The Body in dating: Tinder on Campus
What is the importance of the body in a space where the body does not physically exist?
Alison has been using tinder since she was sixteen. Over that time, she has changed her pictures and profile fifteen times. Alison’s purpose in using Tinder has changed and she has deleted it three times too. She was the last person I interviewed for this project, but I was there when she first downloaded the app in 2013. I remember laughing about the taboo nature of dating apps then. Since society’s perspective on dating apps has changed. I now have my own Tinder profile, and so it seems does most of the university campus. It has become an integral part of the university dating scene, with purposes from a way to pass 10 minutes flicking through profiles; to casual hook-ups; to seriously dating, it has become a must for any potential dater at university.
For the purposes of this research, I wanted to look at the importance of the body in this online dating world. To answer the question, what is the importance of the body in a space where the body does not physically exist? Online dating and the body seem to be an area where not much research has taken place, so I will pull from broader theory in order to illustrate my research. Focussing on Turner’s theory of the ‘social skin’ as a ‘social boundary between the individual actor and other actors’ (2012) and Haraway’s theory based on the Cyborg as a social and feminist object to represent a future of the woman’s body (1991). Online dating is incredibly relevant in society today, as 70% of heterosexual couples meet online as of 2017 (Belton; 2018). This demonstrates how pervasive and institutional dating apps have become. Even in America’s 2016 presidential election, the Hilary campaign launched a logo stating, ‘swipe right for Hilary’ (Belton; 2018). For this article I will focus on the dating app Tinder which is an app which shows the user profiles, including pictures[1] and a written bio[2], in your geographical location based on your age and gender requirements[3]; the user must swipe right if they are attracted to them and left if they are not. I started out my research by thinking that the physical body was not important online as it is not present. However, I found this not to be the case as the online body is the first impression the user gets of a person. The online body meaning the reflection of the body that is shown online, this is where the attraction on apps lies.
For this project I conducted in-depth interviews with ten individuals, some were in pairs. All my informants were students in their second year at the University of Birmingham. These interviews took place in coffee shops and sitting rooms on campus over a three-week period. They were half male, half female with a variety of sexual orientations, although 70% of those interviewed identified as heterosexual. I found respondents within my friend groups at university, but due to the limitations of knowing them too well, I found people unfamiliar to me. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of people who were willing to be a part of this research. In order to gain information from my respondents, I had an extended interview with each; I looked at their online profiles and people they had matched[4], and I observed my respondents in the process of using the app. My research is limited due to the small sample size. However, I manage to pull from a large cross-section of the university in both social sciences and sciences. It would have been helpful to have pictures to illustrate some of the points made, however, due to the personal nature of this topic I viewed that to be unethical and therefore have changed respondents’ names as well. The online focus of my research hinders my ability to conduct participant observation due to the further ethical considerations in using Tinder myself, therefore, my research pulls from my respondents’ personal stories and what I observed in them using the app.
‘Physical looks come first’
Poppy, a nineteen-year-old Law student, discussed the way in which she presented herself in her profile. Her friends had set it up for her pulling from pre-existing photos on her phone,
‘It’s a bit formulaic, you have a full body pic and then a selfie and maybe a picture with friends; and then I have a picture at Reading Festival. I feel like that is a general thing’.
She said this had created a ‘party girl image’ of a girl who went to festivals; wore a lot of makeup; and went out all the time, due to pictures of her dressed up and drinking. Poppy talked about how this came about as she never purposefully took photos for Tinder. There were no pictures in her Tinder profile of her being laid back, not actively but because she never took any pictures in that environment.
In this online sphere, as Poppy’s story demonstrates, it is difficult to stand out in Tinder’s saturated market. This ‘formulaic’ way of presenting profiles reoccurred in my research. With many of the women I interviewed, focussing on these images as illustrating their personality and interests, with Poppy saying that her picture at Reading Festival demonstrating her love of music. They felt that the emphasis was on the photos and that ‘physical looks come first’. I believed when starting my research that the emphasis for individuality would come from the bio. However, many of my informants said that they didn’t even read the bio but focus on the pictures themselves. Many of my respondent’s bios were snappy one-liners, for example
‘According to my Chinese calendar only rats, roosters and monkeys need apply’.
The unimportance of the written form places more emphasis on the image of the body in the online body. But in Poppy’s case, where she has created an image in these photos that she doesn’t identify with, she has lost her identity and individuality. This was a recurring thyme for my respondents with others saying their profiles didn’t reflect who they were as an individual, but as Iestyn pointed out ‘your advertising yourself as a product’ and therefore must be attractive enough in your photos for people to swipe right.
