The Guysexual Goes on Dates: 5 guys you will meet on Grindr

The dubious dilemma of online dating : All my Tinderellas are scruffy

In part two read about the other two horsemen of the dating apocalypse

Online dating will always be shunned and sniggered at.

It’s simple. It’s completely against the idea of a textbook romance: Meeting someone at a party or at the local bookshop, bumping into each other, and falling head-over-heels in love with each other at first sight. But what does this get you?

A barrage of unnecessary messages, some unwanted nudes and a series of unending questions that finally fade away into Internet oblivion. They are usually hidden, stacked between photo-editing apps and to-do lists, away from prying eyes, pudgy fingers and awkward questions. We still have them nonetheless; you can’t deny that they make it so easy that it widely encourages snap hookups (and judgments) every second night.

But then again, I’ve never been known for my judgment any way. While we shunted between the grey areas of Grindr and Planet Romeo last time, here are the final two horsemen of the dating apocalypse.


Tinder is the It-girl of dating apps, the one that all the others want to be like, and secretly hate. Like the nagging aunt, it shows you picture after picture of suitable men and women- perfection doesn’t come easy and in the case of this app, it can come more than once. You can swipe right to Like, or left to ‘Oh-I-Don’t-So’. It’s like a Clearance Sale of Facebook profile pictures. You collect the ones you love, and ignore the ones you don’t. But then, the pile keeps on growing, and you don’t know what to do. Unless someone collects you too. Can Tinder be considered as the online dating website for the people who have given up on online dating?

Truly so.

A few months ago, I came across Rajeev - He was handsome, he ran his own start-up, and at 6’ 2” (his profile told me), he was taller than I was. Could our mutual love for Rihanna, Banksy and Humans Of New York account for total compatibility in the romance department? Probably not, but maybe Tinder could help us meet halfway there. Ding ding ding. Had we won our selves the jackpot? I swiped right and waited.

And waited. And waited. I waited for all of twenty-three days, seven hours and forty two minutes. He never matched back. Obsessing over a text message is a little crazy, but when you’re in an online relationship (or not); that’s really all you have. Are you allowed to feel heartbroken if you’ve never met someone in person?

If real life relationships are taxing and nerve-wracking, these are only better - every curve ball that life throws at you, Tinder throws two. The biggest of them all, how do you answer the classic - the ‘How did you two meet?’ milestone that every couple that meets through Tinder dreads.

It’s simple. You tell them you met each other at Starbucks.


Like Grindr, Scruff is a grid of available, attractive gay men with pictures in various stages of undress. It’s infested with bears, otters, foxes and cubs. Is this an app or a zoo?

Scruff is no nonsense that way. It comes with a purpose – letting scruffy men find their hairier halves.

You woof at people you like, leaving them little red notifications of love that they can sniff back to your account. However, Scruff’s standard layout allows four profiles in a row (as opposed to Grindr’s three) – so a guy who looks cute in a tiny, thumbnail picture might not look the same blown up – you don’t want your thumbnail Stephen Amell to look like Steve Buscemi when you zoom in. The only silver lining on the scruffy cloud, though?

It allows you to search for like-minded men in other cities, making it ideal for that vacation fling (or the boy you regret when you are back from a holiday).

My phone screen lights up with a message from one such hirsute hottie. It’s a 32-year-old man from three thousand miles away. He calls himself Entreflaneur. His interests include art, design, film, aimless wandering and compulsive list making. His photos include well-defined pecs. Have we got ourselves a winner?

I send out a woof before I can even open the message. ‘Can I see how hairy you are?’ asks the Amazonian demi-god. I blink at my phone – is that the new ‘Hello! Nice to meet you?’

‘I don’t have any, pictures’ I ping back – the woof that I sent him two minutes ago, has probably strangled itself in embarrassment. He never texts back, leaving me to aimlessly wander by myself.

Which I do; out of the app, never to come back again.

Aniruddha Mahale