At the New Yorker blog, Ann Friedman writes about the so-far fruitless quest by men, gay and straight, to develop a location-based dating app that straight women would actually want to use:
The eligible men are laid out like items on a menu that I can scroll through by flicking my thumb. I haven’t even tapped on a single photo yet when—brrring—a new message appears: “Wassup?” I ignore it and return my attention to the sea of forty-five-year-old men with usernames like “Drunky.” Anyone worth messaging in here? I don’t have much time to think about it—brrring brrrring—because two new messages arrive in the chat window. “Whaat are you up to?” and “hey there.” Ignore; ignore. I’m seeing so many men with questionable facial hair that I double-check my profile to make sure that I haven’t accidentally indicated a preference for goatees. Brrring brrrring brrrrrring. I scream and toss the phone to the other end of the couch, as if this action will repel the men within it. Even though I know these men can’t see my exact location, I feel cornered, overwhelmed.