It occurred to me recently that I've never dated someone who I first met in person. I met the last girl I dated on Yik Yak. I've even been hit on by strangers on Trivia Crack. I've met everyone I've been involved with online or on an app. This revelation was met with decidedly different reactions when shared with straight friends versus when I shared it with queer friends.

Straight people are slightly shocked, though they don't typically see it as totally outrageous. After all, practically everyone is on Tinder these days. Queer people, especially gay men, on the other hand, will say that, of course, it makes total sense. I know a number of queer people who've only dated or hooked up with people they met online. Most of my queer friends have mostly met their significant others on apps like Grindr, Hornet or HER. It's a risk for me to slip my number to a cute girl when I'm out because what if she's straight? I'm risking more than just rejection.

It's hard to find LGBTQ+ people out in the non-virtual world. We don't always appear in denim jackets covered in patches announcing our sexualities and political agendas or with bags decorated with artsy buttons that say things like "Ask me about my pronouns" or "No hetero." It's sometimes hard to know if we're safe announcing our sexuality like that. Assuming it isn't safer to let people assume we're straight, it's typically uncomfortable to have people mistakenly believe us to be heterosexuals. I let the entire world think I was straight for nearly 18 years; I don't have any desire to live like that again to any extent.

It's easier in college because there are often groups on campus for queer students, though, going to a small school like I do means that options for dating are limited.

So, how are we supposed to meet each other? Gay bars are only so accessible and not necessarily ideal for those of us who are looking for a partner or partners beyond that night. In day-to-day life, gaydar isn't infallible, and checking out a girl's nails for some indication of her sexuality is both surprisingly difficult and potentially creepy. Also, everyone wears plaid and flannel now, which makes identification so much harder.

Even if we do go the online route, apps, especially for women or women-type-people, are often infiltrated by "adventurous" couples looking for a third, or they have basically no one on them. I mean, come on, there have to be more queer ladies within a 10-mile radius, right? Right? I thought everyone was queer now.

The seemingly inevitable conclusion I always come to is that queer people may as well only exist online. It's entirely possible I'll never get a date with a girl I meet in person before I encounter her on social media, and online dating isn't working out so well, either.