A Tale of Three Bumble Dates

• Bumble is a popular dating platform enabling women to make the first move.
• On Bumble, only women can initiate conversations with men, preventing unwanted interactions.
• Bumble’s male-to-female ratio is about two to one, making it difficult for men to meet women.
• Photographs and physical appearance are paramount on Bumble, as the dating platform offers little room for self-expression.
• A recent study reveals that women find the vast majority of men to be below average in appearance.
• Many of the women on Bumble aren’t interested in dates but instead use the service to build a social media following, con men into financial support, and exact revenge on unfaithful partners.

Bumble: Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

If you’re looking for a relationship these days, chances are you’ve tried online dating. It’s also possible that you didn’t have much luck. That’s because, even with the skewed male-to-female ratio, most women aren’t looking for partners on dating apps. Instead, some women misuse these apps for disingenuous purposes, often seeking to manipulate men for their ends.

When I first discovered Bumble, it seemed like a progressive man’s dream come true — a dating platform full of modern feminists seeking to control their destinies. The reality is far from the truth. Bumble is like any other dating app, except that there’s not much interaction for most men. We create profiles, upload pictures, and wait.

I’ve quit and rejoined Bumble due to being in relationships; however, I didn’t forge one enduring match on the platform. Every time I join Bumble, I’m matched with two “bees” almost instantly. Unfortunately, I can’t see the women until I pay for a membership. Their photos are blurred out until one opts for a premium subscription. Once I do this, I realize either the matches are unappealing, or they never respond.

This business practice seems as though it’s a mechanism to force reluctant men to upgrade their memberships. Unless you look like Ryan Gosling, most men don’t even get two matches in a week. The matches are likely automated for the sake of increasing revenues, but outsiders cannot prove this. Such coincidences are highly improbable, however.

If you think Bumble is crooked, wait until you meet some of the members. In my experience, few are looking for dates. The con artists and sex workers are easy to defeat. They want money, and I say no.

Revenge-seekers constitute a significant problem on Bumble. They seek to parade you in front of a cheating partner to force their man to commit or pay more support, jeopardizing male Bumble members. After all, some of these guys aren’t going to appreciate your interest in their partner. They don’t care if you lack awareness of their pre-existing relationship. Other “bees” want a man to manipulate for sport, which will merely waste your time and cause some temporary emotional discomfort.

The following events are all true; however, I have obfuscated the women’s names for the sake of privacy. I’ve also stripped out any information that could identify them. I believe it’s essential to warn men about who they’ll likely encounter on Bumble. If you’re not at least a 9/10 in looks, expect your matches to be mostly manipulative and dissapointing.

Bumble Match One: “Autumn”

A few years ago, I was fed up with the San Francisco Bay Area and began planning my move to the Central Coast. Since my mom lives in the San Joaquin Valley and has a large home, I moved many of my possessions there. I was planning to sell my condo in SF, move to a depressing city in the central valley for a few years, and then buy a new place on the coast when home prices dip.

I expressed all of these plans openly on my Bumble profile. I made it clear, I would only be in town for a few years, but I was moving 80 miles away. A not-so-long-distance relationship would be possible. Of course, there’s not much room on Bumble to explain this, but I managed to make it clear.

On Labor Day weekend, I received a message on Bumble from a frustrated woman named Autumn. Her son was acting up, and she needed some advice. I offered her guidance, backed up with a peer-reviewed research paper. She was impressed and said she might be interested in a date, but she wasn’t sure if she was attracted to me. I was just about to go back up to San Francisco to continue getting my condo ready for sale. I told her we could meet when I come back down in a few weeks.

During my time in SF, we texted and talked on the phone. It didn’t always go smoothly. She had a pattern of getting upset by minor, contrived annoyances. She would stop communicating for days. Then she would text me again, out of the blue. I should have seen this as a red flag.

