Much like a turd on a hot pavement, modern dating stinks.

To be more specific, I’m referring to chlamydia-sharing apps like Tinder. Now, there are several things about them that bother me such as the instant gratification, the pickiness that they encourage and their likeness to online shopping. That’s right. They’re almost like a very sexy version of ASOS or Debenhams. On the surface, these apps seem great. With such a high dose of power concentrated in your finger, you can swipe to your heart’s content until you find what/who you’re looking for. However, their easiness and convenience render them more of a frivolous pastime than something of actual use. In reality, they seem characterised by users enjoying the buzz of a shallow conversation before anticipating their next admirer.

Due to how easy it is to ignore someone or divert your attention from one person to the next, it seems that a conversation of substance has no real chance to occur. It’s quite the contrast to meeting someone in person:

“Hey, hot stuff. Do you come here often?”

“Yes, I live here. Why are you outside my house?”

What fun times.

Aside from apps, another paradoxical aspect of this generation’s dating habits refers to the aversion to ‘catching feelings’. It seems like social media encourages us to avoid doing that at all costs. At the same time, please continue in your pursuit of finding the right ‘bae’. Make up your mind, please. YOU’RE TOO SOPPY FOR THIS GENERATION, POOJA. Darling, no. My exes would argue otherwise.

I’m almost jealous of the animal kingdom, as they don’t really seem to have such problems. It’s more a case of there being one time of the year when everyone is horny. During said time, those afflicted with sexual frustration (anyone who’s anyone) will decide to congregate in one specific area, conveniently situated many miles away, which provides enough space for the art of love and war. After several days of partner swapping and aggressive mounting in what can only be described as the mammalian equivalent of Wife Swap meets PornHub, the show is over, the lights go out and our star performers head home.

If only humans had stayed in their basic-but-wild phase. It’s quite unfair that cats and chickens don’t have dating problems and by that, I mean individually. Not with each other. Inter-species shenanigans are challenging for obvious reasons but anyway, imagine other animals having human dating woes:

“Poppy the poodle. Aged 5. Studies hair and beauty at college. Loves acrylic nails and blow dries. Calls everyone ‘hunni’. New boyfriend is a Rottweiler who has just got out of the pound for biting a human. Government name is Boyd but the streets know him as Spike. Says he’s a changed doggo. Poppy believes him. Poppy does not know Boyd has puppies from last year’s mating festival.”

This just doesn’t happen. In the wild, Boyd would sniff Poppy’s backside before impregnating her and disappearing off the grid. I’m not saying that I’d like someone to do that to me but I quite admire the element of straightforwardness.

Essentially, it would be nice if people weren’t afraid to try and meet someone while they’re out and about (street corners are a personal favourite: everyone wants to come and say hi) or, if we learned to value quality over quantity where conversations are concerned.

Most importantly, can we get over our dependency on instant gratification?

I admit that it’s possible this rant is a result of watching Midnight in Paris yesterday but I stand by my point. Modern dating is poo.


Pooja Bokhiria

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