"Bloo-da-doo!"
If you hear this notification sound in a public space, you can be certain that it's coming from one mobile application and one mobile application only. It's called Grindr. This geo-location app is marketed as "the world's largest gay social network," and it brands itself with the logo of a black mask, hinting that its users conceal their identities or take on new ones.
Who are the men behind the masks? In the few years I've used Grindr, it seems that it attracts gay men from all walks of life. There are closeted men who want to experiment with their sexuality and finally get a chance to be with a man. There are professional, business men who sport high-end suits in the profile pictures, there are much older men defying the clouts of agism, and then there are your average cisgendered, homosexual men seeking romance or a quick, sexual release. You name it, Grindr's got it!
On the latest version, available for download in the Apple Store or Google Play, you create a profile, decked out with your personal "stats" or statistics, a headline and short, 255-word bio, optional links to your social networking sites, and the cherry on top –– your profile picture. Choose wisely, as this is the first, salient thing about yourself that other users will see. There is even a tool that allows you to customize what types of guys you'd like to view.
For example, you can choose to view the guys in your location based on their height, ethnicity, or what Grindr "tribe" they've assigned themselves to. Grindr uses these "tribes" as self-proclaimed subsets of the gay social scene. You have your thin, hairless "twinks," then there are your hairy, larger "bears" and there is even a newer option for trans-men.
Sounds like fun? There's a whole world of gay men waiting to meet you, and all it takes is one swipe of your finger! So go on! If you're looking to connect with other gay men in your area, download the app! It couldn't hurt, right?
Here's the thing. When interacting with strangers online, you're dealing with a deck of cards that can all be jokers. There is a demand within our community that never seems to be met. Depending on what area you're located in, there may be more "bottoms," or men on the receptive end of anal intercourse, than there are their opposites, "tops." There's a huge supply for these tops, but there aren't enough bottoms to satisfy.
What are gay men supposed to be like? This is a question fledglings in the gay community may ask themselves before bursting out of that closet. How am I supposed to dress? Is my body okay the way it is? Should I start listening to more Mariah Carey? It's easy to fall into a void where you dissect your imperfections and cater to the prescriptive stereotypes people expect of you. We see it in magazines, on television shows, and we overhear comments at gay bars. We are being primed to be attracted to certain men.
Everyone has their personal preferences if not then there wouldn't be a customizable tool that allowed you to restrict viewing certain men to your area. Let's take Tommy, for instance. Tommy is a twenty-three-year-old Twink, who happens to be attracted to "otters," or gay men who are thin and have lots of body hair. I know these names get ridiculous, but we can't help it. Creativity is in our blood! Well, that's another prescriptive stereotype, but it's a positive, self-assuring one, so let's run with it!
Tommy logs into Grindr and scrolls through the profiles, looking for otters. He finds a couple! Not a couple, as in two partnered men, either. Woohoo! After a few casual sex encounters, Tommy starts to feel a little strange. He is bit more depressed when lurking on Grindr, and he has realized that hooking-up may not have been the best option. For Tommy, promiscuity isn't a liberating experience of a young, single man. It's an emotionally-detached experience in which he is left feeling used.
Tommy doesn't know a lot about his partners or their other sexual encounters, therefore he must routinely get tested. This creates a lot of anxiety in Tommy, as he has overlooked the "I'm clean" phrase his partners use and is discovering that the two words are pretty inconsequential when the heat of the moment forces you to possibly lie about your status for a quick "seven minutes in Heaven."
Tommy's friends seem to enjoy Grindr, and some of them have even found long-term partners from using the app! Tommy has not had the same success, but he feels like owning the app is a necessity as a gay man. After all, what gay man hasn't downloaded Grindr at least once? There's a cycle that Tommy is likely to start. He'll contemplate being abstinent, delete the app and then download it again when he's feeling hot and bothered. It's a vicious cycle, characterized by self-loathing and false promises. Tommy doesn't just want any otter. He wants to find someone who respects him and wants to get to know who he truly is.
But his options are limited by the emergence of hook-up culture, a culture that encourages millennials to be promiscuous. When one app allows us to talk to virtually anyone within a certain radius of us, our options increase drastically. We don't have to meet the boy who lives next door, or the boy our mom knows the parents of. We can make our own choices of whom we want to be sexually active. But what if these guys aren't any better than the ones we would have met in person at a bar or through a friend? Tommy decides to delete Grindr and promises to never download the app again.
A recent study in 2014 was conducted by researchs Jed R Brubaker, Mike Ananny, and Kate Crawford to examine the reasons why men who are sexually attracted to other men may choose to leave gay social-networking apps like Grindr. The study took 16 participants between the ages of 27-43 and who were all from popular, urban cities like Boston, New York City, or San Francisco. Most of the men were Caucasian, but there was the presence of Latino/American, mixed race, and Asian American men, as well, all of whom identified as either gay, trans, bisexual or other. During 30-90 minute interviews with the researchers, whom knowing personally would have resulted in participant's termination, the men were asked to give details on why they decided to stop using Grindr.
Brubaker et. al discovered some variances in the reasons, but the four that created a central theme were the fact that it is time consuming, there are a set of behaviors that lead to disinterest, there are certain unfulfilling interactions, unmet expectations and a medium.
One of the reoccurring reasons for leaving Grindr was that it was a waste of time, often interfering with other activities like office work, study groups or even socializing when out with friends. Men were so invested in finding 'the right guy' that they were devoting lots of time and energy into getting to know strangers. A simple conversation with the exchange of a few words could be stretched out for hours because users are unpredictable, and it's not always guaranteed they will be logged on to actively chat when you are.
There were two users who had experienced difficulty with establishing meaningful, worthwhile connections, and one of whom did not feel as though they he had fit into the geo-localized space. A self-proclaimed "bear," this participant resorted to a different app that catered to his "tribe." This tied into the issue of already knowing most of the men in your area. After seeing so many familiar faces on the Grindr cascade, you lose the opportunity to meet new people.
The more descriptive finding detailed the objectification of gay men. One user expanded on this idea by stating, "I've never had a problem turning myself into a piece of flesh … But I think to formalize that and turn it into the kind of arena that Grindr turns it into … it makes actual intimacy that much harder." Another uses claims that these hook-up apps "undermine the creation of fulfilling relationships by promoting 'a gay culture in which we look and always keep looking, because the next best thing is right around the corner'." After you've had your piece of flesh, the mystery behind the guy is gone. There isn't an incentive to get to know him beyond his body, because you've already had the most intimate part of him.
Many of the users left to meet people in real –– and not virtual –– settings. This sparked new relationships and the hopes of commitment and monogamy. Other users left the app as a means of soul-searching and to examine their previous sexual actions with the hopes of improving their well-being and having more romantic success. One participant divulged "My priorities changed. I thought that … my stage in life merited more than just coasting and [a] hook up … I also began to believe … that if you hook up initially, it puts a damper on forming a meaningful relationship." Apart from regaining lost time, many of the users expressed comfort in not being bound to an app that did not provide them with the satisfaction they had originally thought they needed.
Brubaker et. al's research findings shed light on a phenomenon that may be plaguing millions of Grindr's daily users. There is an unattainable fantasy of meeting the man of your dreams or creating life-long friendships, when the app you're using is catered to men who are really only looking for one thing – sex. If anything, Grindr challenges you to re-evaluate your position in the gay social scene and your potential on the app itself. It's easy to get lost in the cascade of profiles, but it couldn't hurt to ask yourself "What am I looking for?" If you've figured that out, then you may find yourself not having to download the app in the first place. Show your face. You don't have to wear the black mask.