I had an Instagram account back then, and I was posting a lot about homelessness in my mom’s city. I went to high school there and am saddened to see so many people living on the streets. A few days after these posts, I heard this outlandish story about how Autumn was homeless for years. She managed to ascend from this unfortunate position, earn a bachelor’s degree and gain employment.

While elucidating on her experiences sleeping in the rough, below freeway underpasses and sharing a studio apartment with fifteen other people, she mentioned that this wasn’t by choice. She was married, and her husband had her under control. I learned that, much like with Stockholm syndrome, she practiced many of the same tactics as her captors — if any of this was, in fact, true.

Domestic violence also played a role in her fictitious life. A man she met on Bumble, supposedly a jazz musician who lived about 100 miles away in Los Angeles, kept creeping back into her life. She claimed to have dated him, yet no photos of anyone remotely similar graced her social media profiles. According to Autumn, he repeatedly beat her, even breaking into her apartment early one morning. He drove 100 miles to do these horrible acts, yet Autumn admitted there’s no police report. I didn’t ask, but her admission was a way to halt any verification of her story preemptively.

All of these tales seemed far-fetched, and it was clear she read my Instagram feed and developed fiction to manipulate me. The hot and cold treatment continued. We had a date, and it went well. She told me she was so attracted to me, she wanted me right away, but it would be best to wait. I didn’t find myself attracted to her; however, I thought it would be good to know someone since I was new in town. In hindsight, sometimes you’re better off being alone.

After the first date, I suggested we go on another. Autumn told me there was another guy she’s also interested in, and she wasn’t sure we were a good match. Another cold front moved in, just after a heatwave. I stopped texting her and moved on.

Two months later, she started texting me again, and it was the same hot and cold treatment. I put up with it for three days and then informed her that I knew what she was doing. She admitted that she was bored and just wanted to manipulate someone for sport.

Autumn had no interest in dating anyone because she went for the most attractive men when she started online dating. They had fun with her and “ghosted” her immediately. Manipulating men became a new pastime that helped her cope with being used and rejected. I’m likely one of many who participated in this mentally ill woman’s revenge therapy.

Bumble Match Two: “Bora”

After weeks without a single message on Bumble, I suddenly received some interest. Bora, a Latinx woman who grew up in San Jose, hoped to find a man who shared her passion for fitness. I train regularly with weights and can still run three miles in less than 21 minutes. We seemed like a good fit, and her pictures were attractive. There wasn’t much else to go on.

We exchanged phone numbers and texted for over a week. From my perspective, we seemed to hit it off. Reviewing the text messages now, it’s impossible to have predicted the outcome, even with so much hindsight. 

Bora seemed to have a history of being with the wrong kind of man and assured me she was beyond dating the few men with Hollywood looks. Repeatedly, she told me, most women on Bumble act like little girls, going for the cute guy, then they’re shocked when he doesn’t call back.

Bora harbors a troubling backstory. An avid gym-goer, she ended up falling for her personal trainer. He forced her into an extreme exercise regimen with an austere diet. In their decade-long marriage, he dominated her in other ways, which Bora and many women seem to accept and prefer in their youth. When the dominance turned into abuse, Bora and her husband parted ways.

I lowered my guard, as her story and attitude indicated that she overcame her turbulent romantic past and was willing to open her heart to new experiences. The reality was quite different. After we set up a breakfast date, I texted her in the morning to confirm. She suddenly communicated back that I sound desperate for a partner:

“Dear, are you desperately trying to find a partner? Curious, as your texts seem to indicate that. I’m in no rush. If I meet someone that I connect with, great. If not, I am perfectly happy alone.”

I’m not sure how texting someone occasionally for a week and then meeting them for breakfast becomes desperate. Aren’t dates the whole point of, um, online dating? This, again, demonstrates that many women on Bumble don’t want to date. I should have pushed the eject button and parachuted to safety, but instead, I went through with it.

