Communication
Cultural Implications
It is hardly a secret that young people, at higher rates than in the past, are participating in “hookups,” i.e. sexual encounters without any personal relationship with the sexual partner in question. According to Reiber, Massey, and Merriwether, “the most recent data suggest that between 60% and 80% of North American college students have had some sort of hookup experience” (163). Additionally, it is no secret that Tinder has a reputation for facilitating many hookups: for example, the Rhode Island Department of Health, after a surge in STD contraction, blamed apps like Tinder and Grindr for facilitating “high risk behavior” (qtd. In Gabbatt). There are countless cultural reasons as to why hookup culture has taken off, but popular culture seems to reinforce it: as stated by Reiber, Massey, and Merriwether, “the themes of books, plots, of movies, and television songs, and lyrics of numerous songs all demonstrate permissive sexuality among consumers” (161). Essentially, many forms of media are reinforcing an already strong cultural trend.
Nonetheless, Tinder’s launch might have contributed to its reputation: instead of following models like Facebook, which began at elite universities, Tinder was first launched at well-known party schools (Summers 61). This young, partying demographic is known for its vast participation in hookups and very well could have established the conventions of the app. Nonetheless, in Tinder’s early days, 90% of users were aged 18 to 25, though this figure dropped to 50% after 17 months (Stampler). Overall, though, young people with generally higher rate of hookups seems to establish the app’s reputation for facilitating hookups.
The reasons for this hookup culture, however, do not end at the increasingly normative nature of the practice: in a postmodern society, social maturity is coming later and later, meanwhile sexual maturity and its associated desires have not changed. This situation is summed up very well by Bogle, as well as Garcia and Reiber, saying that while marriage and reproduction are dramatically later than in the past, sexual maturity, if anything, is coming even earlier, causing a massive gap in time between physical capabilities of reproducing, but a lack of psychological/social ability to “settle down” (qtd in Reiber, Massey, and Merriwether). Since society is very far away from catering to both sexual and social needs of individuals, many cope by participating in simple hookups, which Tinder can facilitate in a straightforward and relatively secure way. Matthew Yglesias rationalizes this quite well, stating, “one option is casual sex. The other option is to engage in doomed “serious” romances that will be shortly scruttled on the rocks of reality….” Essentially, for young people, it is often more beneficial to “hookup” rather than form a serious relationship. For this, Tinder is a convenient place to turn to, and it even mimics the dynamics of in-person first impressions.
Role of Appearance
Many can quickly figure that “Tinder” is an allusion to the intimacy one could have as a result of the app, despite the company’s recent focus on friendship and, more significantly, committed relationships, as showcased on the “stories” page of its website. At any rate, Tinder is both known in pop culture for meeting people as well as its sexual uses. The hopes for romantic endeavors (not necessarily sexual) are also a common topic in users’ bios. However, again dwelling in the icon’s use of a flame, Ho and Hou assert that an icon must be a relevant object and imply function (2258). Obviously, the flame is a metaphor, but it implies “hot” intimacy, whether romantic or sexual. Perhaps this also reflects the value of expediency in the app, with Sean Rad, a co-founder, stating, “the way Tinder works is the way people tell us they see the world. They walk around, they see these girls, and they say in their heads, ‘yes, no, yes, no,’” (qtd. In Summers 60). This type of expediency is something unique to Tinder’s minimalist approach to information: other service might waste time having users complete various questionnaires and the like.
With any conversation of dating comes the question of whether or not looks matter. Tinder’s rise suggests that they, in fact, matter. After speaking to scientific researchers from Northwestern University and Illinois University, Nick Bilton concluded, “all that really matters… at least at the beginning of a relationship, is how someone looks.” This shows that Tinder’s initial presentation of a single photo and basic information lays in valid scientific research. Seconding this research, “…OKCupid examined its data and found that a person’s profile picture is, said a post on its OKtrends blog, ‘worth that fabled thousand words, but your actual words are worth…almost nothing’” (qtd. In Bilton). And, for the most part, this is true. I would like to note that a certain picture of mine did (pictured), in fact, receive praise because it indicated my sense of humor. While smiling, I have text stating “Life is meaningless.”
