Words by: Anonymous
Art by: Sean Do

“hey”
“hey”
*inserts unsolicited dick pic*

Ah, yes, the holy trinity of Grindr conversation openers. That was how 60% of my conversations on this app went, while the remaining 40% skipped the small talk altogether and went straight to the sending of ‘goods’. 

I downloaded Grindr when I was 16 — yes, I know, not smart, and also not legal, but I didn’t know that then. However, knowing what I know now, it was definitely not the best introduction to gay dating. Not exactly something I’m proud of, but at the time, it felt like one of the only few options for a young and timid gay boy who had just moved to Australia by himself. No connection. No understanding of culture. Barely any social skills. And absolutely no idea what a hookup even meant. I was emotionally undercooked and wildly underprepared.

I quickly found out that Grindr was less of a dating app and more of a crash course on gay adulthood. Imagine opening a so-called ‘dating app’, excited to meet people, and being met with a gallery of topless, headless torsos and naked buttocks paired with no names but ‘looking’, ‘right now’, ‘hung’, and a spectrum of naughty emojis. Being an Asian ‘twink’ who identified as a bottom also did not help. I learnt pretty quickly what the ‘market’ valued (spoiler: not bottom Asian twinks). Just for research purposes, I once changed my ethnicity to Caucasian with no profile picture. That got more messages than my original profile. You can guess what that did to my self-esteem.

Apart from the diverse collection of unflattering pornographic photos, the countless ghostings, and a decline in self-image, the experience wasn’t all terrible. It was surprisingly pleasant to see what great lengths some people would go to for some quick head. I started figuring out what I liked and what I didn’t in bed. Hosting gave me an oddly powerful reason to keep my apartment clean. I also picked up an important life skill: scam detection. Nothing screams romance more than a ‘sugar daddy’ offering you five grand a month to ‘spoil you’, only to ask for your card details first.

From my experience, finding love and meaningful connections was next to impossible in a community where the ideal is still overwhelmingly fit, white, and masculine. I never ended up finding anything lasting on Grindr, though I did acquire a few tricks up my sleeve for my current relationship. Would I say it was worth it? Only if emotional damage is your love language. But like all other poor life choices, it did turn out to be quite educational and character-building, just not in the way I hoped.

The lesson I learnt:

Grindr is for sex, not love. Most of the time, it’s not even good sex, so proceed with caution.