When I arrived in San Carlos for breakfast, closer to her to accommodate her needs, she began criticizing my body. This is likely because her photos were outdated, and her fit constitution was a thing of the past. The best defense is a good offense, so she let me have it, even though I never criticized her appearance.

My physique didn’t bother me as much as her. She saw that my photos were recent, genuine and that I’m in excellent shape with low body fat. Unable to accept this, she engaged in childish, insulting behavior.

For an hour, I sat patiently and heard this unexpectedly overweight woman claim I’m too thin for her. She assumed all women don’t like six-pack abs and claimed most women feel “skinny” men are disgusting. Speaking once again for all women, she advocated for the heavy man, the dad bod, and every other body type except mine — athletic.

Why did she want to date me? Most men are overweight. There are plenty of heavy men on Bumble. Bora lured me in so she could exorcise some demons. She had no intention of establishing a relationship. Dating, for Bora, is about punishing men because she married a wicked one. How is that my fault?

Knowing that this was an explosion of mental illness, I did what Martha Stout advocates when dealing with a sociopath. I ignored her and didn’t let it affect me. I just sat there, cool as a cucumber. The people at the next table were shocked and stopped talking so they could listen in. I’ve used this tactic in the past, most notably with a sociopath manager. It drives them crazy when you don’t react as they hope and expect.

The night before we met, I texted her the URL of an article I wrote for this site. At breakfast, out of the blue, she brought up that she didn’t read “that stupid article”. I didn’t ask. Such an admission tells me she had this planned all along. Bora developed pre-meditated attacks and put a lot of thought into how she would denigrate me during our brief time together. I didn’t let her have her way. I even walked her to her car and hugged her.

Bora uses Bumble to take out her aggressions on men because she picked an adversarial and dominant husband. She selected him for purely superficial reasons, not because he was a decent human being. Once again, we see a clear pattern here. Online dating allows women to choose men based on their appearance. Since women find a tiny percentage of men to be attractive, the ones who meet these criteria can, and often do, treat women poorly.

Abuse and neglect from the few men who resemble Hollywood stars and sports heroes transform into contempt for all men. In turn, less desirable men like myself grow weary of women available to us — mostly damaged revenge-seekers. At best, they’re a minefield of idiosyncrasies triggered by their ex. All of this results from online dating, and Bumble engenders this vicious cycle more than any other dating platform.

Bumble Match Three: “Simone”

I used to have a theory that European women are better than their American counterparts. They’re more sophisticated, preferring literature to Hollywood romantic comedies. Instead of being imbued with subtle white supremacy, they learn to appreciate other cultures while on vacation in their south — the Mediterranean and North Africa.

Although this theory may have merit, one of my Bumble dates revealed that some European women are no better than Americans. Instead of Hollywood hunks, Simone wanted an anorexic, tattooed Venice Beach hipster, just like the ones on her Instagram feed. I should have known this was the case, as her Bumble profile required that her match own a motor vehicle. Such statements speak volumes about a woman’s preferred partner.

If Hollywood fails to train them, Instagram will shape their attractions, using its algorithms to provide end-users more of what they desire. This is a major reason why women feel such a small fraction of men are attractive. It’s the same way AI systems acquire image recognition with machine learning.

Our media bombards us with a narrow range of beautiful individuals until we only desire a small fraction of the population. It does this to women far more than men. With its convenient Instagram integration, Bumble enabled me to see the extent to which social media brainwashing affects women’s dating preferences.

I met Simone during my recent residence in Southern California. She lived just on the cusp of LA, about 80 miles from me. One thing I learned is that if a Bumble date lives far away, she’s likely using you to make someone else jealous. Most women aren’t looking for long-distance relationships, and they have plenty of nearby options. With Simone, it took two dates to accomplish her goal.

