Tag Archives: Online Dating

What Does Your Favourite Dating App Say About You?

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Like a man’s scent and his shoes, his preferred dating app can speak volumes about his personality (and his data usage). Does he like to swipe right or send a spark? Does he send texts or thirst traps? Are his location settings enabled? What about his notifications? Or even better, his guards?

While you don’t have an option of playing favourites with children, pets or cast members from Brooklyn Nine Nine, you do get to be biased when it comes to online dating apps. The truth is every gay man has a go-to dating app, one that he likes cuddling up to (or find men on which he can cuddle with) after a day that’s wrapped in loneliness and long-forgotten email threads. It’s the app that he gets a drink with. The app that he gushes to his friends about. The one that he takes back home, safely in the confines of his smartphone.

You may have swiped through my very detailed reviews for each of these apps mentioned below, but how well do you know them? Have you ever wondered what the dating app you’re on says about you, or the people you meet on them? Swipe right through this list:

Tinder

Who is it for: Men who can’t afford a Fairy Godmother to find the One™.

What does it say about you: “If I have to kiss a few frogs to find my Prince Charming, so be it. I really wish I could send dick pics though…”

Grindr

Who is it for: Men looking for something beyond companionship and compatibility, unless it’s the sort of compatibility you seek in bed.

What does it say about you: ‘What? Of course, I don’t take this seriously. Do you stay alone, btw?’

Scruff

Who is it for: Men looking for men with some hair on their chest and dirt on their nails.

What does it say about you: “Not that I have a problem with the spectrum, but why can’t all gay men be more straight-acting?’

Planet Romeo

Who is it for: Men looking for pure, uninhibited, unadulterated sex. Carry a condom.

What does it say about you: ‘I like to believe I am sex positive.’

Hinge

Who is it for: Disney princes looking for friends of friends who are Disney princes.

What does it say about you: “I have so many friends, why can’t they set me up with someone they know?’

Happn

Who is it for: Men who believe in second chances. Just make sure you have a friend on SOS, and the neighborhood’s criminal offender’s list on standby.

What does it say about you: “Maybe I should go out more…”

Hornet

Who is it for: Men who like it easy, but don’t want to seem easy.

What does it say about you: “I want to have sex, but I want my friends to have sex too.”

Jack’d

Who is it for: Same as Hornet, but they also prefer being called sapiosexuals.

What does it say about you: “Don’t even get me started on what I think about the current government’s administration…”

Bro

Who is it for: Men who don’t want to commit – to labels, relationships, or even sexual orientations.

What does it say about you: “So buddy, I am really not gay… but you want to get a beer or two and give me a blowjob later?”

Delta

Who is it for: Men who’ve tried every dating app there is, and are tired of the same.

What does it say about you: “…but what about #MakeInIndia?”

Grindr Turns 10, But Has it Grown Up?

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How did gay men meet before they met their smartphones?

Some would tell you they met in Yahoo chat rooms. A few others would giggle over finding their mates in the classifieds section of Bombay Dost. The friskier ones would Joke about their nights spent cruising (and musing) around public restrooms. A couple would lie about bumping into each other at coffee shops.

Up until 2009, finding a (bed)mate for gay men was as difficult as finding a vegan-friendly birthday cake.

And then along came Grindr, which changed everything. Men moved their dalliances from seedy Internet cafes to the safe confines of their smartphones. It was a revolution. Gay men had finally found their match, no right swipes necessary.

Ten years since that glorious day, ten years since queer men could skip the old-fashioned way, and get to the part that they really cared about:

No-strings attached sex.

Over the years, the app attempted to broaden what it was known for. With ‘Grindr for Equality’, which was launched in 2012, and its inclusive-digital magazine ‘INTO’ making waves in 2017, things looked great for the ‘hook-up heavy’ app. But the magazine shut soon after, and Grindr continued having a reputation for being a cesspool of racist, body-shaming bigots. Gorgeous men, but bigots.

So how has the app fared in the #10YearChallenge?

It’s still a grid of grid-shaped torsos, only now they come attached with their HIV status and preferred pronouns. It’s been a decade-long transformation, but if the past is a precedent, now is the time to think what the future will ultimately look like.

With Tinder introducing 23 new gender selections and Scruff starting a community space for queer travellers, dating apps around the world are pulling up their (multicoloured) socks. What does Grindr have, on the other hand?

