Early 20s Me Would Be Horrified That I'm on Bumble

By Ifejola · July 20, 2026

If the me in my early 20s could see me in 2026 swiping left and right on dating apps looking for a potential partner, she would laugh so hard she'd probably fall off her chair. Looking back, it's no wonder I was so good at Subway Surfers. Turns out, I was unknowingly training for the swiping Olympics.

For the longest time, I believed every stereotype about dating apps. They were for hookups. They were for desperate people. I confidently told myself I'd never be caught dead on one.

Fast forward a few years.

Thirty was staring me in the face, my sister kept telling me to put myself out there more, and I had to admit something: I wasn't exactly creating opportunities to meet new people. I don't naturally enjoy going out every weekend, and spending money just to maybe bump into my future husband didn't seem like a sustainable strategy. Besides, when was the last time someone casually walked up to a stranger in a café or at an event and asked for her number? It happens, but it's certainly not as common as it used to be.

So I downloaded Bumble.

You can call me a Bumble Bee.

Some people insist dating apps are unnatural, but I've started wondering: how different are they from matchmaking? Whether it's your aunt introducing you to "a nice young man," your friend insisting she knows someone perfect for you, or an app showing you people based on mutual preferences, isn't the goal essentially the same? You're being introduced to someone you wouldn't have met otherwise. The only difference is who's making the introduction.

Of course, apps also introduce you to characters.

One of my friends matched with a man who asked her to send him a 360-degree video "so he could see what he was getting himself into." Sir, are you buying a used car?

I once matched with someone who had already seen plenty of my photos, yet still spent our conversation telling me my boobs looked smaller than he expected, that he preferred fair women, and that he loved thick thighs. My friends and I still refer to him simply as "Thick Thighs." He became less of a romantic prospect and more of a cautionary tale.

After that interaction, I took a well-deserved sabbatical from the apps.

But here's what I've realised: the app wasn't the problem.

It doesn't really matter where you meet people. Whether it's through church, work, a wedding, a mutual friend, or a dating app, there will always be kind people, emotionally unavailable people, weird people, respectful people, and the occasional man who thinks unsolicited commentary on your body is an acceptable conversation starter.

The platform doesn't magically change human behaviour.

What surprised me most was that alongside the oddballs, I also met genuinely kind, respectful men. People I probably would never have crossed paths with if I'd stayed inside waiting for fate to ring my doorbell.

Dating apps didn't lower my standards or make me desperate. They simply expanded my opportunities.

I've stopped seeing them as a last resort and started seeing them as one of many ways adults meet each other. They aren't a guarantee of love, just like meeting someone organically isn't. They're simply another room in the giant house that is modern dating.

And if I have to swipe through a few "Thick Thighs" to eventually find someone worthwhile, well... I guess all those years of Subway Surfers really did prepare me for something.