As with most Bumble matches, Simone and I texted for a week before we met. We communicated about the few issues we had in common. I embrace progressive values, and Simone is a vegan who protests for animal rights. Although I consume meat and animal rights isn’t my top priority in terms of social justice, plant-based diets are essential to reining in carbon and methane emissions. I eat fewer animal products today than in the past, but I’m hardly vegan. I’d rather eat bug-based meat than plant-based protein. For now, I eat beef, pork, and poultry, but in much smaller portions.

Despite our fundamental dietary differences, she wanted to date me. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area for so many years, I was surprised to find a vegan who wasn’t preachy at all. Only later was I to discover this tolerance served to further her goals. She needed a man to make her cheating boyfriend jealous. For whatever reason, she selected me to use for her duplicitous ends.

On our first date, she asked to meet at a Thai restaurant in her LA commuter town. I woke up early, spent a few hours getting ready for my date, and drove down to a community just north of Los Angeles. She was late for the date, but I didn’t mind.

When we met, she looked a little more radical than her pictures, some of which depicted her actively protesting for animal rights. Her head was shaved entirely, like a Buddhist monk, with tattoos covering at least 60% of her visible body. Large earlobes and an ostentatious nose-ring completed the look. Adorned in a plush tiger-print frock with eccentric makeup, she resembled some species of prehistoric priestess. It’s an archetypal appearance one can witness on Instagram. Even though this isn’t the woman I dated, she has this same look. It’s a thing.

I’m not attracted to such extreme physical alterations. For one, they’re superficial. People like this often intimate their profundity and spirituality yet spend countless hours persuing shallow endeavors. I think the look is frightful, resembling some extraterrestrial being more than an attractive woman. It would take a few years of social media brainwashing for me to grasp the appeal. Nonetheless, since I’m not lucky enough to resemble a celebrity, I can’t be abundantly selective. Thus, I ended up dating a far-left, vegan, animal rights super freak who I wasn’t even attracted to. Twice.

The first date with Simone was to verify that I wasn’t a catfish. This took place some distance from her home — one she owned with income earned from a nursing career. Modest wealth permitted her independence from men. Instead of being supported by a man, she instead decided to keep a Venice Beach loafer, complete with tattoos and stretched-out earlobes. Although I don’t know his name, let’s call him Noah for the sake of cultural appropriateness.

I drove home after our first date, assuming nothing was wrong. She didn’t even hug me but explained that it takes her some time to warm up to a man. I didn’t expect romance, but she told me she doesn’t even like to kiss a man until the sixth date (unless he’s a Venice Beach hipster). That’s fine with me. I was looking for a relationship, not a one-night stand.

We texted during the week and planned another date for the weekend. Hiking seems to be the latest craze, and apart from protesting, she had limited interests. I picked out a suitable place, sharing this location a few days ahead of time.

On the day of our date, she informed me that her water heater was leaking natural gas. I suggested we cancel the date, but she wanted to go through with it. I drove almost one hundred miles to the park, with my phone blowing up just before my arrival. I don’t text while driving, especially not in crazy LA traffic, so I continued to the destination before checking my phone.

When I got to the park, I saw all of these texts asking me about the location. It’s her neck of the woods, not mine. I graduated from UCLA, but I was busy studying, so my knowledge of the greater Los Angeles area is incomplete. She advised meeting her at a park near her home because she had to stay nearby to monitor the gas leak. Something didn’t smell right, and it wasn’t odorized natural gas.

I drove back twenty miles to the new location. Simone met me in the parking lot, where I gave her some gifts — a dark chocolate bar and a large bottle of my homemade CBD oil for her aging dogs. She gladly accepted the presents, and we proceeded to walk in a suburban park adjacent to modest and neatly kept homes.

Simone was careful to guide our walk along a specific path. There was a row of houses nearby, and she navigated us to walk beside them. All of this was odd, but I didn’t know what to think. The gas leak situation was new information. I was still processing it all. I’m not narcissistic enough to believe I’m worth neglecting a home catastrophe to serve as a walking companion in a nearby park.