Gay stickers, and a new tap feature. These initiatives might change the way we look at Grindr, but there’s been little change to the app overall. Sure, it allows you to tap at your fellow playmates (or playthings, depending on what you prefer calling them) and send them gay-themed emojis instead of a corny pickup line, but Grindr has remained the same, functionally speaking: Look for whoever’s close by, exchange a few messages, and meet or just block and repeat the whole cycle. For an app that bans public nudity and sexual explicitness in profiles, that’s saying something. In fact, if Grindr has really accomplished anything, it’s made gay men more honest about what they don’t want:

An association with Grindr.

We’ve seen this in how people (mostly gay men) talk about the app. It remains dismissed and trivialised; to be forever shunned in the dark space between video editing and meditation apps. Think about it – if two men have a meet-cute, would they turn the page to their romcom-style romance by sharing their Grindr profiles instead of trading their Instagram handles? I don’t think so (plus, Grindr doesn’t come with a search tab, so most meet-cutes might meet a premature death). In so many ways, Grindr has become the online equivalent of a cruising spot: everyone does it, but no one really wants to talk about it. With so many DMs that need sliding into, will the idea of needing a separate hookup-exclusive app seem quaint someday?

Kushal, a screenwriter from the suburbs of Mumbai, would agree. He’s done the on-again-off-again relationship with the app for half a decade – that’s 50 percent of Grindr’s shelf life, leading to 100 percent of Kushal’s problems.

Kushal likes to believe that it’s a fling, and a toxic one indeed. They connect every once in a while, text-dancing for months till the former gets exhausted of his desperate needs (or worse, data plan). Does he enjoy it?

Not really. But what can he do? They’ve grown up together. Marking his evolution from Otter to Bear, Grindr has been there all along. It humoured his twink phase, egged him on to pursue multiple silver daddies in his late 20s, and for a brief spell in 2017, even played along with his leather fetish. As Kushal would say, they’ve had ‘some pretty good times’.

But it also bought along major bouts of heartbreak, and that one herpes scare in 2013. Last year, Kushal decided to finally cut the cord with Grindr. He’d had enough. He was born again (but not a born-again virgin). Kushal had seen the light, and there was no going back (Side note: he did four months later, with a stranger in a dimly lit elevator, but that’s another story.).

That story might not have had a conclusion, but at a ten-year mark, Grindr can’t afford any. If it wants to see a few more years in its life, it needs to up its game right away.

Until then, it can share its birthday cake with all of us.

I just hope it’s vegan-friendly.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Gay Men And Casual Sex

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Love stories can be weird.

I meet Shamita, a high-flying lawyer at friend’s birthday soiree. She’s pretty, she quips about pop culture and politics, and makes Kim Kardashian jokes over dinner – I find myself instantly attracted to her. Over drinks, we bond over our mutual appreciation for menthol cigarettes and men who refuse to commit.

Am I falling in love?

Not so fast, lover boy. Somewhere over our third gin-and-tonic, as we bemoan the lack of desirable men (but not mates) in our lives, and are this close to being each other’s back-ups when we are well in our 40s, Shamita throws the quintessential jab at my sordid dating history:

‘But it’s okay if you are a slut, you are gay!’ she splutters, as I gently thump her on her back.

‘Umm, what?’

‘Yeah, that’s the whole point of Grindr, isn’t it?’ she grins.

Is that supposed to be endearing? Amusing? Consoling? Comforting? My platonic love story – like all my other romantic escapades – dies an early death. It was too good to be true anyway. Plus, she hasn’t read my piece from last week, where I rebuke people (such as her) for so harshly judging the love lives of flippant gay men (such as myself).

I am not amused.

As a 30-year-old gay man, I have no qualms about being on Grindr (or any other dating app for that matter). I have heard the ‘buh-dupe’ sound everywhere I’ve gone – the club, the gym, at Starbucks, my favourite restaurant, and this one weird time, from the pockets of my local general practitioner.

Apps like Grindr (and the motley crew of matchmaking apps it is part of) have been the gold standard for men to meet (and mate with) other men. But then again, what about dating (read: hook up) apps for straight people? Certainly, Tinder might be the closest thing to a hook up app for non-gay folk, but it absolutely falls short of being a full-fledged mate-making service. There’s no space for sexts and all the ensuing unsolicited dick pics. Surely, gay men aren’t the only group of people who want to engage in casual (but also toe-curling) sex. So where is the disconnect?