This idea of loss of individuality can be related to Haraway’s theory of the Cyborg as a fundamentally ‘the perfect feminist creature’ (1991;190). Haraway’s concept of a ‘post gender world’ through the metaphor of the Cyborg can be applied to the concept of online dating, with the combination of technology and the human identity my research can be both literally and figuratively related (1991;192). The Cyborg without the need to be in a partnership can exist apart from gender norms can be seen in Poppy’s story as the way people and particularly women present themselves online leads to the decline of individuality and dualism of identity (Haraway; 1991;197). This idea that women gain autonomy and choice by losing individuality can be seen on the respective ‘formulaic’ profiles on Tinder (Haraway; 1991;197). However, in gaining autonomy women lose individuality in their online body cannot be involved in a relationship. This differs from my initial ideas when I started my research that the online platform gave women more control of their dating lives. This is like Haraway (191;190), however, this did not come across in my findings as many of my female respondents still felt constrained by traditional dating rules, for example, Milly felt that even when she matched with a man, she was not comfortable texting first. This is an issue that even dating app companies have noticed, seen in the way Bumble[5] has introduced software that makes the woman text first, therefore forcing the women to initiate their interactions. This demonstrates that although Tinder gives women a greater ability to choose to date, still social conventions plague the Cyborg, as when interactions are initiated you leave the online and go into the physical world where this convention still exist (Haraway; 1991;190).
These ideas can be followed further as catfishing[6] has become present on Tinder. Many of my respondents discussed their experiences of catfishing, such as Sebastian who described going on a date with someone who was ten years senior to their profile. These ideas of the online body not reflecting them can also be flipped to see the way people purposefully change their online body to be different from their physical body in order to appear more attractive in the online sphere. This is an idea that should be expanded upon in further research.
‘I couldn’t tell if he was a bit of a chav or not’
I interviewed two men in their kitchen talking about their differing online experiences. John was from a middle-class background had grown up in Nottingham going to a state school and was now studying physiology. Sebastian was from an upper-middle-class background, had grown up in Bristol and had gone to a private school and is studying Politics. They lived together and went on Tinder socially but were looking for very different things. Sebastian suggested he had bad experiences of dating and was now looking for someone from a similar socio-economic background as himself ‘someone who could relate to my experiences’. Whereas, John was not ruling out any possibility but suggested that he was
‘uncomfortable of people who used pictures of them on expensive holidays and, therefore, I’m less likely to swipe right on them’.
These differences in social background affected who they would swipe right for. Sebastian even started using other social apps such as Toffee[7] that have a more specific socio-economic background.
These similar ideas about how people tell someone’s background from the images that put on the profile, suggests that your physical body still matters in the online world. I expected at the beginning of my research that Tinder would create a more meritocratic dating environment as it extends social boundaries into other social groups, as John stated,
‘Tinder has everyone from every economic background’.
However, most of my respondents still wanted to swipe right with people from a similar background or with similar life goals. Eight of the ten people I interviewed said that they would only go on a physical date with someone from the University of Birmingham or another Russel Group university. They said this was because a university education suggests a level of drive and wish for a certain standard of living further on in life. The other two said that because their purpose in the app was to ‘hook-up’, they did not care what background someone was from, although they both suggested that if they were seriously dating, they would care about education level. This means that although none of my respondents’ purpose in using Tinder was to try and get married, they all had a long-sited view of what they wanted from a partner and therefore swiped right on people with these traits.
Turner’s theory on ‘the social skin’ fits in with this concept of social boundaries in the online world (2012; 503). The ‘social skin’ illustrates and demonstrates who you are and the way in which you present yourself
‘the conventionalised modifications of skin and hair that comprise the ‘social skin’ define, not individuals, but categories or classes of individuals’ (Turner; 2012; 503),
as does the online body. This suggests that even in a very socially mixed environment, like Tinder, people’s ‘social skin’ still creates boundaries of who they interact with (Turner; 2012; 503). These boundaries are indicated in their online body, the way they present themselves in their profile, for example as John suggested having a picture on a skiing holiday or more simply showing which university they go to. This idea of Tinder being the beginning of meritocratic dating also differs from Haraway’s theory of a futuristic cyborg ends the importance of the ‘gender, race or class’ of an individual (1991;197). This takes away the importance of these categories. However, fundamentally under the pretence of a platform with fifty million people on it, people still desire what is the formula and therefore their ‘social skin’ stays in place despite the cyborg (Iqbal; 2019) (Turner; 2012).
Furthermore, this importance of the ‘social skin’ in the online sphere links to the purpose of being on these dating apps. My respondents had many different purposes using tinder, anything from a way to spend ten minutes when they were board; to a casual hook-up; to seriously dating. These purposes changed which profiles the person swiped right on. This can often be seen in the time someone has put into their profile if they have a ‘fleshed out bio’ they are probably using it to find ‘romance’ as Iestyn suggested or if there are only pictures, they are looking for a one night stand. Also due to the geographical nature of Tinder, many of my informants mentioned they had seen people they knew from their university courses or social groups. This suggests that even though Tinder breaks down social boundaries online it also allows them to be enforced due to it pulling from your surrounding area and not further afield. It is worth noting that Tinder Gold[8] allows people to view profiles from different geographical areas, however, this was not mentioned by the three of my respondents, who had Tinder Gold, as being relevant to who the swiped right on. This demonstrates that even in an environment where the physical body is not present it is important.
