Grindr is a popular GPS-based dating service for men looking to meet other men. Anyone can make a profile, but you don’t need one to start “cruising” for anything from random sex to a LTR (otherwise known as a long-term relationship). Though you can hide your exact distance from other users, profiles are listed by distance from you. Pictures are optional, which is frustrating when some faceless string of text offers you a blowjob — asking for a “facepic” just kills the mood. Profile pictures are screened (nothing even suggesting nudity is allowed), which necessitates an enthusiastic and heady trade in “dickpics.”
Some people limit profile details to height and age; others compile virtual biographies: “I like men that act like men. So to be completely honest, I’m not out nor have I messed with guys, and I’m not looking to hookup tonight either. 420+” Many declare their physical self-awareness: “Sexy, GL Masc Prof for same” (that’s good-looking, masculine and professional, looking for same). “Handsome, athletic prof…and thanks for the compliments.”
Some assert or imply an aversion to anonymous sexual encounters (“Not looking to hookup. Looking for that butterfly feeling. Love ambition and humor!” “Looking to chat and meet new people. I’m friendly so hit me up.”), while others facilitate such hook-ups with detailed requirements: “I Takeit like a Man /U Give. Prefer Tops who like to command the situation.”
You’ll also see more intellectual profiles that distill the user’s views on life: “Say what you mean, mean what you say. Not sure what I’m looking for besides a reason to get rid off grindr,” “I enjoy beers in the shower and proper grammar,” “Misery deserves company. Company doesn’t deserve misery” (?).
Some profiles are made by couples looking for new friends or a ménage-a-trois. Some men have no face picture because they fear for their job if they are discovered. Some are married. Some use a picture of someone else because they have adult children who live nearby or because they worry they are too old or too young or too heavy or too thin. Some are just looking to trade pictures and some are explicitly uninterested in such practices.
Common demands: “drama free,” “down to earth,” “straight acting” and “real men only.” (I suspect all are rather close in meaning.) I was pleased to find men who demanded “real men” initiating conversations with me, but, given my prepubescent-girl body, these users are obviously defining the term less physically than I. There is also a fair amount of self-deprecation and insecurity being tossed around; when I didn’t respond to someone quickly enough, he apologized for his greeting and said, “I’m probably not your type anyway.”
This reflexive “I’ll put myself down before you can,” is familiar to anyone who has ever been to a gay bar, watched a sitcom with a female character, read my joke about not having been through puberty, or been to middle school (or college. Or a café.). This self-effacement is encouraged in no small way by the outsized emphasis on physical appearance that has long been bemoaned in the queer community, and facilitated by an app that encourages snap judgments based on physical appearance. For every user judging you unfit for a purely physical encounter, there is someone shaming those users as sluts: “Have a face pic and some self respect!” “People Can Be So Repulsive! Don’t Expect Too Much!”
That said, my experience with the app has been extremely positive. For everyone whose pick-up line is invasive (“naked pics,” “Hi! Interested in getting sucked off and making some cash,” “We’re close, wanna fuck?”), there are many polite and lovely people: “Hello. How are you?” or “What a nice smile!” There are also amusing pick-ups: “Did you go to Hogwarts, too?” and, “Top of the morning to ya!” (at 1 a.m.), as well as the amusing-for-the-wrong-reason: “Hokkup” (at 4 a.m.). Using Grindr, I have met (in person) people I like very much and I’ve talked to many men who just want a nice conversation. My positive experience, I’ve been told, is not atypical.
This is not to privilege the social use of the app over the more carnal: for those in the closet or in isolated or close-minded communities, Grindr might be one of the only ways to find a partner either platonic or physical. And even for out men, the app solves a problem that heterosexuals often aren’t even aware of: when I go out, I don’t assume (like the girls I am with) that most men not giving off signs to the contrary are fair game for flirting and more. I can be more certain only at specific bars and events — and on Grindr.
The Grindr community, like the rest of the queer community (also, the world), can at times be too judgmental or too shallow; some people will find it dirty and unwelcoming. But it is always entertaining. I can only hope this same playful attitude was shared by the man who received a message from me that had been autocorrected by my phone to say, “Wait, are you a molester?!”
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