It’s in the relationship that people believe gay men have with their ideas of casual sex. Is it the first of many nights of morning-afters? An all-access pass to the neighborhood sex clinic? A jigsaw puzzle of ‘what not’s’ before you find your ‘why not’? A patchwork quilt of essential bouts of heartbreak? Or most importantly, the first stop in your rites of passage of finding a relationship?

What is it not?

A parameter for approval by anyone else. While acceptance by ‘this’ society is useful in many ways, we lack foresight when we try making it our primary goal. LGBT equality stands for many things – better representation, more visibility and the scraping away of prejudices and the patriarchy. But most importantly, it stands for living the best lives we can lead.

Equality has never been about being palatable to society. It’s about having the freedom to do whatever you want to do, just like our heterosexual friends – our relationship with NSA sex included. We have half a dozen other battles to fight, because when you are already dealing with transphobia, racism, sexism and violence against LGBT youth, there simply isn’t any time (or fu*ks to give) about who is having sex with whom, and how often.

Just remember one thing: You’ll never win with a homophobe, just like you’ll never win with your mother. So there’s no point trying to please one (mothers on the other hand, are a different case). Instead, go live your life as vividly as you can. That can mean swiping at gold-rimmed mason jars for your wedding registry, or swiping right on half a dozen boys on Tinder in a single night.

At the end of it all, you have to do ‘you’.

Or just about anyone you want to.

How Do We Find Love, In The Time of Tinder?

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It’s the week of Valentine’s Day.

Urvaksh, a 30-something banker, loves plaid, almond milk lattes and artisanal beer. Like most quintessential gay men that I know, Urvaksh is on the lookout for ‘sweep-me-off-my-feet’ love – the kind that you find in dog-eared romance novels and primetime soaps. But as is the case with quintessential gay men, Urvaksh is also ‘hopelessly’ single. A status that stings more so during this painful week; suddenly, Netflix feels lonely, and bar deals (two for the price of one) seem too taxing to finish.

But Urvaksh isn’t one to give up. He takes ‘finding love’ very seriously – a trait that’s equally heartbreaking and heartwarming in gay men around the country.

To further his cause in finding romance, Urvaksh goes out on a new date every week (while sleeping with thrice the number of people in the same time) – and falls in love every fortnight. It’s a tough life, but he survives (and so does his company-provided credit card). But that’s not where his rat race for romance ends. Urvaksh has premium memberships with Grindr Xtra, Scruff Pro and Tinder Plus, which means that he has paid big bucks to find the elusive ‘Mr Right’.

So can ‘Mr Right’ get here right now?

He should. That’s three times the boys (on Tinder), an infinite supply of blocks (on Grindr) and billboard-style exposure (obviously, on Scruff). This way, an unlimited crew of underwear models, upcoming fashion photographers, Type A consultants and highflying entrepreneurs can spot him before anyone else does. The stats are definitely on his side, but the stars?

Not so much.

‘It’s just not working out,’ Urvaksh tells me over a drink, at a gay shindig in January. He’s Super-Liked boys on Tinder, favourited the nicest profiles on Grindr, Woof’d appropriately at hirsute men on Scruff and even looked around more than once on Hinge (although he feels quite unhinged after his experiences there).

‘How hard is it to find someone you can just have a conversation with?’ he asks me, but doesn’t give me time to respond.

‘… And no, I will not have drinks with someone whose username is ‘CockRings7’. Tell me, why are all the nice boys not online (read: available)?’ He blows off steam (and smoke) in my face. Honestly, who’s to blame, when someone ends his Grindr profile with the classic ‘only 9+ cocks apply’?

Urvaksh does, but I don’t bring it up. Instead, what I do tell him is that all the nice boys are online – they are just complaining about the fact that there are no nice boys online.

‘I think I should just go off dating apps, I really can’t do this anymore,’ Urvaksh tells himself, and I wonder why I am even a part of this conversation.

‘Now can you just be my wingman at this party?’ he pleads, finishing his beer with one large chug.

Uh-oh. That’s why.

The Internet says that dating apps make romance conveniently fast and easy; it’s like fast food – deliciously satisfying, but really, really bad for your health.

