It’s a balmy night in Manhattan’s financial district, and at a sports bar called Stout, everyone is Tindering.The tables are filled with young women and men who’ve been chasing money and deals on Wall Street all day, and now they’re out looking for hookups.Next week sees 24-year-old Essex man George digitally design his ideal woman - long blonde hair and slim - but he warns she better make a good first impression because he will dump the one whose personality doesn't match their perfect looks.If things go well, the clones could earn some precious one-on-one time with the singleton in the Love Mobile, the car that takes them back to the house.Everyone is drinking, peering into their screens and swiping on the faces of strangers they may have sex with later that evening. “Ew, this guy has Dad bod,” a young woman says of a potential match, swiping left.Her friends smirk, not looking up.“Tinder sucks,” they say. At a booth in the back, three handsome twentysomething guys in button-downs are having beers.
She wants a mixed-race man with a quirky dress sense, toned body and a pert posterior - and is greeted by eight men matching that description.
Every so often, one of his paramours would catch on and alert the others.
Then he’d block them all on social media and begin the whole thing again.
In one sense, this is a story about the exploitative possibilities of online matchmaking: the opportunities to flagrantly misrepresent oneself, the ease of trawling for specific targets.
(John, who was white, pursued only Asian women, leaving his girlfriends with the icky sense that they’d been fetishized as well as deceived.) Still, romantic scammers aren’t an invention of modern courtship and its digital devices.
Suzanne, a young woman in San Francisco, met a man—call him John—on the dating site OKCupid. More notably, he indulged in the kind of profligate displays of affection which signal a definite eagerness to commit.