While people are in the business of suing Tinder I would like to issue a formal complaint of my own: Tinder irrevocably tainted my reputation. And, yes, I still think that I have a reputation to protect.

You see, for as long as I remember, I have been telling people that I don’t use Tinder. But, as I just found out, it turns out I’m a liar: let me explain.  

I first got Tinder in February 2013, but it was strictly for informational purposes. And, yes, I know this is what everyone says. But I have an article to prove it.  

However, I quickly realized that having the Tinder app might send the wrong message. That message being that I use Tinder. So in March of the same year, I deleted my profile. 

Or so I thought. 

A recent event has led me to believe that I never actually properly disposed of the profile.  

It was June 2014, the summer solstice, and a friend was telling me about a Tinder date. Due to the combination of caffeine and extended daylight, I was persuaded into downloading Tinder. 

So I got the app, but once again, not for actual dating purposes. I downloaded it ironically—and I realize, that at this point, the term “ironically” might be devoid of all meaning.  

Now usually when you download a dating app, you have to fill out some generic questions, reveal some generic credit card information, and disclose  your ideal height and gender. But for some reason I didn’t have to: my profile was already complete.

I probably should have found this suspicious. But instead of worrying about identity theft I took the fact that all of my photos were already in place and that my height was already entered with a margin of error of 18 inches, as a sign that the Tinder gods were on my side—the man harvest was upon me.  

I really should have been suspicious that the upper age limit for men was set at 37—but hey, who was I to question the plans of the Tinder Gods. 

So instead of questioning, I started swiping. 

And everyone was a match. I mean everyone: The guy posing with his dog, the dog posing without his guy, the 34-year-old that looked 50. Every single person that I approved of, instantly approved of me back. Hundreds of men, all in a matter of minutes. The floodgates had opened. 

But after matching with three dozen more profiles, I begin to question my allure: No profile is that swipeable, even a 6 foot 7 brunette.  

Although I recognized that it might have been possible that everyone was mistakenly swiping for my good looking friend, who is seen hugging me in photo number two, the chance that hundreds of people were all interested and active on Tinder during the two minute window that I had a profile seemed slim.