Sami Lukis: ‘My plea to blokes on Tinder’

And it’s making me never want to date again.

When Tinder first appeared in our lives, it was considered a pretty straight forward hook-up app. I remember interviewing the comedian Judith Lucy on my radio show back then, who suggested that a more appropriate name for Tinder might be “Who’s in my area with their pants off?” She had a point.

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For a while there, Tinder lived up to its “swipe and shag” reputation. Which, of course, spawned all kinds of shady M.O.s. Especially active male users started calling themselves “Tinder Kings” and referring to their tinder hook-ups as “Tinderellas”. I know, gross.

I quickly determined that Tinder was not for me.

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People need to be upfront about what they're looking for. Picture: SuppliedSource:Supplied

But then, somewhere along the way, a few girlfriends started quietly confiding to me that they had met their “partners” (shock horror!) on Tinder. It was an incredibly brave admission back then. I’m not even going to pretend I wasn’t whispering behind their backs, “Can you believe she met him on TINNNDERRRRR? OMG. What’s THAT about?”

And as more and more couples met via the cheeky swipe and managed to form meaningful, lasting connections beyond the bedroom — some even resulted in marriage — I was forced to accept that Tinder could actually work as a legitimate matchmaker. So I decided, it was time to give it a go. Maybe my future husband was hiding somewhere there in the happy Tinder hunting ground.

But something happened this week that has made me reconsider.

A friend of mine (let’s call her Rachel) went on a date with a guy she’d matched with on Tinder (let’s call him Ross). After exchanging a couple of brief messages online, they agreed to meet IRL for dinner. Throughout dinner, Ross made several sexually suggestive remarks which made Rachel feel a little uneasy, but she politely laughed them off each time.

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After dinner, Ross suggested they go back to his place and finish the date in the privacy of his bedroom. When Rachel declined the invitation, thanked Ross for dinner and said she would be going home, alone, he screamed at her (yes, he screamed at her!), “Well, what are you even doing here!?”

And then he stormed off and left Rachel, standing alone on the side of the road at 11pm to wait in the dark for her Uber.

Firstly, Ross. You’re a disgrace.

Secondly, I’d bet my last pair of Jimmy Choo’s, that this isn’t an isolated incident.

So. Where did this expectation of sex on a first date come from? And when did it start being perceived as mandatory, if you met on Tinder?

I think Rachel is the victim of what I’m calling the Tinder identity crisis. Because today, Tinder goes both ways.

Some hopeful singles, like Rachel (and me) remain eternally optimistic that their next swipe might lead to everlasting love and happiness. While others, like foul Ross, are still just using Tinder to get laid. They’re searching for playmates (plural), rather than a soulmate (singular).

And Ross is certainly not alone.

Dating apps haven’t just changed the way we search for love. They’re changing the way we behave, emotionally and sexually. Your phone can become your own little handheld hook-up device.

Just look at the screen and swipe on the face of someone you’d like to have sex with, which could even happen later that night, if you want.

We’ve even seen an influx of apps designed specifically for people who are looking for strictly no-strings-attached connections.

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CasualX actually promotes itself as “Tinder minus the marriage-minded daters”.

C-Date Australia offers “casual dating without any romantic responsibilities”.

AdultFriendFinder is where you can go to “satiate your need for amazing sexual experiences”.

The list goes on. And on. And on. And on.

So now we live in a world where there are dating apps and there are sex apps. And there IS a difference. Unfortunately, poor old Tinder seems to be trapped somewhere in between. And with around 57 million users worldwide, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Look, I’m not opposed to the idea of sex on a first date, if and when all the planets align. But I am opposed to a dating world where I can be abused on a first date for refusing to go home with a guy I’ve only just met.

So here’s my plea. If you’re only using Tinder (or any dating app) to just hit it and quit it, you have a duty of care to fellow users to make that absolutely clear in your profile.

And if we all have the decency to do that, maybe there’s less chance that I’ll end up on a date thinking I’ve met my Prince Charming, while he’s looking at me as nothing more than his next Tinderella.

Sami Lukis is a TV and radio presenter. Her podcast, “Romantically Challenged: The Podcast” is available via podcastone.com.au or the app store. Her book, “Romantically Challenged” is available at all good bookstores. Continue the conversation @samilukis

This story originally appeared on whimn.com.au and is reproduced with permission