Isn't that the question?
Grindr, the now ubiquitous proximity-based ‘dating’ app tailored to gay men, has significantly impacted the LGBTQ+ community since its launch in 2009 – but have we thought about whether that’s a good thing?
It has provided a platform for LGBTQ+ individuals to connect, form relationships, and express their identities. Community is an area of particular importance to gay men - many of whom have spent years living in isolation perpetuated by peers, colleagues, and often family members. Online communities can be especially valuable for those who may struggle to meet others like them in person and lack a supportive network in their offline lives.
However, Grindr has faced criticism for contributing to the objectification and commodification of its users. Some have reported feeling pressure to present a certain body type or appearance to be successful on the app. This can lead to body shaming and feelings of inadequacy, which can directly influence mental health. Instances of racism and transphobia are not uncommon on Grindr either, which can create a harmful and unwelcoming environment for marginalized groups within the LGBTQ+ community.
But what constitutes success on the app? It can sometimes feel like a Battle Royale of torso pics, like Hungr Games but make it for the gays. For me, at least, using Grindr is an exercise in humility. However positive one may feel about oneself, the app acts as a constant and often aggressive reminder that beauty standards within the gay community are very narrow, Eurocentric, and often unattainable.
Humbling, yes. Demoralising? Also, yes. It’s my opinion that Grindr facilitates and perpetuates many of the insidious characteristics that the gay community is burdened with. Racism, fat-phobia, and femme-phobia have long been the Herpes of the gay community – in that, almost everyone has it living dormant in their spine.
But rather than a vaccine, Grindr acts like a particularly cold and stressful Monday in December - probably just before Christmas - when your immune system is struggling and you haven’t had an iced coffee since mid-September, allowing the virus to reactivate and cover your mouth with big old blisters of bigotry.
I can’t tell you how many times I have experienced racism; either overtly in messages, through micro-aggressions in the form of fetishising my 'British Broadcasting Corporation', or through profile descriptions masking prejudice as a “preference". That’s not even to mention body shaming or slut shaming.
Whatever good Grindr has done is far outweighed by the negative impact it has had on gay men as individuals and as a community. Many young gay men, who are already vulnerable, are first introduced to the broader gay community via apps like Grindr and are thus exposed to some of the worst parts of it before they even know what it has to offer them.
Despite their futile attempts at making the app a ‘Kindr’ place, the damage that Grindr has done to the community will take a generation to undo. Its pervasive nature has made it an integral part of gay culture, and the behaviours that people have fallen prey to on the app have incepted their way into real life.
It’s almost refreshing to have a conversation with another gay man that doesn’t revolve around our preferred positions, if I’m ‘HNH’, or immediately demanding explicit images of my nether regions. I say almost because it shouldn’t be out of the ordinary.
While Grindr has provided a valuable service to many within the LGBTQ+ community, it’s vital to remember that it’s just one aspect of the LGBTQ+ experience. There are many other ways to connect with and support the LGBTQ+ community, both online and offline. It’s important to prioritise inclusivity and respect for all members of the LGBTQ+ community, regardless of how we choose to connect.
It feels like we have an opportunity to make a better environment for the young gays who are just coming up. We’ve made strides as a community in terms of equality under the law, and our society is more open to us than it has ever been. But if we continue to marginalise our people and other members of our community, we risk leaving them on the fringes of society where they are susceptible to loneliness, depression, substance abuse, and self-harming.
I say we give less time to the Grind, and more time to the mind – let’s work on ourselves as a community and as individuals to create something inclusive, healthy, disruptive, and loving.
*All of the images in this article are genuine screenshots of profiles and conversations the author has had on Grindr
(A shorter version of this article was first published on Queef AF, and can be viewed here.)