But eventually I realized that the "Sup" people were not cavemen. My deep misunderstanding of Chat was that it was meant to be witty, an actual conversation. Many guys started a conversation with the aforementioned "Sup?" or the even more unforgivable "Wassup?" I admit, I looked down on them, as one would on "mole people" or Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino. Though it is 96 percent inane, it's not all sexting and Weinering pics to people. To ensure that no user of Grindr ever felt hoodwinked, I took the name "GQ Magazine" and used as my icon a collage of covers, though I was slightly worried that grinders would think I was hawking subscriptions in some kind of seedy jailhouse telemarketing scheme.īut guys did drop me a line, at all hours and in great numbers.Ĭhat is the gateway drug on Grindr. They actually market themselves on the thoroughness of their interrogations: What are your favorite sports, your taste in movies, your eye color? They have it all down to a science, selling their sites on that old adage, "Similars attract." On Grindr, you are permitted to write a 120-character profile and upload a photo, and that's pretty much all you get to spark that digital First Look Across the Room. Those other sites are proud of asking for massive detail. ![]() To be a grinder, unlike with or eHarmony or OkCupid or any of the other doddering old iDate sites, you need register no name, no password-not even a screen name. ![]() Guys calling themselves "Hard" and "Hung 2 Hang" offered cheery requests pertaining to the act of love: "Top bunk, don't be a fuckin' girl, 420-friendly." The photos came in a few varieties: guys trying hard to look really bored though super-cool nude, hirsute torsos guys doing that ridiculous bathroom-mirror self-portrait in which the subject always looks surprised even though he himself has just snapped the shot. ![]() The screen would blink into a checkerboard of guys' pictures-whole armies of men who were within a mile of me, many right next door, and I could know those distances, for I was the Lord. I'd take out my device and tap on the black-and-yellow tribal-mask logo of Grindr, an app that lets guys use GPS to meet other guys who are ten steps away or a hundred. I'd be milling around a trendy Sunset Boulevard dive, or lounging in a French Roast restaurant about a block from where I live in Manhattan. I'd been doing this for more weeks than I could count.
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