If you go to Tinder.com, you’ll find me on the frontpage to the left side of the screen. Really! I’ve been using Tinder on and off for the past four years, so much so that my Twitter mutuals know me for being the slightly funny Tinder guy. So, it’s only appropriate that I’m featured in an advertisement for an app that has caused me so much pain and only occasional pleasure. If you’re curious how this happened, I’ll start from the beginning. Disclaimer: This is probably the dumbest, Gen Z thing you’ll read today, and I’m not sorry.
It All Began With PowerPoint
Tinder is a horrible app, all things considered. It may be a PCMag Editors’ Choice winner, but the dating app is intentionally designed to swindle money from desperate men. We all know how it works: you swipe, you match, you ignore each other. If you’re lucky, you’ll both circle back around, discover you’re the perfect match, and get married. Ask anyone in your social circle for their Tinder opinions, and they’ll share nothing but horror stories. It’s addictive, predatory, and slightly racist.
With that said, I’d like to introduce you to my Tinder PowerPoint presentation:
I made this wonderfully articulate self-pitch presentation on a cold night in Alaska during my sophomore year of college. The PowerPoint featured six slides that delved into why you should give me a…chance.
The University of Alaska Anchorage, where I attended college and where I made this work of art, is a small school. The six students who saw my profile had a laugh and moved on with their lives. Life went on, I stayed single, we got a new governor, he put our school into financial hell, and I decided to continue my studies at the University of North Texas.
Fast forward to a Target parking lot last August. I was in my car getting cooked alive by the Texas heat, and trying to think of something funny to tweet to my 300 followers before I bought groceries. I was still using the Tinder PowerPoint, and someone from UNT had already tweeted it in the past. It didn’t gain much traction, maybe 100 likes. So, naturally, I quote tweeted it for additional exposure.
Afterward, I bought my groceries and went to work. While working my shift, my phone exploded with notifications. I went viral. I experienced a range of emotions while slicing up fish. It was mostly excitement and a dash of anxiety. As a 20-something, terminally online, Gen Z college student, I discovered that going viral on Twitter gave me the same rush I feel when I turn in assignments two minutes before the deadline. Being seen by 20 million people was quite surreal, considering that I spend most of my afternoons eating ice cream and crying. Honestly, the PowerPoint was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but people thought it was funny. I finally got more than four likes on a tweet, so who was I to complain?
The Contest of Champions
Having established myself as a niche Twitter personality in my college town, I received a DM from a friend in early December telling me to enter a Tinder contest. The Put Yourself Out There challenge was simple: Tinder and rapper Megan Thee Stallion would select the 100 “most inspiring profiles,” submitted via Instagram. The profiles were evaluated on a variety of factors, including creativity and originality. Each winner would receive $10,000 out of a $1 million prize pool.
Yes, I was selected as a winner. Yes, I received $10,000. No, I did not get to meet Megan Thee Stallion, and that’s the part that hurts the most. Winning was a blessing, because I quit my job earlier in the month way before being selected as a finalist. The worst part, however, was lying to my mom about what I was doing to pay rent. Explaining to my parents how I magically received $10,000 was more nerve-wracking than having strangers on the internet call me “lame and unoriginal” for my romance slideshow.
Interestingly enough, after being selected, the PR company running the contest on behalf of Tinder asked the finalists to be a part of the ad campaign after the winners were announced. The way it was worded, I thought I’d appear in some small, targeted, online ads, and that’d be the end of that. It was winter break, I was unemployed, so why say no? I figured at the very least it’d make for a good tweet. They asked us to record videos to create live selfies, as well as other videos to help show our “most authentic selves.” The biggest regret from all of this was not getting a haircut. I looked like a busted-up Dennis Rodman in a national marketing campaign.
Plenty of Tinder, But No Flames
To cut a long, but truly unbelievable story short, my videos were spread across various social media platforms. I got numerous DMs from people asking if I knew I was featured in an ad that they saw on Snapchat, Twitter, YouTube, or even Hulu, of all places. I initially liked the attention that the ad brought, but then I slowly realized that I was in a Tinder ad. I received more Twitter messages about the ad than I did messages from my Tinder matches.
Here’s the big picture lesson: Dating sucks. It’s disheartening to be superficially judged based solely on how you look. As someone who went through an online version of The Bachelor, I can say with the utmost confidence that Twitter is a better dating app than Tinder every could be. That said, I figure it’s apropos that after many years of hardship using this godforsaken app, I have been rewarded as a featured face on the website and get to write about it for work. So, despite still being single, I see the experience as a win-win. Sort of.