But when has the Internet ever been right? Anyone who says that finding love on dating apps is easy has never spent hours trying to figure out what the gorgeous photographer means when he sends you an ill-timed ‘eggplant’ emoji. Does he like aubergine or is he just hot and horny? It’s a mindboggling maze of deciphering smiley faces.

And fast?

Nope. I’ve spent months chatting up multiple Mr Right Now’s’ in the search for Mr Right – and it’s been as painful to watch as an episode of Splitsvilla (but then again, equally high on drama).

It’s a tale as old as time; fuckboys, douchebags and dimwits aren’t custom-made at a secret Grindr factory, they’ve been around since eternity. So is Grindr (and the motley crew of matchmaking apps it is part of) killing romance in the dead of the night, behind locked phone screens and locked doors?

Let’s get it straight. It’s not.

Technology has been facing the brunt for being the cause of most of our world’s problems – the television stands shamefaced for its contribution to the rise in gun violence, the refrigerator regrets its hand in rising child obesity, the microwave has been getting in the neck for global warming and the steam iron might as well have been the single reason for frayed denims.

“I wish I could meet someone the old-fashioned way,’ Urvaksh sighs, as I light up another cigarette. What’s the old fashioned way?

Strangers wobbling out of a bar together into 17-odd months of regrets, slurred voicemails and alcohol-induced arguments? Being awkwardly set up by friends at a house party just so that they don’t have to listen to your scrambling singledom survival stories over scrambled eggs at brunch? Bumping into someone while waiting in line at a coffee shop just to realise that they like their coffee with milk, weeks later?

If you think your next big love isn’t hidden behind a mesh of profiles on the dating app of your choice, there’s a very big chance he’s not waiting for you at the bar with free drinks (and if he is, there’s a chance he might put it on your tab). Conventional ways of finding love are dying out and for good reason, because we just don’t have the time (or the hope to leave things on chance). Instant gratification is in.

Sure, Grindr can be that dark dreary place that you’ll be in an on-again, off-again relationship with (because on more than one occasion, you’ll be propositioned for a golden shower at 2 am, that’ll make you want to shower multiple times after), but in this Instagram-obsessed world, it helps you reach out to people like never before – with or without filters. Plus, a relationship built on a dating app is no less real than the one forged over mixed-up orders at your neighborhood coffee shop.

Still struggling over why you are single on Valentine’s Day? Maybe it’s time to introspect – could it be something to do with your personality (or lack thereof)? Could it be something to do with the fact that you are seeking out people’s preferences in bed rather than their preferences in life? Or could it be the fact that your profile description says that you are ‘looking for a soul mate to share a life with’ but you go by ‘WildTop4U’?

Maybe, but I feel like my Netflix rom-com is on its way. Now pardon me, while I go swipe left on every boy on Tinder.

The Guysexual’s Brutally Honest Review Of Delta

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It should come as no surprise when I say that I’ve traversed the A-Z of online dating to find the elusive needle in the haystack of honest, hot men. I found a few As, a couple of Bs and a whole lot of Zs. I’ve dodged some Xs and questioned a bunch of Ys.

But it still looks like we’ve missed a few Ds. Well, there’s only one thing left to do.

Dial D for Delta.

Just make sure you don’t hit up the American airline company with the same name.

What it is:

Delta calls itself ‘India’s first homegrown LGBT community, networking and support app’, and if you didn’t get that the first time they told you, they’ll make it a point to reiterate it everywhere else — on their website, in your email inbox and even your phone’s push notifications — in fact, it’s one ‘good morning’ text away from being an active part of your family’s WhatsApp group.

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Do we have a spammer in the house?

And yet, the app doesn’t disappoint. Delta is to the Indian queer moment what Grindr is to the international gay scene – it’s revolutionising the LGBTQIA+ community over the country, sans the unsolicited dick pics and bare-chested torsos.

How it works:

What sets Delta apart from other dating (or ‘networking’) apps is that it can be used by the entire umbrella of the queer spectrum — which automatically makes it more woke than everything else out there (that includes you, Jack’d). It looks like we have a winner!

‘Would I want to meet and date amazing singles from the community?’ it asks me. Well, as an ‘amazing single’ from the community, I’d really like to. The interface (which was a lot choppier in the beta version) is easy to use — just like my range of emotions.

Profiles pop up one after the other, names fully hidden (a step up from Hinge) and a compatibility quiz waiting to find you your future plus one. There are 16 questions in all, but as long as I am not the one being played, I really don’t mind answering any of them (unlike my Class 11 Advanced Physics quiz, where every question was a player).

