Mash Blind Date: A 26-year-old woman and every man who has ever swiped right on her on Tinder

HAPLESS Tinder user Nikki Hollis goes for a candlelit dinner with the 8,468 horny men who have swiped right on her profile in the last year. Will any of them find love?

Nikki on 8,468 Tinder matches

First impression

Jesus, wow, that’s a lot of blokes when you’re actually in the room with them. I guess I should be flattered. But none of them are as tall as they said, all of them are older, and many are holding fish.

How was the conversation?

Most didn’t say a word. The rest opened with classics like ‘yo’, ‘u up?’, the red-face-with-tongue-out emoji, or a recycled chat-up line. Most times it ended there. A couple asked me to ‘show dem titties’.

Memorable moments?

There was one guy I really clicked with. We had a lovely back and forth, made each other laugh, it seemed to be going somewhere. Then when I suggested grabbing a drink he completely vanished. I’ve never seen a person physically dematerialise, leaving only a pair of smoking New Balance behind.

Favourite thing about 8,468 Tinder matches?

It’s good to know I’ve got options. There really are plenty more fish in the sea, mostly those really fucking weird ones that live on the ocean floor without sunlight.

A capsule description?

Single woman realises that desperate twats on dating apps don’t become great catches over a meal. Good table service, though.

Was there a spark?

Absolutely not. Although that’s kind of a relief because my colleague Martin was one of them and it would have been awkward. He pretended not to see me.

What happened afterwards?

I went home alone, finished a bottle of wine, and turned on my phone to find 6,233 messages calling me a bitch.

What would you change about the evening?

That one decent-ish guy chatted me up in real life. Sadly, that form of dating is now as ridiculously antiquated as sending a romantic sonnet spritzed with perfume and sealed with wax.

Will you see each other again?

Oh, undoubtedly. In about four months after I’ve taken some time to myself, got bored, then crawled back at two in the morning after a drunken night out. Looking forward to it, fellas.

8,468 Tinder matches on Nikki

First impression

We are the Tinder Men. We are many. We have designated specimen ‘Nikki Hollis, aged 26 from Reading who likes going on adventures as much as having a quiet night in’, to be suitable for assimilation.

How was the conversation?

Conversation is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We will add Nikki’s biological distinctiveness to our own.

Memorable moments?

The moment when Nikki laughed at our jokes has been designated ‘a good sign’ in our memory banks. Her continued failure to still find us unattractive does not compute with our hive mind. Conclusion: we are too good for her anyway.

Favourite thing about Nikki?

Nikki is a single adult female looking for a male partner. That is the only significant data. Caveat: she looked aesthetically pleasing in those beach pictures from summer 2022.

A capsule description?

Woman. Must be ours.

Was there a spark?

Define ‘spark’? If you mean a sense of emotional stroke sexual connection generated by potential romantic partners upon meeting for the first time: negative. Irrelevant.

What happened afterwards?

We continued our ceaseless voyage through the expanse of cyberspace, looking for other specimens to add to our consciousness.

What would you change about the evening?

That we engaged in what humanity terms ‘intimate physical contact’. That this was not achieved triggered the ‘bitch’ response.

Will you see each other again?

Reunion: inevitable. Escape: impossible. We will grow in number and bide our time in the darkest recesses of the internet. We will adapt. Nikki will fall.

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Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

More universities should team up the way Oxford and Cambridge has. Consider the positive impact Hullverhampton or Plysentry could have on society.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Other things people who live in glass houses shouldn’t do: grow cannabis, slam into walls, fuck.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Like a bird on a wire, you’re fucking freezing.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Why when young people wear leather jackets do they look like James Dean, but when you do you look like an Eastern European human trafficker?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

People say money is the root of all evil, but it can also get you beer and KitKats. So it can’t be that bad.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Serving suggestion: on a yacht, in the Caribbean, at sunrise on another beautiful day of doing as you please. You won’t even care that Special K tastes like shit then.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

Oh, want your own personal prediction, do you? What makes you so special? Entitled dick. Just read Pisces or Cancer or whatever, it’s all made up anyway.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Cool Ranch is both a flavour of Dorito and something you can say to a farmer.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Having been cut off from the mainland for so long, the MILFs on MILF Island have evolved vestigal tails and an extraordinary sense of smell.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

You travelled back in time to February 2016 to prevent Brexit but couldn’t resist popping a grand on Leicester winning the title. And that’s how they caught you.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

You can barely call those things that horses wear ‘shoes.’ Get them some Jordans.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Sick of the nine to five grind, you’re now working 7am-11am and 8pm-midnight shifts at your local Spar and frankly it’s not an improvement.