Love in the time of Grindr: A field guide to dating Melbourne’s gays

“My shopping problem has followed me into dating, the only difference being I rarely take a man to the checkout.”

The bliss of a balmy night is ripe with flirtation. On those evenings, inhibition gives in to desperation; one must seek out fun. And being young and bouncy, fun means one thing: a fling. In back alleys and underbridges, in sweat and squeals, in stolen glances and wet kisses – a feel-alive fling. This compulsion urges one to abandon better judgment and inevitably turn to dating apps. 

There are many apps that play host to many more men. One eventually comes to realise that while the faces and the bodies change, their psyche remains untouched. Personalities can be cleanly contained into types.

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Nowhere does this become clearer than on an app like Grindr, where there’s no limit to the characters one will encounter. In your fluster to find that special someone to spend the night with, recurring types begin to emerge, and a discerning eye will be able to spot them.

Femme4Masc

Femme4Mac (Feminine for Masculine) occupy the popper-fueled recesses of Sircuit Bar and Yah Yah’s. Otherwise known as the Demon-Twink, their distinguishing features include a rhinestone crop top that reads ‘angel’, a strawberry-flavoured vape and a thirst for blood. After a drink, it’s not uncommon for them to enter a trance, in which they speak in tongues. 

As inscribed above the gates of Hell in Dante’s Inferno, so it should be above the doors to Sircuit: “abandon all hope, ye who enter”. Don’t engage with a Femme4Masc, lest you have a crucifix in hand and swap out the soda in your drink for holy water.

DomTop

DomTop (Dominant Top) will be the best sex of your life, and the scariest. It’s comparable to a horror film in which you are cast as ‘The Slut’. As per the genre’s conventions, this character is the first to go. That thought hits the moment he pulls down his pants: he’s carrying a concealed weapon.

Despite a near-death experience, you still want a role in the sequel. But like the best scary movies, a supernatural twist is assured – he ghosts you. If you’re an adrenaline junkie, message DomTop but be sure to check his freezer for a decapitated head. If there is one, at least you can get sixty-nined before you’re eighty-sixed.

DL/NSA

DL/NSA (Down Low/No Strings Attached), are only interested in a good time. They have everything else. The only thing bigger than their egos are their bank accounts. Odds are, they’re an investment financier with an apartment off Chapel Street. 

Aspiring trophy-husbands, look out for the profiles with gym selfies and display names like ‘fit professional’. Their bios usually read ‘sane and sorted’. However, don’t let this fool you – sane and sorted seldom extends beyond the workplace. In the bedroom, these gays enjoy some of the wildest kinks imaginable. This is probably why they tag their profile as discrete. After all, one can’t imagine these fetishes being listed on a resume.

Gooner

Gooning, by nature, is an act of self-satisfaction. Therein, a Gooner is a smug man. Smugness is an unpleasant quality at the worst of times, so consider it during the best: sex. Concerned with his own pleasure, one becomes a spectator to the Gooner. As such, he expects to rub one out to the sound of applause. 

This is an arresting sight to say the least. Imagine a man, mouth agape while perspiration drips from his screwed face. Hours pass; the sun rises and sets once more; civilisations crumble under the weight of time; the world transforms around him – and still, a Gooner edges on. 

NFNC

NFNC (No Face Picture, No Chat) have noble intentions, they want to see what you look like. But when they don’t like what they see, you’ll never see or hear from them again. 

Browsing

And then there’s me: a chronic Browser. My shopping problem has followed me into dating, the only difference being I rarely take a man to the checkout. Instead, I window shop. Unlike a department store, faulty goods can’t be returned; one must be wary when making such an investment.

The stress of choosing the right size is enough to forgo the purchase. Imagine taking him home only to realise he doesn’t fit – or worse, he fits perfectly but reveals himself to be defective. The Browser is, by far, the worst type of person to be: a barrage of “I love you” and “I miss you”, followed by “I couldn’t care less about you”. Perhaps it’s time to trade retail therapy for the psychiatric kind.

To want and to be wanted is the mark of being young and bouncy. To find someone, slip between the sheets and live within the frenzy. Naturally, the apps offer that in abundance, and seem to prove desire can be fulfilled without consequence.

But wanting, stretched thin across a thousand faces, begins to feel like waiting. And while you wait, the faces that pass by become near indistinguishable. What were once characters morph into caricatures – something that resembles a person, but not quite. It’s in this uncanny valley that the dissatisfaction of modern dating occurs: no one knows anyone.

The apps flatten prospects into impressions. Desire becomes a string of fleeting satisfactions and even the sharpest eye can only catalogue the archetype without ever seeing the person beneath. Yet we must play along – embrace the caricature – lest we be left in the physical world while others flit from messages sent in back alleys and underbridges, on their way home after a hot night out alone. 

For more on finding love in the age of dating apps, try this.