A Letter to All the Women I’ve Matched With on Tinder Who Haven’t Messaged Me
By Emmy Goyette
You are all the ones who got away.
Dear beautiful ladies of Tinder,
May I just say, from the bottom of my heart,
Please?
I feel like I have everything women want. Namely,
A camera roll full of pictures of my cats.
What more could you ask of me? Is this not what girls like these days? My straight friends tell me I'm doing everything right. Is it that obvious that I don’t know how to knit? Are my attempts at astrology analysis too transparent? Tell me what it is that would make you want to message me. Ask, and ye shall receive.
What’s been comforting to know is that this is not specifically a me problem. Almost every bisexual girl active on Tinder I’ve talked to in real lifehas reported the same issue: an abundance of Norman Bates-esque messages from men who appear to have never spoken to a woman before, and a complete and utter lack of messages from women . What I wouldn’t give to be exchanging heart emojis and birth charts with pretty ladies. While it’s always nice to receive attention, I’m getting a little tired of men asking me if they can wear my skin. So, that leaves me wondering: are ANY women messaging each other first? The answer is probably yes, but I guess I just haven’t experienced it first hand. I’m certainly not messaging women first. Perhaps, my hesitancy to initiate first contact is a product of a pervasive heteronormative culture wherein I expect my counterpart to be dominant, to take the lead, and to approach me first. Or, the answer could be far simpler that: I, to put it frankly, am a coward.
Anyone who knows me will attest to this. I, Like a fifteen-year-old tuba player in a high school marching band, fear the scorn of women to an inhibiting degree. As someone who has spent her whole life being extremely annoying, one would think that the brutal sting of social rejection no longer hits me where it hurts. Unfortunately, despite this heightened level of self-awareness, I am still as emotionally soft as an unshelled hermit crab. This another thing that anyone who knows me will attest to. So, how am I supposed to come out of my shell in this digital dating age where rejection comes frequently and swiftly in just one swipe? At this point, I should just paint myself pink, blue, and purple and hope for the best.
I also can’t pretend I don’t engage in this form of rejection myself. It’s truly a double-edged sword. There’s a self-esteem boost that comes alongside the perceived social power of rejecting another, but to be on the receiving end hurts more than it realistically should. After all, what business does an app like Tinder have affecting my self-confidence? It’s more difficult to navigate when that rejection comes from a woman, perhaps due to my own internal perceptions of my queerness. Given that I had to conquer a personal journey of self-acceptance on that front, it’s a disappointing experience to feel that others may not fully accept me as a romantic prospect, due to the work it took younger me to accept myself. I thought that was supposed to be the hard part! Now, I’m faced with the new and treacherous task of attracting women through approximately 5 pictures and a tweet length bio. It feels like failing a test that I put years of work into studying for.
So, women of Tinder, I ask again:
Please?
In exchange, I can offer homemade toast and useless facts about Greek tragedy. I’ll even get the ball rolling here. If you’ve made it this far into the letter, there’s a good chance that you’re a woman interested in other women. I can offer you this as my first message: Heyyyy :). You’re so pretty! Do you have any tattoos? I have earth in my chart too!
Do with that what you will.
All my love,
Emmy Goyette