Why You Shouldn't Meet Your Tinder Dates in Person: An Essay

I dreamt about you before we even met.

Literally, I dreamt of our future based on a few Tinder messages exchanged. You were an elusive character that was full of what-ifs.

If we met, I was terrified that the illusion would be shattered and you wouldn’t be you.

When you disappeared for a few months, I didn’t notice. I was so preoccupied with my own sadness and self-loathing that time wasn’t feeling quite right. But when you reappeared, it was a pleasant surprise; your number popping up on my phone brought back that option. I knew it was now or never.

I don’t know what shifted, but it's weird when everything is going so wrong for so long, even a glimmer of hope feels like a lightning bolt. A change in your environment causes a change in perspective, but I was stuck for so long, I didn’t even notice the hole I dug myself in. This was a new environment and I had to either adapt, thrive, perish or escape.

Maybe you were the escape I needed, maybe my weird dream could be true.

If I start to find something good, I spend all day dreaming about it while actively fucking it up. Meeting you was going to actively fuck up everything I’ve been working on.

I was so nervous the day we were meeting. My nerves felt a lot like a mix of six espresso shots, butterflies and bad MDMA. I was nervous.

The night before our first date, another nice guy cooked me a nice dinner and we had a nice time. There were no nerves with him, but things weren’t easy.

Maybe you would be easy. As I was walking up to your door, I realized that I didn’t know your name. I knew where you lived and where you worked, but I had no idea what your name was.

I shared my location with my friends. Just in case this was the night a Tinder match decided to kill me. I was sort of scared, but not scared enough to turn around. You seemed really excited to meet up, enthusiastic and eager. This made me calm down a bit.

When you first opened the door, you were better looking then I expected. Your style, and smile and cute dog, was overly charming. You were quiet, sort of stand-offish at first. Part of me thinks you were nervous, but a bigger part of me thinks you were disappointed. I instantly start rambling, the way I do when I get nervous.

I realize really quickly that I want you. Even if it's just for the night. You’re funny and well spoken. Your eyes wander to all of the other pretty girls in the bar, and I start to realize what I’m in for. You probably do this all of the time, but whatever. So do I.

The night goes well, I don’t remember what we talked about, but I remember your laugh and what you drank. As soon as we got back to your place, I realized I was about to shatter this illusion and destroy another option.

You came easy and felt right. The nerves were gone but they were replaced with a feeling of dread. What did I just get myself into?

Immediately, you set up another date, making your intentions more long-term then I was expecting. I was ecstatic and trying to play it cool. I’m sure my rambling and shaky hands gave you another impression.

The next few times we hung out, I tried to memorize every detail of your face. I studied the way you spoke, what made you laugh and what boundaries you had up for the world. It was so sexy the way you smoked, the way you smirked at me, your smell on my clothes and the way you made me feel. I learned your name, and your age and what your parents do for work. I learned about the traditions you have with your friends, and the jobs you had in high school.

You’re guarded, and I realize that you were never going to let me in. It took a lot for me to admit it, but I was falling for you and you didn’t quite feel the same.

I didn’t care. All I wanted was some of your attention and time. It turned from you fighting for my attention to me handing you myself on a silver platter.

After a few more weeks, your text messages become distant and short. They were no longer funny or drove the conversation. It turned into me forcing it, and I hated myself, but I couldn’t stop.

I think about the last time I saw you. When I started to open up to you, and you were half asleep, half scrolling through Instagram. What caught your attention was when I mentioned toxic relationships. It wasn’t what you said, it was your silence that rang the alarm bells.

Suddenly, you disappearing for a few months made much more sense. Mentions of your ex seemed much closer. I had a sinking feeling, but I can’t help but think it’s right. I’m not a first choice or a priority. You're trying to get over your ex, and you thought maybe I could help.

I know this because I’ve left a trail of broken hearts trying to get over my ex. My main focus during that time was on my feelings, and I didn’t care about anyone else.

I knew how to act like I cared because I was fresh out of a loveless relationship. I knew what to say, how to smile and how to impress, but it was all an act. I had no intentions of going further with most guys, I was just looking for that bandaid.

Until you. You were the first person I’ve met since him that I could see a future with. I didn’t know that you just needed a bandaid.

It’s been months since we spoke, and most memories of you have faded. The best part of you was the dream.