I only swipe right for New York

I made a Tinder account once.

It was the summer after I graduated from high school. I was wary, first because it was connected to Facebook and it was before the nametest phenomenon, where you weren’t totally sure what extra app would end up plastered to your own wall (and who wants their older relatives seeing all of their dating business on their newsfeeds NO thank you not me).

But I fortunately got past that little hang up and went on to select the normal 18-25-year-old male category because I was 18 and a high school graduate and that’s the age frame new adult women used. A small issue arose, though, when I realized I would be swiping left or right for all of the guys I had just graduated with.

The nerdy little salutatorian who just spoke at their graduation was going to try to match with them on Tinder because once you graduate you are suddenly the hottest and partyingest student at the state school you haven’t actually moved to yet.

Right.

Another issue arose when I also realized that 18-25 also included young males who potentially had young children. Like young girls who were maybe really cute in tutus and who maybe went to the dance studio I grew up dancing at. The dance studio I taught toddler ballet at.

So I made a Tinder once.

And I also deleted a Tinder once, about two minutes later.

I swiped right for no one.

Except now I swipe right for New York.

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I am definitely interested. And exclusively interested. I only swipe right for New York.

I’ve found things to love about all five big personality traits, though I am most fond of Brooklyn and Manhattan. And all of the idiosyncrasies within those five traits.

New York takes you out at night and to brunch the next morning.

The -5 wind chills give you a really tough skin.

But New York is always alive and awake and sparkling.

Sometimes the relationship might be rough, but that only makes the successes sweeter.

I only swipe right for New York.

And I’d like to think it’s a match.

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