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This vs That – Issue 16

Campus is a Place to Find Love


Picture this; you’ve just finished your lecture in L.G.01. It was two hours long. It felt longer and yet you still couldn’t repeat a single thing that was mentioned by your lecturer. This is your life. This has been your life for three to five years. This is your sentencing. Amidst this lethargic fog of dense boredom, any ray of sunshine seems to shine brighter. Amongst this university of thorns, any rose looks redder, any flower smells sweeter. On campus, you actively seek anything to distract you from this vague approximation of a well-spent youth. You are not looking for fun, you’re looking for someone to suffer with you. To be your shaman, your ally in the trenches.


Contrast the opportunities on campus to be yourself in sweatpants and a food-stained hoodie to the opioid-ic realm of social media where Tinder is just another app; a place where you compete like a well-groomed standard poodle amongst the dog-show litter of lies and posturing. Is this really where you expect to find a connection? This argument is finding love on campus, not finding an awkward sweat session partner for one night of 6/10 bliss and 2/10 communication afterwards.


The campus is not without its blemishes. It has its flaws. But so do you. And so do they. So go up to that person (politely), ask for their help in that tricky-to-follow paper (politely), and then ask to grab coffee (POLITELY). And then also just a pro-tip, don’t make it about yourself. Ask a question or two. It’s crazy how basic human empathy and compassion is a virtue people appreciate.


The greatest moments in life are borne out of hope. The greatest moments of hope are borne out of tragedy. In B Trimester of 2021, there is no greater setting of tragedy than campus. Therefore, finding a moment of hope on campus can lead to the greatest moment in your life. In the words of archetypical girlboss Rihanna, “We found love in a hopeless place.” 


Campus is Live Tinder


Let’s not pretend like Tinder doesn’t get a raw deal almost all of the time. The dating app is consistently abused by righteous singles ‘too good’ for assisted matchmaking. Men have been accused of weaponising it for casual hook-ups, bypassing basic courtship and opting instead for a more streamlined ‘upto’. Women have faced similar heat for procuring data on who swipes who, correlating attention and interest from boys, with no desire to ever actually talk. Feel free to swap those roles where necessary.


All of the above is absolutely true about the Tinder experience, but this concoction of mischief should be celebrated. It showcases the app’s sneaky best attribute, it’s versatility. If it’s a hook-up you desire then work the filters, drop your proximity and your standards. If you need to cross examine Stace’s ex to see if he’d match with any of the girls, super like him. Need somewhere to pre-drink before the gig, try your luck.


Just because on its surface it can seem shallow and thirsty doesn’t take away from Tinder’s ability to facilitate love. That might seem like an obvious statement or it might seem backwards, as if the genuineness of Tinder love is a mirage closer to Love Island love.


I’m here to set the record straight once and for all. Firstly, at the risk of stating the kidney stone obvious, Love Island relationships are a façade built for the sole purpose of growing Instagram clout. Secondly, start to look at Tinder like Ditto from Pokémon, an organism with the ability to morph into whatever you need it to be. 


So if you are looking for love, congratulations, you’ve discovered a more efficient way to meet even more people. No longer are you restricted by workmates or mutual friends from high school. Say goodbye to misguided affection in university group projects and pointless quiz nights. 


Sure, there will be a strong wave of dick-pic-idiots and 007 ghost agents to wade through, but that crowd populates real life as well. Also, did I mention you don’t have to say you met on Tinder?