Each profile comes with a trust score — men (and women) are verified by their phone numbers, email addresses, Facebook statuses and even a selfie (because hello, 2018) — the higher your score, the more the number of sparks that get credited into your account. These are what you send to each other to match and (ultimately) unlock names, and other such trivial details.

Are we done yet? Because I am ready to start dating. I send sparks to a few boys who look interesting. And I hope for a few (read: at least one) on the side.

And then I wait. And I wait. And I wait. I go and take their quiz again.

And then I wait some more.

The app draws a blank, just like I did in my high school Physics paper.

What I like about it:

Delta’s compatibility feature is a breath of fresh air — pairing people based on common interests, and things that actually matter (unlike Scruff’s Match tool) — such as their expectations from a long-term partner and their views on a long-distance relationship, rather than their preferences in bed.

It’s an app that really tries hard to make a difference (with much emphasis on the ‘trying’), but fails only because of one crucial kink in the plan — people lie on their compatibility tests just like they like on their LinkedIn resumes — so that attractive surgeon who thinks that jealousy has no place in a loving relationship? Chances are he’s already blacklisted all your exes.

And he’s probably going to blacklist you too.

What I don’t like about it:

Like all the boys I’ve ever dated, Delta is perfect on paper. An app that redefines inclusion? Hell, yes. A calendar that’s packed with LGBTQIA+ events and inclusive-brands? Swipe out those debit cards. Most importantly, a secure space for the queer community? Sign me up, please.

But like all the boys I’ve dated, Delta has one major problem — it hasn’t made up its mind on what it wants to be. It ends us looking confused, trying to find itself in a world full of labels. Is Delta a dating app? Is it a networking platform? Is it a matchmaking service? Is it a brand-listing device?  Is it a discussion forum? Is it a helpline? Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

Sadly, it’s no Superman.

Bonus Feature:

The app’s Instagram feed gives me a boner — it’s inspiring, inquisitive and invigorating — just like I want my men to be. Here’s a giant shout to their social media rep, who not only needs a raise, but also my phone number.

Who is it for:

If you are really tired of all the apps I (tirelessly) reviewed over the past nine+ weeks, then you should swing the doors wide open for Delta. It’ll probably show up in a tux, bearing a box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses (or tulips, if you like them). It’ll make sure it talks about all the right things, and woos you with all the right words.

And most importantly, it won’t even make a big deal if you don’t put out at the end of the date (side note: but it’s totally your choice if you want to).

Guysexual’s Grade-o-meter:

Hookability: 6/10

Compatibility: 9/10

Usability: 7/10

Downloadability: 7/10

The Guysexual’s Brutally Honest Review Of Jack’d

 

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You’re probably tired by now.

We’ve gallivanted with Grindr, tangoed with Tinder, sneakily seduced Scruff, bumped awkwardly into Bro at the mall, and had an honest conversation with Hinge and Happn (but separately) about where this (relationship) is headed.

Thinking of giving up already?

Not so fast. Say hello to Jack’d.

What it is: Like Grindr, Jack’d shows users around 300 eligible guys on an interface that is geo-located by those closest to where you are. Unlike Grindr, Jack’d is tailored specifically for people of colour.

When you are already in a minority group, finding someone with interests or expectations that match your own can be difficult. It can seem that all the apps out there cater to only one type of man – the ‘straight-acting, fit-bodied sapiosexual’. Jack’d appears to have the most diverse community of users, broken down into what they refer to as ‘scenes’ – twinks, bears, big muscles, strictly friends, LTR (Long Term Relationships) and straight/bi-curious. By choosing which scene you identify with, you make it easier for other people who are attracted to your type to find you.

No more disappointments. No more d*****bags who don’t text back.

How it works: Jack’d requires users to rate each other, but moving away from the Tinder style of swiping, men tick either a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’ box under a profile to suggest whether they’re into someone else or not. Which means, you won’t need a wingman when you’ve got Jack’d in your hands.

The app might look like it’s geared more towards NSA (No Strings Attached) meetups, but rather than encourage X-rated pictures, the tone on Jack’d is more sophisticated – more Aamir Khan, less Kamal R Khan. Users can create an album of grandma-friendly pictures, which are so PG-13, you can (accidentally) project them even at work.

