I had never thought of myself as someone with a so-called fetish body, which sounds kind of naïve now that I say it, because I’ve looked like this pretty much my whole life.
I’m 5’2", my bra size is 36J — yes, there are bras that go all the way to J — my pants are around a 14.
It’s supposed to rain anyway so no guilt.” Him: “Come join me.” Me: “Lol yeah I’m kind of out and about today.” Him: “Boo.” Him: “I’m sooo hard right now.” Him: :( At first I tried to think if I was maybe sending the wrong message with my profile photos. I mean, you want to put your best foot forward, so they’re shots of me when I was dressed up — like when I’m at my friend’s wedding, in a blue Vera Wang bridesmaid dress with sheer straps and a small V-neck that showed a little cleavage. I work in fashion and I’ve had the benefit of some of the best stylists in the industry teaching me what does and doesn’t work for my shape — a turtleneck widens me; a pencil skirt slims me. Probably a month or so in, I started to realize why these guys were so obsessed with talking about my body and so categorically un-interested in any other kind of conversation: They had a big-girl fetish.
A big girl working at, say, a law firm may be more inclined to wear all non-fitted clothing, which only makes you look bigger, but she doesn’t have colleagues like mine to tell her that upfront. They weren’t interested in getting to know me; they just wanted to have sex with a fat girl.
Thinking about it now, I’m sure I’ve been hit on in the past by people who deep down had that kind of fetish; they just weren’t being so blatant about it like these Tinder guys, who can hide behind their phones.
Sure, they may have encountered the occasional creepster, but those certainly weren’t the majority of the people contacting them like they were me.
For me, it wasn’t necessarily what these guys were saying but how quickly they were saying it.
It wasn’t like I’d been messaging them for weeks or days or even 20 minutes — it was literally the first conversation: Him: “I don’t want to get out of bed.” Me: “You don’t have to! She saw my Tinder pictures and said they were “very dramatic” — she’s learned to use euphemisms like that when she’s talking about the way I look — but that’s just my mother.
When I joined Tinder this summer, more guys approached me in the first week than had approached me my whole life. Dating has never been easy for me, and now add to that the fact that I’m 31 years old — I’m not going out like I used to in my 20s, so there are even fewer opportunities to meet people.
Of course, I’d been hesitant about Tinder, since it’s obviously very looks-based.
It’s not like other online dating sites, where you get to write a profile, and people might be interested in me because I seem funny, and we’re both Jewish, and it turns out we’re both from New Jersey and went to University of Michigan. But then suddenly I had multiple friends finding relationships on it. Right from the beginning, almost every guy I matched with went very quickly from “What are you up to? So does everyone have to weed through this many messages to find people that aren’t just looking for sex?
” to super-sexual comments, mostly about my size: “I like em thick and you look THICK”; “Your chest makes me so hard right now”; “Can’t wait till we meet so we can titty-fuck.” I got lots of requests for the motorboat. None of the meet-cute Tinder stories I’d heard started with messages like, “Love those thick thighs, want to feel them wrapped around me.” .