How to Stand Out on Tinder in the Isle of Man

We hold a lot of power in our thumbs. What Caesar once used in an up or downward motion to say who lived and who died in ancient Rome, we now use in a right or left motion to say who’s attractive enough for a chance to get in our pants and who isn’t. Tinder is the new emperor, and the lonely hearts of the Isle of Man are its empire.

I’ve had a mixed relationship with Tinder. In old school Facebook terms, it’d fall under the label ‘it’s complicated.’ Using it in the past I’d go through the same cycle every 3-5 months:

Step One: Single me gets a wave of excitement at the thought of getting Tinder and finding the man of my dreams – Peeta from The Hunger Games / Jack from Titanic – who’s disregarding all other women as he waits for me.

Step Two: Download Tinder. Usually accompanied by gin and three of my close girl mates.

Step Three: Upload the best pictures of myself that make my forehead look smaller than it is and add a witty bio line about wanting to find someone before my Nan bites the dust so she can die in peace.

Step Four: Start swiping. Predominantly left (the rejection direction) thanks to my perfectionist tendencies. Reasons would include things like: ‘His hair is a bit too short’, ‘he looks like he’d wear jeans to ski in’, ‘he misspelled the word tree in his bio.’

Step Five: Run out of people in my area.

Step Six: Match with three people. Get a rush of excitement as my picture pulsates in a conjoined ring with my future husband’s in slot machine-like fashion.

Step Seven: Realise the first one lives in Ireland. Romantic, yes, who doesn’t love PS. I Love You? But EasyJet is too unreliable. Unmatch with the second match. On another look at his profile, it was clearly a desperation swipe right after convincing myself ‘I could get into fishing’.

Step Eight: Chat with the final match on and off for roughly two weeks. Have the same formulaic conversation as with all our other matches, until I decide to up the ante and send a voice message of my Nicolas Cage impression from The Wicker Man. It’s met with ghostly silence.

Step Nine: See him leave Tinder because he’s met someone (Grace, on Tinder, who clearly has a more impressive Nicolas Cage impression) and is now engaged to be married.

Step Ten: Come off Tinder feeling depressed, vowing never to go back on it because it’s a cesspool of disappointment and no one appreciates my wit.

Step Eleven: Allow for 3-5 months to pass. Watch Titanic.

Step Twelve: Single me gets a wave of excitement at the thought of getting Tinder and finding the man of my dreams who’s disregarding all other women as he waits for me, the woman of his dreams.

The cycle repeats itself.

All those times I’d re-download Tinder convinced that some gorgeous soul that isn’t an ex, a friend’s ex, a family member, or my dentist would pop up in the specific time I’d been off the app. Alas, I’d just end up seeing the same types of profile over and over and over. I did try and download the app again for research purposes for this article, but I used fake pictures, so Tinder shut me down and has been reviewing my profile for the last 3 months.

Which means, once again, my devoted partner (not found on Tinder) had to step into help. We looked at men and women between the age of 21-40 with the distance set to 22 miles, not that it matters. Within three swipes people were popping up from Samoa.

Dominant Similarities in Men’s Profiles:

• A travel pic: Either at a festival wearing a bucket hat, neon sunglasses, and over the shoulder bum bag / stood on a hill, arms outstretched, somewhere in Southeast Asia / ski picture. (Shows you own a deep v tee)
• Random picture of a car. (Shows a car)
• Topless picture from the neck down. (Shows your 1.5 pack)
• Pic with dog. (Suggests you wouldn’t vote Trump)
• Six different slightly too close selfies with the exact same confused/serious expression. (Shows that Nan was right, if you pull a face when the wind changes it actually does stick)

Dominant Similarities in Women’s Profiles:

• Mirror selfies. Countless mirror selfies. Usually in a club bathroom. (Shows an access to mirrors)
• Sunflower field pic. (Shows how tall you are in comparison to sunflowers)
• Filter pics that put words like ‘luv’ on your cheeks. (Shows insecurities)
• Pic on a night out, holding drink in front of a flower wall that has some form of neon sign on it. (Shows you are not allergic to booze or neon)

Not many people in either group wrote a bio or had pictures that showed what their interests were, unless people’s interests are simply existing and drinking alcohol. Judgemental? Yes I am. Just like Tinder encourages its users to be. So, consider this your guide on how to get some right swipes.

Pictures:

To Use: Pictures of you that highlight your hobbies: Sports, hiking, theatre, art etc.

Avoid: Pictures of hobbies that involve crack cocaine /  balloon animals.

To Use: A picture that shows you have friends. (If you do not have friends, take a selfie by a group of people in public to make it look like they are your friends).

Avoid: Using a picture of you with your arm around your sister / brother / female friend / male friend. It’s confusing. Are you in love with them or looking for a threesome? Either way, I’m interested. Let’s match.

Avoid: Using filters unless you’ve figured out how to implement them onto your actual face when meeting up in person. YOU ARE GORGEOUS JUST AS YOU ARE, YOU DON’T NEED THEM. (Except you Stacey, ugly idiot).

If You Have Kids: Avoid using pictures with your kids and scratching out their faces with red pen. It makes it unclear if you’re hiding their identities or you’ve murdered them.

Bios:

Use: Correct grammar and spelling.

Avoid: Incorrect grammar; and speling.

Use: Something brief and authentic.

Avoid: Live, Laugh, Love.

Thus concludes Gef’s Guide to Tinder. My partner followed this guide and, in the time we were on the app for investigative purposes, he got 17 likes. Proof it works. Apologies to anyone who swiped right on Godfrey McDonalds.