If Every Dating App Was a Guy You Know

Much like grocery stores and newspapers, dating apps are now firmly secured as an integral part of our modern daily lives. Each has its own set of stereotypes (also like grocery stores and newspapers), and even if you don't use them yourself, you probably have a spirited opinion on which one is best for your single friends (the metaphor doesn't extend this far, as I think single people know to go to the grocery store without your help). There are the good stereotypes ("That one is for men who are serious about getting married!"), the bad stereotypes ("That one is only for men who want sex!"), and, of course, the ugly ("My friend has been stood up three times using that one!"), and then, of course, there are the urban myths. The celebrities on Tinder, the dating app wedding that your friend's friend went to, the new dating app coming out just for cheese-lovers . . . . (Can anyone confirm or deny this one? DM me.) These dating apps have developed their very own cults of personality — just like the guys in your very own city . . .

Most likely to be named: Chad, Travis, Ryan
Most likely to be found: Slamming (light) beers and scanning for babes, Bro-sef! Maybe hitting the gym later to pump iron while listening to country music and staring at himself in the mirror.
Classic pickup line: What sorority were you in?

Mr. Tinder is one of those guys you knew in college that you would wince at when you would see them at a party because they would undoubtedly come up to you and give you one of those hugs that feels like you're being smothered to death by their armpit. They're also the type of guy who asks "Whatsup!?" Like three times even though you have already awkwardly smiled and told him nothing is up. Mr. Tinder might be 32, but he still lives in a party pad with all his bros. He probably works in sales and boasts about being great at it. He definitely enjoys sex and also boasts about being great at it. Mr. Tinder will almost certainly take you to a sports bar or other cheesy establishment for your first date — if you can even call it that. This guy is so averse to commitment he might as well have "I LOVE BEING SINGLE" tattooed on his forehead.

Most likely to be named: Alex, Brian, Patrick, whatever your little brother's name is
Most likely to be found: Running marathons for charity, coaching Little League, taking a French cooking class.
Classic pickup line: I'm taking my mom to dinner tonight, but want to get hot chocolate after?

Let me guess, Mr. Bumble is holding a Golden Retriever puppy in his app picture and also happens to look like Zac Efron's cousin. Your dreams have come true! You Gchat your best friend and tell her to start planning the wedding — this is it. But beware, there's more to Mr. Bumble than his six-pack and affinity for the Sunday crossword. Your first date will probably feel like you're back in high school. Mr. Bumble is so perfect, your palms will be sweating all night. And, just like those "perfect" guys in high school, halfway through the date your stomach will start to sink. Why is he talking about himself so much? Did he ask me if I wanted the pasta or did he just order for me? Mr. Bumble thinks just being on Bumble makes him a feminist. Mr. Bumble is Holier-Than-Thou to the nth degree, because hey, he's progressive. You started the conversation, so basically he's Gloria Steinem.

Most likely to be named: Rain, Phoenix, Siddhartha
Most likely to be found: Concepting the artwork for a new kombucha start-up funded by Sting, Instagramming it in black and white, name dropping.
Classic pickup line: Yeah, I mean, I know Justin Bieber; I hung with him at Soho House in Berlin. He's not a vegan, though, so we're not too close.

Oh, you haven't heard of Raya? The ultraexclusive dating app for "artistic" types? Well good, because Mr. Raya hasn't heard of you either. Given that a mysterious panel of judges decides if you can get into Raya based on your Instagram, it's an understatement to say that Mr. Raya is a little preoccupied with exclusivity. He doesn't live anywhere — he's a nomad — at least that's what he says. In reality, he probably spends most of his time in a chic, airy loft that Mommy and Daddy bought him. The one secret Mr. Raya really doesn't want you to know? He's a total trustafarian. Oh, and he can't really play the guitar.

Most likely to be named: John R. Smith, MD; Roger Wellington III; Paul von Bismark Lichtenstein
Most likely to be found: Playing squash with Elon Musk, taking helicopter lessons, in Prague for the weekend.
Classic pickup line: I don't know what I've been looking forward to more — my company's IPO or this date.

The guy from The League went to Yale — and he wants you to know. Your first date — which will undoubtedly be at the most expensive bar in town — will probably consist of a lot of mildly entertaining stories about his time at business school, as well as some anecdotes about his recent trip to India with his prep school friends. Get that fake laugh ready, because what Mr. League makes up for with résumé length, he lacks in humor. Taking himself seriously is an understatement. Mr. League kind of reminds me of Gaston in Beauty and the Beast. All the girls want him, insane teeth, good body, nonreceding hairline but just tries too freaking hard. Does most likely come with a sports car, though — just a thought.

Most likely to be named: Dan (formerly Danny), Bill (formerly Billy)
Most likely to be found: Shopping at Whole Foods, driving the Prius he bought (himself!), trying to source a legitimate hobby he can actually stand.
Classic pickup line: I just feel really ready for something more serious — I'm not like other guys.

The number one most important thing Mr. Hinge wants you to know is that he is not Mr. Tinder. Mr. Hinge will often refer to Mr. Tinder as one of those guys to separate himself from any negative connotations. Mr. Hinge has a good job, nice friends, and desperately wants a real girlfriend to call his own. Beware Mr. Hinge's dark side, though. He's sort of like Jim Carrey's character in The Mask. Totally normal, hardworking guy just trying to meet his soulmate, until one of his college buddy's invites him for a night out and suddenly he's wearing a tutu, karaoking until 6 a.m. The dark secret is that, more often than not, Mr. Hinge is actually just Mr. Tinder a few years grown up, a few levels higher at work, a little more cash in the bank. He wants to prove to himself as well as to you that he is all grown up. Just don't give him any Fireball and everything should be fine.