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The Happiness Industry, Seveneves and Confessions of a Tinderella

Myth and mischief-making in fact and fiction

Confessions of a Tinderella

Tinder, the pocket meat market app, seemed to be everywhere last summer. For those who don't know about it, it's a simple premise. Up flashes a photo of someone who mostly – but not always – matches your search criteria. Swipe left if you don't fancy them. Swipe right if you wouldn't mind a wee go on them. If you both swipe right, Tinder tells you that you've matched, and asks if you want to send them a message or 'keep playing.'

It's base, shallow – and surprisingly good fun. "Would. Wouldn't. Wouldn't. OMG totally would," is a way to pass the time, at least. Confessions of a Tinderella is a book that, tells all about the author's real-life experiences with meeting people using the app, lightly tweaked to protect the ghastly and the lovelorn. I suppose it probably falls under the banner of chick-lit; it's certainly not what you would call an arduous read – I started it on Tuesday afternoon and finished it on Thursday.

In fact, it's really more the story of the author's love life – Tinder doesn't even get a mention until you're 20 per cent into the book – as she moves on from the breakup of a long term relationship to try and find love. The title, really, is more about capturing the zeitgeist. This isn't just the collection of amusing anecdotes about internet dates that the title suggests.

Rosy Edwards, Confessions of a Tinderella book cover

Instead, there's plenty about her unfulfilling day job, helping friends plan their marriages, the smug couples who announce they've been priced out of Clapton. The appearance of the latter prompted me to think "thank goodness; we've got enough of those around here already." An interlude in the countryside with parents, asking them when they knew each other was "the one" feels a bit too much like a handy set-up for some of the concluding parts of the book.

Of course, there are the dates, the men met from Tinder, and the "rules" that Rosy comes up with for using the app. Apparently, if someone's photo is black and white, they're probably ginger. If they're not standing beside anything scaleable, they're short.

The usual Tinder memes get a mention too, like the drugged animals, and winter sports photos. The descriptions of the dates contain some genuinely amusing moments, and some horrific experiences with men too. Those, of course, aren't exclusive to people you meet on the internet.

By the end, I was hoping that she would finally be lucky with one of her dates; perhaps I was warming to her, but more likely I just wanted it to be over. In particular, the author's habit of ordering food and drink she doesn't like rather grated. In the last couple of chapters, Rosy recounts the lessons she's learned about how we're all vulnerable and taking a risk. I'm afraid that rather than her voice, it all felt a bit Jerry Springer at this point.

None of that is to say this is a bad book; it's light and frothy in appropriate places, and perhaps female readers will have more empathy for the author than I – though I certainly recognise some of the types of dysfunctional man she met. And, perhaps if I think about my own late 20s, it's easier to understand. But while the title suggests a high tech twist, it could really have been written about phone dating, speed dating, or any other gimmick that's pandered to the singleton. It is, at heart, Bridget Jones with an iPhone. NW ®

Rosy Edwards, Confessions of a Tinderella book coverAuthor Rosy Edwards
Title Confessions of a Tinderella
Publisher Century
Price £9.99 (Paperback), £4.99 (eBook)
More info Publication web site

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