After the walk, she claimed to have received a call from her tenant explaining that PG&E fixed the gas leak with impeccable timing! She did get a call, but I doubt it had anything to do with a water heater. There wasn’t a gas leak, but I played along. With this new information, we proceeded to a restaurant so I could buy us lunch. After all, Simone’s preferred companion, an unemployed Venice Beach bum, couldn’t even pay for a fast food meal, let alone lunch at a proper restaurant.

After lunch, I got a small, cold hug, and she was off to protest at a rodeo at Staple’s Center. I drove back to my mom’s house, where I stayed temporarily as I plotted my move out of San Francisco. The next day, Simone texted me that she was already in a relationship.

Much like Autumn, Simone gave me specific clues, which I ignored. She told me, several times, that she isn’t a good person. I wasn’t sure what Simone meant until it was too late. Now I understand, she has some awareness that her manipulative behavior is corrupt. Often, these women will warn us, but we’re either too inexperienced or too full of ourselves to listen. Perhaps they warn us because they know we won’t heed it. It seems almost like a test of how stupid we are to trust them.

Given that I drove about 400 miles on two dates and spent a fair amount of time and currency with the whole affair, I let her have it. Texts full of f-bombs and a-bombs launched from my smartphone, which is highly unusual. It doesn’t matter. She got what she wanted, and she doesn’t have to worry about me showing up outside her home at 2 a.m., playing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel on a 1980s Sanyo boombox.

Once again, we see a woman who went for the most attractive man, regardless of all other qualities. He mistreats her with parasitic behavior and betrays her with infidelity. She takes it out on me more than him. At the end of the day, he will rein in his philandry, only to the extent of it being inconspicuous. She’s busy with work, and he’ll be off having fun with other women. Simone will continue to use innocent men to upset Noah.

With Simone, the overall poor quality of her preferred partner is notable. By her admission, he doesn’t have a job, own a car, or know how to drive. He doesn’t even know his social security number. Yet this is the type of man many women will prefer because he looks like someone who’d pop up on an Instagram feed. He realizes that, simply by looking a certain way, he’ll go much further than any hardworking sucker.

Yes, I admit it. I was the sucker, and the Venice Beach loser won, for now. One day, his looks will fade away, and no one will care about him. He’ll be one of the discarded, roaming the streets of some dying San Joaquin Valley town, begging for handouts and supporting his habits with a tear-jerking pity story and odd jobs of the oral variety. For now, he’s one of Bumble’s top bachelors, even though he’s already living with a “bee”. I also spotted Simone on OkCupid. It appears that hanging on to top Venice Beach stud material requires a systematic process of using readily available men.

At least I was good-looking enough to make a Venice Beach hipster jealous. That’s as much of a mental gymnastics spin I can put on dating one of the worst human beings I have ever met.

I found out more troubling information about Simone. She married a nice, sweet Asian man when she first moved to the United States to gain residency and obtain financial support as she studied nursing. This poor fellow endured a passionless marriage, supporting her faithfully until Instagram swayed her into a lifestyle of tattoos, piercings, veganism, and men from Venice Beach who can never seem to find a shirt. Just like social media radicalizes some into violence, it also transforms some women’s appearances and preferences for food, drink, and men.

Her Asian husband became too dull, as Instagram dazzled her with progressive images of grass-fed, anorexic, white “hunks” with significantly altered bodies and stimulant dependencies. Now that she earned an income, she could do away with the non-descript husband in favor of Noah. Unfortunately, while she’s at work, he’s off playing with other women. Even more unfortunate, this became my problem — a dead-end association that dragged on for two weeks.

The Most Abusive Women Flock to Bumble

I no longer participate in online dating. It only works for a handful of men, particularly those who resemble attractive celebrities. During my experience as an online dater, I can honestly say Bumble is by far the worst app.

Bumble’s mission, to empower women, implies that all men are wrongdoers. Men are so horrible; Bumble mutes us all. We can only speak if spoken to because we’re bad guys. Billie Eilish even says so!

