A Real Story

Last spring I had four dating apps open on my phone at the same time, and I kept a Notes app list just to track who I’d already talked to, because the same guy from Tinder showed up on Bumble two days later with a different opening line, and then again on Hinge a week after that wearing a different shirt in his photos. I wasn’t dating four times as many people. I was just seeing the same twelve or so men recycled across four interfaces, each one convinced he was being clever.

What finally broke me was realizing I’d spent an entire Sunday swiping instead of doing literally anything else, and I couldn’t tell you one specific detail about a single conversation. Not a joke, not a question, nothing. Just a blur of thumbs and green checkmarks. So I deleted three apps in one sitting and kept only the one where my actual matches had led to real dates, which for me happened to be Hinge, though I don’t think the app matters as much as just picking one and refusing to split your attention four ways.

Six weeks later I met someone through that single app who asked me a follow-up question about something I’d mentioned in passing about my sister, which sounds small, but after months of copy-paste energy from men managing multiple apps at once, it felt like being handed a glass of water after a long walk. We’ve been together nine months now. I still don’t miss the spreadsheet.