A few months back, I was at a pretty fancy party, talking to a woman I respect deeply. For about as long as I've been alive, she's been working to spread the message about why we don't need to panic about the rise of technology and why it can be a source for good. After a while, we got to talking about our summer travel plans.
I told her that in a few weeks, I'd be heading off to Europe with my boyfriend. We live together and have been dating for two years. How'd we meet? I braced myself, as I usually do, and told her honestly, as I always do, "We met on Tinder. She blinked, cocked her head, and said, "But you seem like such a nice girl. It's not that I'm particularly virtuous. Or particularly unvirtuous, for that matter.
What bugged me was that this womanβa person who's supposed to understand techβhad, like so many other people, believed the hype about Tinder being nothing more than a lurid hookup app. Her comment made me feel small. But more than that, it made me realize how pervasive the myth of Tinder serving one purpose and one purpose only really is. Which is why, on Tuesday, when Tinder unleashed a Tweetstorm aimed at Vanity Fair author Nancy Jo Sales, who recently published a story about Tinder and the outsized role it plays in what she calls the "dating apocalypse," I kind of understood why the company was so upset.
Sure, Twitter's not a very dignified way for a business Tinder's size to defend itself, and if it was a planned PR move, as some are now saying , it wasn't very well-advised. What's more, Tinder, as a company has made plenty of crappy moves, including charging older users more for premium services.
But, to some extent, I understood the rant because the Vanity Fair article made me want to rant, too. To be sure, the piece was a fascinating and well-reported exploration of the changing dynamics of sex and dating.
