What my Tinder profile would say if virtually every aspect of it wasn’t kind of a lie. By Misha Scott.
2 miles away. Active constantly
Hey! Creative type – loves hiking, yoga, and avocados. Let’s have an adventure together ;)
And of course what I really mean by that is, I recently got out of a really serious relationship. (And when I say “got out of” I mean this fucker ripped my heart into a thousand pulpy, pathetic little pieces and there’s a dark, dripping hole where love and the capacity for emotional intimacy used to be, lol.) Anyway. Now I’m on Tinder because it seems like a good place to meet strangers who I almost definitely won’t like.
I’m pretty I guess. Not like model pretty but I do yoga a lot so there’s that. If you’re unsure of how to start a conversation, just swipe through my pics and then make a faux-interested comment about something you see in the background—something “only you” would notice.
As for my photos:
Obligatory post-yoga LA beach pic #nomakeup #nofilter (Read: outdoorsy! natural! low maintenance! Also read: don’t expect me to wax and shit because I don’t.) The big Buddha pic was taken in Hong Kong. (Read: yes, I’ve traveled too, thanks.) Pre-club pic with the girls (Read: I have friends! I go to clubs! I mean, I haven’t since that photo was taken but in theory I do. Also, look how hot I am in makeup and a mini skirt!) Shot from Outside Lands chosen primarily for cleavage purposes (Read: My boobs are nice. They do a weird thing where they point away from each other a little but I’d still give them a solid 8.) Me with someone’s puppy (Read: I’m so goddamn cute and definitely not, you know, aggressively feminist and/or an emotionally unpredictable bitch. Just really, really cute.)
My interests include music and movies and even an occasion books, but never all three at the same time. Honestly probably the fewer interests we share the better.
Let’s not pretend we need to be friends; drinks are too expensive in this city. And like, neither of us swiped right because of our shared love of Mad Men or Alt-J.
FYI I’m not into butt stuff. This includes sticking a finger in while we’re doing it. Please don’t. I also don’t like toys or role play. Most other things are fair game.
Also please have a good dick. Will accept an OK dick if you’re into going down on me on the first date.
I don’t want to sleep over after we have sex (cuddling is chill though). I’m not going to text you cute things with winky faces at the end. Please don’t be sad when we inevitably stop talking.
Let’s just do something fun. We can drive up to the Hollywood hills and have sex in the back of your Dodge Charger. When we make out with that view over the city it will almost feel romantic. Take me up on the roof of that weird warehouse party and go down on me behind an air conditioning vent. I’ll act like this isn’t the most interesting place I’ve ever almost come. Text me at midnight about all the things you want to do to me. Come over, meet, hug awkwardly, make tiresome but socially necessary small talk for 20 or 30 minutes, create intentional lull in conversation, push me onto the bed. Fuck me out of my head. We can have any kind of sex you like as long as it doesn’t remind me of someone else.
Mostly (and this is important) I just need you not to care what I’m thinking about in here. I’d rather not have the responsibility. And if you’re actually cool I might accidentally tell you to call me in six months or so when I’ve stopped using Tinder to simultaneously work through like three years of built-up sluttiness and also somehow convince my ex that his life is meaningless without me (it’s going really well, thanks for asking). Let’s not have that conversation. I promise not to give a shit about you either, if that helps. But when you kiss me afterward let’s pretend for a few minutes that we have something special here. There’s no harm in that.
But shit, I guess I’m over my character limit again.
Misha is a 25-year-old filmmaker in LA. She loves feminism, avocados, and reading one-star reviews. She hate war and polyester, in that order. Main image by Steven Meisel.