‘profiles not people’
Iestyn who is a biochemistry student and discussed his experience as a gay man on Tinder. He talked about how Tinder was a fundamentally heterosexual app and there were many apps aimed more specifically at the homosexual community. He spoke about how he was nervous about dating and that Tinder gave him the ability to put himself out there without having to seriously date. However, he also discussed how the profiles he viewed had lost their identity for him they’re ‘profiles not people’. This could be seen in his willingness to ‘ghost’[9] people he was messaging when he lost interest
‘un-match with them and they’re just gone, that has no bearing on your life’.
This suggests that when the physical body is not present an individual is de-humanised.
Iestyn was not alone in viewing profiles as not human. Many of my respondents talked about the gamification of Tinder that has led to the dehumanisation of people on the platform,
‘they are a disposable object you can just through them away but equally, you can become very hurt and offended when they do the same to you’.
People’s self-esteem about the way they present themselves becomes tied up in their Tinder profile, meaning that their physical body becomes affected by the way others view it through their online body. However, many discussed that they only became involved further down the line after they had matched and texted someone for a number of weeks, only then would their physical body become involved and before this point if they were ‘ghosted’ it did not affect them. After this point they would probably meet face to face and, therefore, the physical body would become involved. However, before the point of messaging my respondents did not feel physically invested in Tinder but viewed it as a game or a way of passing the time. For example, many of them discussed the way they flicked through profiles when they were drunk or board, others also mentioned using their friends’ Tinder to compare who others were getting. The dissociation from the physical body of these profiles leads to their dehumanisation.
Haraway’s theory of the cyborg leading to the end of individuality through it losing its ‘womanhood and humanity’ can be applied to the concept of ‘ghosting’ on tinder (1991;192). The end of social boundaries in the online space for example by losing social etiquette towards profiles. When my respondents forget that there are people behind the profiles it leads to their purpose on Tinder changing towards gamification (Haraway; 1991;192). This change in purpose also applies to Haraway’s theory of the ‘public and private’ when the user gains anonymity through Tinder, they create a private sphere and are
‘no longer structured by the polarity of Public and Private’ (Haraway; 1991; 192).
This allows these users to treat these profiles differently to the way they treat people in real life. By exiting the public space and remaining in private while being active in public (Haraway; 1991; 192). This suggests that anonymity creates a different way of interacting with people. In this sense, the physical body loses importance and the online body becomes the focus of this change in sociality.
Conclusion
The physical body is not present in the online sphere, therefore, the person events an online body. This online body portrays to other Tinder uses a reflection of the individual and what they want to be seen. Although, the physical body is still important as online interactions have to end and then the online body no longer matters and Turner’s ‘social skin’ on the physical body becomes important (2012). I learned a lot from this process, particularly that when conducting research, the respondents see the interviewer as knowledgeable and in a possession of power over them. This appears to create a power dynamic even though the researcher is there to learn from the respondent. Also, I learned that many people were willing to share very personal information with me during this process. There are areas of further research in the space of allowing your online body to reflect a part of your identity that you are unable to express in the real world, for example, Poppy explained how she claimed her bisexuality online as she found it difficult to express it in her physical body and ‘social skin’ (2012).
[1] Between 0 and 8 pictures.
[2] A written section of the profile of up to 400 characters.
[3] Tinder pulls profiles from a preselected radius around your location.
[4] Both people have swiped right.
[5] a competitor to Tinder
[6] Lure into an interaction online under false pretences.
[7] An online dating app for privately educated people
[8] The paid subscription service to Tinder.
[9] Ignore or stop texting
Bibliography
Belton, P. (2018) ‘Love and dating after the Tinder revolution’ in BBC News Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-42988025
Haraway, D (1991) ‘A Manifesto for Cyborgs Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s’ in Nicholson, L’s ‘Feminism/Postmodernism’ Published by Routledge 15 Apr 2013 Ch9 pp455-475 Available at: https://books.google.co.uk/books?hl=en&lr=&id=HuAoe4phOgEC&oi=fnd&pg=PA190&dq=donna+Haraway+a+manifesto+for+cyborgs+reference&ots=wgwrWXlFpj&sig=Gy-h3nHq_0nXZ9sU-pMvMTNsKZA#v=onepage&q=perfect%20feminist%20creature&f=false
Iqbal, M. (2019) ‘Tinder Revenue and Usage Statistics (2018)’ on Business of Apps Available at: http://www.businessofapps.com/data/tinder-statistics/
Turner, T, S. (2012) ‘The social skin’ in Journal of Ethnographic Theory 2 (2): pp486–504 Available at: https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/full/10.14318/hau2.2.026
