in this quote from Dean Kissick, a 20-something male Tinder user. His thoughts -- excerpted from a Guardian article on the app's reputation as a sexual cattle call for a herd of empty-hearted young consumers -- are among the most poignant I have seen on how intimacy is lived and how it isn't:
"Vanity Fair’s article [a recent investigative piece on Tinder's hookup culture] begins inside an upmarket bar in Manhattan’s financial district in which everyone is Tindering; their rapt, aroused faces illuminated by the lights of their phones. Why would anyone do this, on an evening out drinking in New York? That’s just crackers! What is wrong with us?! If we weren’t staring into our phones constantly we might fall for a stranger walking past in the street, suddenly imagining what that other person might be like, what life we might lead together – maybe she’s a cellist in the orchestra! – but all this magical speculation is rather undermined when you read a Tinder biography that says something like (an example from just this afternoon): “Travel, treehouses, festivals, food, sun, skiing, sausage dogs, steel drums, bike rides, canal boats, desert islands.” How tiresome, and underwhelming. Because the whole point of falling in love is that you cannot choose who you fall in love with. Your sweet, sweet fantasy might be utterly impractical, pie-in-the-sky, totally unapproachable, but that’s what’s exciting; and Tinder just sucks all the joy and romance out of this.