Not that you should.

What I like about it: The parent company of the Jack’d app is a company called Online Buddies, who made the bold claim that the app is the ‘fastest-growing gay social app in the whole world’. Do I believe them?

Yes, because when an app says this (read: concluding line) in their brand motto, you know you’ve got yourselves a winner – ‘If you like him, tell him. If you don’t like how that feels, say so. Girl, if you like short shorts, wear them.’

Jack’d believes that the ability to ‘stand up and tell it like it is’ is what makes the LGBTQIA+ community stand out, and promote an inclusive and authentic community of users.

What I don’t like about it: I am just really tired of writing reviews for dating apps right now. That’s it.

Bonus feature: Of course, to keep in line with all the other apps, there is a premium service, which provides users with a more personalised experience. Jack’d Pro offers unlimited daily matches, more advanced filtering services, anonymous profile viewing, and ‘insight’ data on people you may like.

It’s the FBI agent of online dating.

Who is it for: If you still aren’t bogged down with the repository of gay online dating apps, jack up your chances of finding your potential soul mate with Jack’d.

There’s a high chance he’ll be as woke as the app.

Guysexual’s Grade-o-meter:

Hookability: 7/10

Compatibility: 6/10

Usability: 6/10

Downloadability: 6/10

The Guysexual’s Brutally Honest Review Of Hornet

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How many online dating apps does it take to screw on a light bulb?

I wouldn’t know. But what I do know for a fact is that there’s no dearth of them when it comes to the queer community – from the morally ambiguous (Planet Romeo) to the sexually ambiguous (Bro), this giant pool is one that you can take multiple laps in. Ready for another round right to the fag end?

Oh hi there, Hornet.

What it is: Conventionally speaking, Hornet is an upgraded version of Grindr. Daunting name aside, the app lets you match with your future plus one, while letting you find him in a pretty grid of handsome men all by yourself – and usually from all over the world (separating it from the other apps by a wide margin). Gush over Hollywood with Ryan from Los Angeles, parley over Pisco Sours with Anthony from Peru, serenade Haruto from Japan with stories of your mild obsession with sushi, or ramble over world politics with Vladimir from Russia – you don’t need any flight tickets to get flirty on Hornet. Only visa on arrival.

Like Grindr, Hornet targets pretty much all kinds of men (who are into dating other men), rather than having a niche audience like Scruff, which is for older men or Happn, which is for roadside creeps. Unlike Grindr, you can also ‘follow’ other users, search for men using hashtags, and have multiple pictures up on your profile. So does that make Hornet the ‘Instagram’ of the gay dating world?

Maybe so, but you don’t need any filters here. What gives Hornet its extra sting is the fact that it’s so simple to use, your grandmother could use it.

Not that she should.

How it works: Hornet borrows its features from all over the Internet, trying to make itself ‘the perfect app for gay singles’. In fact, it even uses the same template that Scruff does – grids of four, stacked up to create a jigsaw puzzle of all the gay men using the app in your neighborhood (and beyond). The app targets a diverse range of gay, bisexual and curious men.

However, Hornet’s editorial content appeals to a wider LGBT+ community, so it could also interest women and non-binary people who are interested in reading about queer issues.

What I like about it: While Hornet might seem like your typical gay dating app that will soon find its way into your trash folder (because you are just so used to Grindr), it does what no other queer-exclusive app can do – it lets you play matchmaker and forward a profile to a friend. You might not earn a boyfriend this way, but you’d win over bottles full of karma. And last I checked, that’s always a good thing.

UPDATE: Tinder has a similar feature, but when has Tinder ever been the representation of a queer dating app?

What I don’t like about it: Although it’s highly travel-friendly, if you strip Hornet down to its core, it’s just a paella of all the pros (and cons) of other dating apps from the App store. Sure, the ads are less intrusive and you can have more than one picture up on your profile, but at the end of the day, it’s all old (and some new) features in new packaging. So what do you do?

Just shunt it off as a Christmas present to your (less fortunate) gay friends.

Who is it for: For men who like it easy, but don’t want to seem easy.

Hornet is for guys who want that extra push when they are looking for a fling (or a ring) – something that shunts them all across the world. No travel stamps necessary.

Guysexual’s Grade-o-meter:

Hookability: 7/10

Compatibility: 6/10

Usability: 8/10

Downloadability: 7/10