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Between Friends,  Entertainment,  Humor

We asked, you delivered: your top Tinder nightmares

When first downloading Tinder in my first year of undergrad, I had very low expectations. All of my friends warned me that nothing good would come of the app, but I continued to use it as a form of entertainment. I went on my fair share of dates, which all ended badly, but continued to use Tinder and other dating apps as I had nothing better to do. Experiencing bad dates through these apps is a universal experience and a right of passage of navigating the dating scene in Toronto. We asked members of the Danforth community to share their worst dating horror stories through one of these apps, so we can all suffer in the pain of these encounters together:

Woman with head in hands looking disappointed
Photo by Freepik

One time I was on Tinder talking to a guy with minimal effort on my end, and he got mad that I wasn’t communicating back to him. He sent me a series of very long messages about me disrespecting him, which then turned into him complaining about all the girls on the app about not respecting him. I ended up blocking him as I did not need that in my life. A couple weeks later, I found out he was the older brother of one of my good friends. Definitely made for some awkward hangs.


I once went on a Tinder date where we talked only about his friend he thought he had feelings for, and we dissected their entire friendship.


I met a guy off of Tinder and it was going smooth sailing for a couple weeks. One night when we were getting hot and steamy in his bed, he pulled away and asked if I wanted to see his gun. He proceeded to turn to his dresser to pull out his hand gun and told me all about his hunting license. For a city gal, this was such a big turn-off.


I went out for dinner with this guy that I met on Hinge and right from the start it was horrible. He mocked customers that he worked with, said racially offensive slurs, and made fun of Chinese accents, while he was on a date with me, a Chinese girl. Even though he was the one that asked me out to dinner, we only ended up sharing chips and guacamole. He even had the audacity at the end of the night to ask me about my worst dates. Little did he know it was this one.


I was supposed to go on a date with a girl that I met on Tinder. She wanted to meet up after the funeral that she was attending that day. I insisted on rescheduling, but she assured me that it was still a good time to meet. On the day of the planned date, she was not responding to any of my messages. I was literally ghosted–-no pun intended–-and never heard from her again.


The worst date I ever went on lasted seven minutes. I matched with a guy on Bumble and we decided to meet up in Kensington for drinks. I thought the first five minutes were spent engaging in cheeky banter and flirting, but he thought I was being “combative” (his actual word choice). He proceeded to hold my hand, told me to stare into his eyes for a minute as we “re-grouped” and determined how we “felt”. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and then he told me that he “didn’t want to fight with me” as he stroked my cheek and chugged his wine, then took off through the door.


I’ve always been into older guys. Not that guys my own age haven’t been hot or cute or successful, but there’s just something about the “daddy” prototype I’ve always lusted after. Needless to say, my tinder age range is quite reflective of this, often 35-50+. Spending one summer outside the city in a small town, I was excited at the prospect of mister AM. He was fifty five, handsome and distinguished, and beefy to boot- I swooned. We had some nice back and forth chat, and decided to meet up for a drink one night.  After a haircut, douche, and some meticulous manscaping, I was at full “gay power”, ready for our date and hopeful at the prospect of some “fun” at the end of the night. The conversation flowed well, we laughed and flirted and all the cues were a-go early on. Back at his place one thing led to another and the deed was done, to my more-than-satisfaction. In our post-romp cuddle-haze we kept chatting and getting a bit more personal, talking about family, where we’re originally both from etc. Now, at this point I’m as giddy as a child, thinking I’ve found my summer fling. The more we pieced things together though, to my horror, this became apparently impossible given one key fact. This hot daddy could have quite literally been my father. It turns out about 30 years prior, he had taken out my mom on a few dates before coming out. Yes, the woman that birthed me, raised me, taught me how to drive and cries whenever I visit, had presumably also slept with the same man I just finished doing unspeakable things with. I refused to let him disclose more beyond that, and promptly dressed and left, headed straight home for a shower.


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