I realized Tinder might have been a mistake the same night a 25-year-old male pole dancer messaged me to come to his apartment in the middle of the night. I think I knew it was a mistake long before that, but that was the catalyst that made me delete the app for the second time. What made me swipe right on a male pole dancer remains a mystery to me, but there I was having to tell him that I would have to pass on his invitation for a late-night booty call. I found myself turning men down pretty frequently around that time. My Tinder experience didn’t begin that way though. At first, I was actually pretty optimistic about the whole thing.

One of the first boys I met on Tinder was everything I thought I wanted. He was politically left leaning, a feminist, ambitious, and well, he seemed interested in me. I would stay up late messaging him about politics and our passions. He sent me a copy of his favorite play, and I stayed up all night reading it under my covers as not to disturb my sleeping roommate. I swear that play changed my life. A few weeks later we went out for the first time. We went for a walk in Grant Park telling each other about our lives, and I could feel myself slowly opening up and letting go of all my insecurities. He had a way of making me feel safe like that. When he asked if he could kiss me, my heart started beating a thousand miles a minute. I thought about it for a good 30 seconds terrified of all of the uncertainties. After I stared blankly at him for what seemed like an eternity, he told me we didn’t have to, and that’s when I said yes. I don’t remember how long we kissed, but I remember how he didn’t move his lips. He was gentle. Too gentle. I just thought he was being polite.

A few weeks later he told me he just wanted to be friends. I should have seen it coming, but it crushed me anyways. I ate cake for breakfast and deleted the Tinder app. Inevitably, I redownloaded it a week later looking for a rebound. Every guy I met on there was terribly wrong. A 23-year-old who worked for Google was offended when I asked if we could get coffee instead of drinks and sex. Another guy asked if we could go for a late night walk by the lake, and I told him that I wasn’t interested in being murdered. One night, I straight up told a guy I only swiped right out of desperation and low self esteem. He still asked me out, and I had to say no. Then came the pole dancer. Well, you already know how that one went.

I just didn’t understand why Tinder wasn’t working for me. I matched with plenty of guys, but I couldn’t get one to stick. It’s not like I expected true love or anything, but I hoped that maybe I’d find one boy who wasn’t a complete douche bag. Part of me also began thinking that I was the problem. Maybe the pole dancer was a stand up guy, and I was just too apprehensive about the whole thing.

My friend told me that I just needed to open up. He said Tinder is like an open mic for the real dating world; you get to try out your material, and if no one likes it then you learn from it. I told him that I’m no stand up comedian, and I’d do better sitting in the audience. That night I deleted the app, giving up on my brief second chance with Tinder and told myself that I would never redownload it again.

It felt good for a while. I started taking care of myself and dealing with the emotional issues that Tinder had been helping me ignore. My therapist helped me deal with my anxiety that had been holding me back in the dating world, and we tackled the depression that made me feel so lonely. For a few good months, I felt like I didn’t need a man. Of course, those feelings never last forever, but for a while I felt like I could take on the world.

Soon, I felt pressured to redownload the app. I deleted it every other week and talked to boys that had no real interest in me. If I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t into them either. I saw the first boy that I had talked to on the app again, and I thought about swiping right. Maybe we could start over. That was unrealistic though, so I swiped left. After swiping and swiping and swiping, I started feeling the same anxiety as before. I wanted to go on dates, I really did, but my fear outweighed the potential any of my matches had to offer. It didn’t take very long for me to realize that I would never be comfortable going out with any of the strangers I saw on the app. My friends kept pressuring me to just give the guys a shot. Maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s a learning experience. That wasn’t how I wanted to learn.

Tinder became a game for me. At one point I had gained over 200 matches before deactivating my account, but I was no closer to finding someone I was compatible with. Maybe my problem is that no matter how hard I try, I’m just not into the hookup culture. I will never be satisfied with one date, one kiss, one night. I always want more. It's not cool to want commitment in this day and age, especially when you’re a self proclaimed feminist. But God, would I love a little commitment. Every time I opened the app, I was pretending to be something I’m not, and that’s not very feminist of me.

I applaud anyone who feels confident enough to go on anonymous Tinder dates, and I bow down to anyone who has found love through the app. But I know myself. I know that no matter how confident I am, I can't be satisfied by anything Tinder has to offer. I know that I don't feel comfortable giving strangers my information, and I definitely don't feel comfortable being alone with someone I don't know. Dating is all about feeling safe with your partner and getting to know them better. Online dating doesn't make me feel safe, and I don't feel like I can ever really know someone I met online. Maybe someday I’ll change my mind about dating apps, but for now I’m staying offline.