The main way people make their visual judgments are by the photos users put on the app—and the number (and depth) of the assumptions that occur are interesting. On this, Wysocki and Lynch assert, “when we see people in a photograph, we might identify with them: We understand the situation they are in through our own experiences” (248). Being able to associate with a person could be a beginning point in one’s decision to “swipe right” and “like” someone. However, the ideas about the photographer do not end at their appearance in the photo, the audience will also learn about the photographer by their choices in both staging the photo and editing it afterwards (Wysocki and Lynch 245). Thus, the photo itself can tell about a photographer. Building on this depth, Gosling, Ko, Mannarelli, & Morris claim that the background of an image can also tell about an individual, i.e. extroverts with warm, inviting offices, or introverts with “neat and well-organized bedrooms” (qtd in Qiu, Lu, Yang, Qu, and Zhu 443). Again, a lot gives grounds for assumptions beyond how an individual self-presents on Tinder, or any virtual space for that matter. Interestingly, though, a study by Qiu, Lu, Yang, Qu, and Zhu found that zero acquaintances (individuals who have never met someone) could only accurately predict an individual’s level of openness by viewing their photos (448). Thus, our impressions of people based on their images are flawed, yet inevitable, which Tinder seems to understand by also integrating interests and multiple photos.
In a TEDTalk about her research for Alone Together, Sherry Turkle highlighted a major issue with digital communication: “the goldilocks effect,” saying, “we get to edit, and that means we get to delete, and that means we get to retouch, the face, the voice, the flesh, the body—not too little, not too much, just right.” This constitutes the joy of social media, like Tinder—we can present ourselves more carefully, having great control over impression management. Additionally, she highlighted three fantasies of phones: putting attention to wherever we want it, we are always heard, and that we never need to be alone (Turkle). Tinder relates to this very well: most anyone can quickly turn their attention to compelling apps like Tinder to gain an audience by swiping right and accumulating matches at various speeds, which could allow them to not feel as alone by communicating with others in a relatively short amount of time and with no need to move to another location.
Tinder, and other location-aware apps alter previous conceptions of solitude and company—they can combine physical and virtual places, leading to users being visible to multiple audiences (Blackwell, Birnholtz, and Abbott 1133). This, as defined by Blackwell, Birnholtz, and Abbott, is called “co-situation,” i.e. a link between virtual and in-person communication (1133). Now more than ever, people will both be interacting with people in-person, but also have their phones out in order to interact with people digitally at the same time, especially with the rise of smartphones. Tinder provides an appealing way to fill this space.
As a final point, Tinder’s popularity relates to a growing tendency in the U.S. to avoid close relationships, but also crave companionship. This is not a new part of American culture—Kurt Lewin (a Jewish German psychologist who fled Nazi rule) noted that Americans form friendly relationships faster and with more people, but the process stagnates after a point (qtd. In Beck). So, compared to Germans (for example), Americans hold many acquaintances, but few close friends. Beck offers an explanation, saying that perhaps this phenomenon is not just about keeping relationships from getting particularly close and simply leaving them behind, “…but also the knowledge of how hard it is to leave people.” Then, perhaps this explains the tendency I noticed on Tinder: a fair amount of matches occur, but the vast majority last for just one day or a few hours. Interestingly, more than one person I had a conversation with remarked that this is a common practice and leaves us lonelier. On this, Turkle notes, “…if we don’t have connection, we don’t feel like ourselves. We almost don’t feel ourselves. So what do we do? We connect more and more. But in the process, we set ourselves up to be isolated.” This was reflected in a pattern on the app: a desire for greater connections (regardless of a satisfied or neglected need for such connections) brings people to the app. Nonetheless, there seems to be a widespread withholding of personal comments and opinions. I did notice, however, that once I opened up about my own, others reciprocated—no one really wanted to be the first to though.