When in Rome, you should do as the Romans do and when you’re in LA, you should definitely get on Tinder.
I’m no stranger to this glorified minge catalogue and as I am currently dead from the waist down, Tinder has taken on a purely anthropological use for me. There are some very noticeable differences between small town England Tinder (bod shots, someone on a snowboard, picture with your wife) and LA Tinder and that seems to be – jobs and dogs. Everyone works in a studio and these guys know that the way to a woman’s heart – is a pupper.
I have curated a few firm favourites for your perusal.
Roger with his ‘what the fuck am I doing here?’ beagle:
‘Just cruisin’ with my homies’ Alfredo:
And last but not least, making doubly sure you know he is a sensitive guy: ‘Two pups are better than one’ Anthony, 28.
Then there’s the left fielders:
And Stephen, who taught me chat up lines totally translate on the other side of the pond:
Being fresh meat in the butchers window isn’t coming naturally to me. In my head I’m still married…I was never married to anyone but in my head I may as well have been and now I’m like Queen Elizabeth I: Married to England or the sea or some shit. The sea can’t call you up and dump you over the phone after a year. It’s got no fingers…or an iphone…or even a larynx…fuck you sea, you aren’t going anywhere.