Playboy's visits the elite East Coast community's unconventional dating scene of sexaganarians
When Tinder turns six years old later this year, its influence will have been felt in more than 190 countries to the tune of more than 1.6 billion swipes. That’s enough to define a generation—indeed, the word swipe will forever hold a different meaning for millennials than baby boomers—but the app has become anything but exclusive. In a way, it’s trajectory is similar to that of Facebook; initially downloaded by urban singles, the app is now ubiquitous. And there perhaps may be no greater sign of ubiquity than when a technology becomes adapted by a certain clientele: the over-fifty set.
From widowers who are anxious to get back into the dating world after 20 years of partnership to divorcees looking for adventure with a younger partner, the app’s swipe left, swipe right mentality is appealing to those dipping back into the romance pool, forcing out more traditional subscription dating services like eHarmony and Match.
“Tinder is easy. You look and say, could I kiss that face?,” says Jill Davis, a 63-year old event planner. The widower splits her time between New York City and Amagansett. “It has to be Tinder in the Hamptons in the summer, because there is a difference—you get the influx of people from the city with money.” Davis decided to use the app at the behest of an employee, who was in his late-30s. She had previously tried online dating a few years after her husband died, but didn’t like the long profiles on Match. The faith-based sites like Jdate, for Jewish singles, had the “ugliest” guys she’d ever seen whereas Christian Mingle turned her off with daily Bible verses, as she is Jewish. “They say the Hamptons is social and everything, but it’s not for me,” says Davis. “I live alone, I work alone and the only people that come to my house are my family and friends. I’m not meeting anyone.”
Adding fuel to Davis’s fire was a client who met her husband on Tinder. The fellow sexagenarian used the app diligently in New York City, matching with up to 10 people every Sunday and setting up a few dates for the upcoming week. Davis realized if she was going to get back in the game, she needed to be more serious about being online. Since her renewed commitment, she’s had one promising date with a Southampton single man, and remains hopeful. “[Tinder] mimics how I would act in public,” says Philip, a 62-year-old psychologist from Hartford, Connecticut who turned to the app in 2014, following his separation the year prior. “If I see somebody out in public, more than likely I would approach them and strike-up a conversation and act on social cues.”
“Women of a certain age tend to feel we disappear in the marketplace, even with men our own age. It is a sense of validation.”
Although he is interested in connecting with someone anywhere between 18 and over 55, he says that he doesn’t see that many other like-minded singles in his age range. “Ninety percent of the time, it’s young 20-somethings swiping me back,” says Philip. He’s seen some ladies in their 60s and 70s, but says it’s “rare.”
Although he enjoys dating younger women, he says, “When you’re in your 20s you want to fuck all the time. I’m like, do you want to go to dinner and have a nice meal?” Other mature clientele agree with the perception that the majority of users on Tinder are millennials. Sam, a 53-year-old small business owner from Southold, New York estimates that around 40 percent of users that he sees are in their 20s, 40 percent are in their 50s. The women he does find in their early 40s tend to be more than 30 miles away, located in Connecticut or Rhode Island. “They will say, “will move for love” but I’m not interested in someone who will move from Patchogue to Southold for me,” says Sam, who has two children from his previous marriage. “That seems like a lot.”
Their observations corroborate the scant data that the site provided. Tinder says that 15 percent of its global users are over the age of 35, with 50 percent between the ages of 18 and 24. They declined to provide further statistics, seemingly wary of appearing like a site for those in their golden years. “The Hamptons is a small place in a way. You need to expand your horizons,” says Alfredo Merat, a 56-year-old part-time resident of East Hampton. The singer songwriter tried Match.com when he was first divorced, but found the site cumbersome. “It felt like you were typing your life away with people,” says Merat. “Tinder is more visual.”
For many widowers, the thought of creating a lengthy profile seems too much after the loss of a spouse, whereas Tinder offers the ability to test the waters. That was the appeal for Andie, a 65-year-old widower who recently moved from Southampton, New York to New Jersey. Although at first, the thought of online dating seems “desperate,” she realized she’d rather date strangers than be set up by friends who knew her late husband, as she wanted a fresh start without “shadows” of their former life. She didn’t relish the idea of going to the same office Christmas parties with a different partner. She dove headfirst into online dating, trying Tinder, as well as Our Time, a paid service for 50-plus singles. Her biggest turnoff on both platforms? Disingenuous photos.
“Very often, they didn’t look as good,” as their profile pictures, says Andie. On both platforms, she estimates that around 30 percent of the older gentlemen she saw had photos from over 20 years ago. Calling it the “first dishonesty,” she quickly ruled those users out. “Everybody thinks they are athletic,” agrees Bryan, a 49-year-old from Manorville who turned to online dating following a broken engagement three years ago. “They show up and you’re like, come on hun. Maybe you were athletic in high school but you’re 45.” Andie is also a cancer survivor, and although she had some difficulty finding photos that portrayed her now-healthy self, she ultimately settled on a few, including two from the ritzy Southampton Hospital’s annual star-studded gala. Although some of the men commented that she was a snob, she said, “Why would I want a guy who would think [my photos were] too high class? It’s not that I had a tiara on.” The photos acted as a filter: she wanted to attract a successful man, who had equal or more wealth than she did. Other criteria included someone within 10 years of her age in either direction, and that if the man was divorced, it must be over five years ago and he couldn’t say anything bad about his ex-wife.
Her diligence paid off. After connecting with four men from both Tinder and Our Time, there are two who she plans to casually date in the future. She’s now off both sites, since, “a good piece of real estate isn’t on the market for a long time.” Tinder does have some pitfalls for older gentleman looking for younger ladies. “There’s a lot of hookers on tinder,” says Philip. After a few years on the platform, he can now spot them thanks to their highly-produced pictures. He’s also run into a few younger ladies looking for SDs, or sugar daddies. But, for now, he’ll stick to the swiping app. Philip says, “My age group is all married. I do have two or three single friends through divorce or death and they are just not interested in dating.”
However, one millennial has been cashing in on app’s tawdry reputation. Erika, a 24-year-old comedian and science enthusiast runs an account, Swipes4Daddy, where she holds witty repartee with dads over the age of 45. Describing them as “goldmine of content,” the project initially began in her friends’ dorm room. They would drink and pass around her phone, typing responses to men who would share stories about their children and in the next breath, talk about how much they wanted to suck her sweet tight skin. “That stark contradiction is really what inspired me to do this,” says Erika. “Their perspective of women between the ages of 18 – 28 is a 1999 Girls Gone Wild video. They think I’ll just drop what I’m doing, go to their house and have sex with them wearing a g-string and a trench coat,” says Erika.
“The dads have the same script. They’ve all watched the same porn.” Although the majority of users she speaks with are nice, normal people, she has noticed a bit of a pattern. Police officers tend to be “really kinky off the bat.” Mayors, local politicians and lawyers are also the most forward sexually. There have been some funny technological issues, like the dad who, when trying to send a photo of himself ended up just sending a message saying “img.24.25.”
Erika also finds that some treat the messaging service like AOL Instant Message, and if she doesn’t immediately respond, they worry that she is hurt. But for the majority of interviewees, the app seems to provide a window into single life from the comfort of their living rooms. Many of the people I’d spoken with hadn’t even necessarily found someone through Tinder, but found the confidence boost worth the time investment. “You see that there are regular people out there looking for love in all the wrong places also,” says Sam. “Online dating for me has been a tremendous education and has made me feel much better about myself,” agrees Andie. “Women of a certain age tend to feel we disappear in the marketplace, even with men our own age. It is a sense of validation.”