you’re like the coolest,” Emma said.
“Nice is also open and honest, but not ‘I’m all about radical transparency.’ If you can communicate and you’re a six out of ten, I will definitely have sex with you,” Hannah said.
“It doesn’t take much. Just be a basic human being,” Marion said.
Hannah turned to me and asked wistfully, “What were dates like when you were young?”
A Walk in the Park
Compared to what I’d been hearing for the past twenty minutes, dating thirty years ago was actually fun. Should I tell them about the helicopter rides? Or the long, romantic dinners at the Ritz in Paris? The yachts? The gondolas in Venice?
I looked around the room and felt queasy. Better keep it simple, I thought, pouring myself another glass of champagne.
“Well,” I began cautiously. “Usually you’d meet a guy and you’d exchange numbers. And then you’d go your separate ways and a couple of days later he’d call you on your landline. You’d chat for a bit. It was really great if the guy was funny. And then he’d ask if you wanted to go out. And sometimes, if that first conversation was really good you’d end up talking for another hour. So by the time the actual date came around, you were pretty excited to see the guy. And the guy was excited to see you too—”
“But what did you do on the date?” Marion interrupted.
I took another swig of champagne. “You’d go to dinner. And you’d talk. You’d discuss things. And then after dinner, if it was a nice night or if it was snowing, you might go for a walk in the park.”
“Oh my god,” Emma gasped.
I was embarrassed. “I know,” I groaned. “It’s so corny.”
“I don’t think it’s corny at all,” Corina said. “To me, it sounds so appealing.”
I laughed, wondering if I was being played. Was this nostalgia for the days of pre-app dating real?
Emma looked sternly around the room. “Everyone in our generation finds that kind of romance compelling, but at the same time it’s just not realistic.”
“I still like the idea of going for a walk with a guy, though,” Corina said hopefully.
Hannah sighed. “I did that once and it stood out to me. As in, look: I met a boy and we went for a walk together in the park. It’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me, ever.”
Ten minutes later, I closed the door. Emma was right I thought, as I picked up the empty glasses. Tinder was bad. Just talking about it was depressing.
The next day, I braced myself as I clicked on my profile. And there they were: Those magical pink waves. Emanating from my face like I was a powerful princess in a Disney movie. I’d forgotten how comforting those waves were. And bingo! They worked! In two seconds I’d snared a man. A hot guy with muscles named Dave.
I liked him.
Keep playing? Tinder asked.
Damn straight.
It was like being in Vegas.
False Advertising
And then I couldn’t stop playing. And talking about it.
I said, “No matter what everyone says, the truth about Tinder is that I’ve never had so many guys interested in me. In ages. And saying nice things. Like, ‘You’ve got lovely eyes.’”
“So what if he’s lying?” I’d continue. “No guy has said anything that nice to me in years.”