Tinder: What you get if you cross Facebook with Grinder

Freya Lloyd discovers that some romantic conundrums can't be solved, as she tries her luck on London's new digital dating game.

As addictions go, it’s up there with crystal meth. Last Saturday, a gaggle of thirty-something friends sat in a Notting Hill pub doing it; my twentysomething sister has been at it for months; the other night, I woke up at 4am and thought I’d give it a quick go. An hour later, the adrenaline was still pumping.

Tinder, a new dating app that, since last October, has been electrifying Ivy League campuses in the same way Facebook did nearly a decade ago, is now infecting the British dating scene. Here’s the gist: it’s an app, so you download it. It then links to your Facebook profile and preferences (don’t panic, it’ll never show up on your Facebook page and it’s on a first name-only basis). You select a few of your best profile pictures and — bingo — Tinder has already created a profile for you and is using your postcode to sift around for other users. One minute. That’s all it takes.

In Generation Game-fashion, you’re then offered a conveyor of other users, and — crucially — you can see whether you and he or she have any mutual friends on Facebook. Not interested in the man with dodgy hair and black teeth? Swipe left on the screen and he’ll be instantly replaced with an flaxen-haired rugger bugger. If he’s more your bag, swipe right to ‘like’ him. When two people both like each other, you’re told it’s a match and you can message away. Ding-dong.

It’s the creation of an LA-based smoothie called Sean Rad (right), 27 and single, who studied business at the University of Southern California and has technological form. In 2009, supported by American venture capitalists, he set up Ad.ly, a company that pairs celebrities such as Kim Kardashian, Mariah Carey and Snoop Lion with brands for online endorsement.

Tinder is Sean’s latest plan for world domination, and he’s backed by IAC, the American media giant that owns the world’s biggest dating site, Match.com. Ask how Sean came up with the idea, though, and you’re met with serious Siliconese: ‘I started thinking about the fact there are a lot of great platforms that help us communicate with people we already know, but there isn’t a way for me to meet new people… In the real world, you’re either a hunter or you’re being hunted. If you’re a hunter, there’s constant rejection. And if you’re hunted, you’re constantly being bombarded.’

Whatever. He’s nailed the formula, because although Sean won’t release the total number of Tinder downloads since its US launch nine months ago, he will tell you that it’s led to 50 million matches and ten engagements. Apparently. Given that it’s ad-free, it’s unclear how Sean will monetise it, but in the meantime Tinder has become the App Store’s fastest-growing dating app, and it’s currently being rolled out in Britain, Australia, across much of Latin America, Germany and France. Sean says that, in the US at least, there are ‘a lot’ of celebrities on it he can’t name (although he has revealed that the Winklevoss twins are sharking around), along with a few ‘billionaires, a slew of entrepreneurs and a couple of CEOs of very big startups’.

Since I’ve been fooling around on it I’ve used a couple of specific settings to narrow down the field. I live in Putney, and search within a 20-mile radius —although admittedly that does mean I’m scouring the whole of Greater London. At 27, I’ve also selected not to look at men younger than that. The average Tinder user is 23, but predicted to rise as — like with Facebook — older generations catch on. My 24-year-old sister has no such scruples and merrily likes 18-year-old boys. I expect a spotty one to show up on our doorstep at any moment.

It’s genius on a number of levels. The ease, for one. Unlike other major dating sites or apps, it’s free and you don’t have to write an embarrassing advert flogging yourself to potential suitors. Or ask a friend to write an embarrassing advert begging someone to go out with you. Secondly, it isn’t creepy. You can’t be contacted by dubious-looking people unless you both like each other first. In which case, that’s your own fault. So it’s also removed the stigma that still hangs over online dating, because the Tinder user who looks a tiny bit like Ryan Gosling will only know you’ve liked him if he likes you back. Thirdly, knowing which friends you have in common is a terrific yardstick. If you don’t have any mutual friends, or your one link is that dodgy geezer you once met on holiday in Dubai, then proceed with caution. If you have dozens of mutual friends, then you’re on safer ground. Shallow, maybe, but by liking someone’s picture, all you’re doing is essentially trying to catch their eye in the same way as you might across a crowded terrace.

It’s currently only available on iPhone or iPad (an Android version will be ready ‘soon’), but if you don’t have either of those, then you may be one of those people who isn’t at all sure what an app is in the first place. Better try the personals in the back of The Lady.

When I say it’s addictive, I mean it. Whole hours on the sofa will be swallowed up as you swipe your finger through hundreds of faces, or while you’re out with friends because, much like gay hook-up app Grindr, or MySingleFriend, scrolling through the options can become a group activity in the pub. I squealed like a cheap tart when I got my first match, with a blond called Jamie. We only had one mutual friend, a fairly sensible girl I was at school with, but Jamie messaged like a pervert. ‘You look lovely and slim. How tall are you?’ he asked within seconds of saying hello. Once things got plain rude, Jamie was mercilessly dropped using the handy ‘block’ feature.

One friend, Sarah, was recently ‘matched’ with another user who opened with a feeble ‘Hey, how r u?’