Tinderella: learning to unplug from the dating apps

January 26, 2024

I hate dating apps. But I can’t bring myself to delete them. I know how hypocritical that must sound but bear with me. 

There’s just something about that screen turning green and screaming “it’s a match!” It gives me a sense of validation. That person looked at my heavily sifted-through photos where my hair is falling perfectly and the pose makes me look 30 pounds lighter, then, thought to themselves that I was worthy of possibly starting a conversation with. How romantic. 

Using dating apps as a college-aged person is hard enough, but using dating apps as a plus-sized college-aged person is a death wish for any amount of self-esteem you might have. 

The average size of the American woman is now 16 to 18 according to a study from the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education. I fall right in that average, but average won’t cut it in the wicked kingdom of dating apps. 

I first gave in to the cruel mistress the summer before I left for college. I downloaded the holy trinity as I like to call them: Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge. If anyone says they have only one of the three, they are probably lying.

I was 18 and my overly protective, high school sweetheart parents were no longer going to be able to control where I went or who I went with. I was ecstatic. 

That excitement slowly turned to shame and embarrassment as I began to realize that most of the boys I met were just masquerading as Prince Charming, telling me what I wanted to hear so they could eventually feel comfortable enough to ask me questions about my body or bra size. 

I began to become attached to every person that matched with me because I was made to believe that I should take every bit of affection I could get, who knows when someone would be interested again? I started to become addicted to the attention I was getting. I only felt good about myself when I had a list of guys that were somewhat interested. 

These apps had a chokehold on me from the very beginning, and I hadn’t even met anyone in person yet. I was absolutely terrified that the moment I met one of these people in real life the clock would strike midnight, and the magic would wear off. The glitz and glamor of the girl in those pictures would fade away, and they would just see me. 

My biggest fear is that they would see me the way I saw myself. 

Even as a seasoned veteran of the dating app game, it still hurts. When I open the door and I see their smile fall just a little bit. They realize the glass slipper doesn’t fit me. 

At that moment, all of these familiar feelings I thought I had cast aside came rushing back.

I’m in the second grade again wearing my mom’s senior prom dress as a Halloween costume that barely fits. 

I’m 10 years old crying because I weigh nearly as much as my brother who is a junior in high school.

I’m in middle school watching my mom actively move the food on the table away from me and handing me a glass of water mixed with whatever new powdery diet supplement that was magically going to make her daughter look like the “normal” girl. 

Hours or even days later I get the text saying they had a nice time but they aren’t interested, they found someone else, they got back together with their ex, or they fell and hit their head so they don’t really remember who I am (that was a good one). I’ve heard every excuse. 

Some of them are nicer than others. Some chicken out and just vanish into thin air while others are a little too honest while I sit in shock as I read a message that states, “you’re just too fat for me, but thanks for helping me figure out I’m not into big girls.”

I have been taught that they will always leave for someone skinnier. Someone better could just be a swipe away which is what makes dating now so scary for me. 

I am slowly but surely trying to rewrite the narrative. To break free from this spell of needing male validation to be happy. To be enough for me before I even start to think about others. The apps now sit idly in my phone library and sometimes I give in to the temptation, but I am learning I don’t need the glowing green magic of being told “it’s a match” because it’s okay to go to the ball without a prince.