Imagine this: You download an app. You like it. You go to download the premium upgrade, only to find you must pay an added fee because of your gender, race, religion or sexual orientation. You're pissed, right? That's clearly discrimination. And for Tinder users over 30, that's exactly what's happening: upgrading to those added perks cost twice as much as what 20-somethings are asked to pay.
It's total ageist bullshit.
I first learned about Tinder as I approached my 40th birthday. A few 30-something divorcées I knew used it for the occasional hookup. A few others used it to actively seek out romantic partnerships. For many of them, Tinder became an easy substitute for the usual online dating sites and offered quick, fun access to people they wouldn't otherwise meet.
It sounded casual and entertaining. I signed up.
I'm a busy, working single parent who spends a lot of my time teaching, writing at home in yoga pants with apple slices and a jar of almond butter nearby, driving my teens to various activities, cleaning my kitchen and doing my best to stay healthy and sane. Gone are the days of meeting available and prospective partners at bars, parties, concerts or political demonstrations. Sure, I've connected with a hottie or two at book readings or in line at the neighborhood coffee shop, but mostly, I'm busily rushing from one responsibility to the next, floating through a sea of over-thirty married couples.
I thought Tinder, with its simple connection possibilities, could dissolve the barriers to meeting potential matches. After installing the free app, users browse other users based on age, gender and location preferences. Tinder also links through Facebook, allowing us to see what mutual friends and page likes we have in common (an easy screening tool if you have mutual friends). The best feature on Tinder is that users can't communicate unless there is a mutual “liking” between them, which keeps things straight forward and prohibits creepy dudes from sending unsolicited pseudo-erotic poetry about burning embers and dark souls to the younger women they fancy on sites like OK Cupid (true story).
I've liked using Tinder, though it isn't perfect. But it's about to become a whole lot less perfect for those of us who are more “seasoned.” Tinder Plus will allow users to undo swipes if they regret left-swiping on the drunk guy posing with a giant fish and a gaggle of nineteen year old models. The new feature costs $9.99 for users up to 29 years old. But for anyone over 30, Tinder wants $19.99 per month, twice the amount perky young 20-somethings have to shell out. This is asking a lot for an app that offers no compatibility rating or full user profiles and relies on a brash yes/no swiping feature that feels as shallow as scanning a bar for the sweetest piece of ass before grabbing a seat.
Tinder's logic is that geezers like me are willing to pay more because it is assumed we have higher incomes and will cough up the dough to undo our frantic mis-swipes. Rosette Pambakian, VP of corporate communications at Tinder, told ABC News: "Younger users are just as excited about Tinder Plus, but are more budget constrained, and need a lower price to pull the trigger."
This makes no sense.
I'll go ahead and assume its easier to meet people in real life when you're, say, 25. Because, well, when I was 25, there seemed to be no shortage of men and women to hook up with and no shortage of time during which to meet them. In my 20s, I got approached at bars, in book stores, in the cafe where I slung cappuccinos, in the health food store where I shopped, in thrift stores, on bike rides, at concerts, in movie theater lobbies and once or twice at fundraisers for local nonprofits. Twenty-somethings generally have more time, energy and optimism when it comes to getting dates than those of us trudging through our 30s or 40s with that extra set or two of baggage we've acquired over time. They also have a seemingly endless supply of other available young people to choose from. And as far as financial resources, more people in their 20s share apartments and have yet to embark on the adventure that is paying off student loans, mortgages, and credit card debt from those spontaneous late-20s post-breakup trips abroad. And with more people waiting until later in life to have kids (I know there are exceptions; I had my first at 22), fewer singles in their 20 are raising children alone, unlike many of us over 30. So, I'd argue these are the exact people with $20 to spend on something unessential.
In many cases, the “old timer” crowd is not as well-off as Tinder thinks we are. And even so, the over-30---and especially the over-40---dating pool is shallow, murky and sometimes consists of a smattering of the unsavory exes that led us into the post-prime single life in the first place. Charging us more creates one more barrier to finding compatible mates, even if it's just for a quick hookup. If anyone needs a break, it's us ancient single folks.
And if Tinder feels OK about charging the elderly twice as much because it thinks we're more likely to afford the extra cost, why not break down the pay scale based on things like socioeconomic class? Maybe it could start a tiered sliding scale payment option, with white men at the top and those historically oppressed and suffering the most from the economic disparity paying the least? Tinder is acting with a clear bias toward the younger crowd, so while it's at it, it should hire a quality control staff that rates profile pictures and charge different rates based on looks, wit and physical abilities. If Tinder is going to discriminate, it should go all out.
Or better yet, why not just be honest: Tinder is charging us more because it thinks we are desperate. Desperate to find our last chance at love and willing to pay whatever it takes.
Well, guess what? I'm not desperate enough to keep using Tinder now that I know it considers me a dried up old hag. The young 'uns can have it.