If you look like Ryan Gosling, you’ll earn communication privileges quickly. If you look like someone who Hollywood wouldn’t cast as a leading man, you might as well just delete the app. You might be tall and fit, but unless your face resembles a famous person’s mug, you won’t be considered attractive. Sure, you may get a date or two, but if you’re expecting an honest connection, you probably won’t find it on Bumble.

Only a small fraction of men, those resembling Hollywood stars or certain athletes, can get away with treating women poorly. I’m six feet tall and have 8% body fat, yet I’m not in the club. I don’t want to be in that club either. It’s an exclusive society, where even a drop of non-white blood is grounds for disqualification. It’s everything I loathe about America — white supremacy, conspicuous consumption, conformity.

All online dating platforms succumb to these same dynamics. A fraction of men are deemed attractive, and they get most of the interaction. The difference is, on other apps, men have the opportunity to win over women with wit. Clever banter has worked in my favor a few times; however, Bumble doesn’t permit men to engage women. It’s the only way a smart man can delineate himself from a dumb hunk, but Bumble doesn’t allow it. The vapid, Hollywood-styled mensch wins every time on Bumble.

As women’s Bumble experiences progress, some are trapped in a vicious cycle of dating the most desirable men, who end up using them and “ghosting” them. They continue this behavior, often until all of the “hottest” men in a region have been exhausted. After that, it’s time for revenge because they assume that all men are the same, even though they only date a small fraction of the most desirable men — the ones who have so many more options.

Put Down the Phone and TV Remote

Despite the harsh treatment I received from “bees”, I have to acknowledge that they endured worse outcomes. The men they’re most attracted to use them for sex and routinely discard them. If they remain in a relationship, it’s only to use them for financial support, as they engage in philandry while their female partner works. Like an alcoholic, they’re addicted to something that destroys them.

This victimization is not grounds to treat other men poorly. There are plenty of men in the world who are decent human beings even though they don’t resemble Hollywood stars. Some are tall and in great shape yet lack that certain Irish-American, transparently-pale McConaughey-ness. He’s so handsome and wonderful; he may become governor of Texas, despite any political experience. Yes, let’s drop our trousers for the pretty boy, America. (Personally, I think he looks like a wrinkled bag of dog feces.)

What’s wrong with short men? I have friends of more diminutive stature who have been mistreated by women their entire lives. These same women tell me that they don’t care about how a man looks. They’re more concerned about personality. Not only that, but they’re often disgusted by how superficial men are with our physical preferences. But these same women, in the presence of a tall, athletic white man with blue eyes, are reduced to quivering gelatine and will do whatever he wants.

Mountains of evidence support the fact that women choose men online based on looks and not personality. Countless hours in front of the TV and “silver” screen, witnessing white-supremacist programming forges an immutable attraction to a small and shrinking minority of primarily white men.

The arrangement of being used and abandoned by the best-looking men doesn’t seem to be ideal for women. Perhaps turning off the TV, closing Instagram, and venturing out in the real world may help. Travel often broadens horizons and may provide women exposure to attractive men who don’t resemble Hollywood stars or athletes. For many, unfortunately, it’s just another opportunity to take selfies and meet athletic white men for an overseas hookup.

The women I met online who are most damaged also follow pop culture more closely than their intellectual sisters. Women who watch The Bachelor, in particular, seem destined to be used and abused by handsome, dapper men. Romantic comedy fans are always looking for the perfect man, only to be screwed over yet again because most women want that guy, and he knows it. 

Abandoning Hollywood, mass media, social media, and other sources of conformity are key to escaping this decaying orbit. Our absurd mass media combined with dating apps creates a synergy of superficial infatuation, inflated hopes, abuse, and betrayal. It’s so easy to escape all of this. Just turn off your device, go out in the real world and live your life to the fullest!