The reasons why I block on Grindr
my bittersweet return to hookup apps
Years ago, when my mom would drive down to see me in Oakland, other drivers would sometimes honk at her. This happens to everyone, of course, but from the way she reacted they may as well have fired warning shots. She refused to accept that in America’s bigger cities, honking your horn can be a kind of communication, one that lets another driver know that the light has turned green, that you’re merging, etc; that even if there is, admittedly, some attitude behind the honk, it can nevertheless have a constructive purpose. This didn’t matter to my mom. In the small Northern California town where she raised me, honking was and would always be a sign of rudeness, if not outright aggression.
Like honking, blocking on social media has a bad rap. The mainstream take on blocking seems to be that it’s the prerogative of cowards, assholes, and even authoritarians, to the extent that those who disappear without explanation—whether by failing to respond or, more pointedly, by eliminating the opportunity for contact—are seen as antisocial, even pathological. I’m not here to argue about that (although believe me, I have my opinions!). I just want to point out that, like honking, blocking has different meanings across contexts. In fact, it’s naive to insist they are uniformly negative.
In some situations, one or both parties understand that blocking is simply a more direct way of communicating desires, drawing boundaries, and granting and taking space. Take the gay hook up app, Grindr: to function well on this platform, you need to block, especially if you’re a fetishized minority. It’s not just trolls, spam, and creeps—it’s also the perfectly inoffensive people that you’re just not interested in (indeed, some users will put in their bio that you should block them in this case). Because Grindr is location-based, you see your grid—that is, the matrix of users in your immediate vicinity—every time you open the app. If you’re mostly opening it at home, that means you see more or less the same people every time, roughly 15 per scroll. If someone around the corner hits you up and you don’t respond, that could mean Not right now or Not ever. If you’re busy but potentially interested, you may just ignore their messages or likes until the stars align. If you know they’re not your type, blocking them saves you both some time.
Anyone who’s used apps like Grindr for longer than a minute will know that while rejection doesn’t feel good, it’s part of the playing the game. Without failing to acknowledge the ways that normative standards of attractiveness affect us all, taking a block personally just doesn’t make sense1.
Last year, after a few scary encounters with men, I started dating a second person somewhat seriously. Since then, I haven’t had the time or inclination to use apps like Grindr. Recently, however, I’ve begun dipping my toe back into the cesspit of looking?, huge loads here, and can i eat u out beautiful ;) As much as we complain about it—and there is a lot to complain about, from functionality issues to subscription costs to the risks and humiliations of logging on while not being a white cis man—apps like Grindr can entertain, distract, and sometimes result in a fun time with a stranger. Having met more than one boyfriend on Grindr, not to mention a few friends, I try to keep in mind that it’s still a social media app at the end of the day.
When I used Grindr previously, I avoiding putting FTM in my handle because it drew a preponderance of chaser-types (I enjoy and will fuck chasers2, but they do take more work to weed through), though I was obliged to put a kindergarten-level explanation of my genitals in my bio, since people often read me as transfeminine3. This time around, I started advertising as FTM out of sheer laziness: with my transness in my handle as well as my bio, I get more messages than I can respond to, which means I can pick and choose. This has also put me in the position of needing to block considerably more, which has led me to think more about when and why I do it.
After a few years of being an FTM on gay hookup apps, my trigger finger is constantly itching. Within the first few words of an exchange, I can tell how worthwhile a conversation with someone will be. If there is any hint that I will be insulted or annoyed, I’m more likely to block than see it through. This is both good and bad: snap judgments save me time while limiting my range of experiences. I’ll deal with fewer time-wasters, assholes, and rapists, but I’ll also have more homogenous hookups as a result. This transgender hypersensitivity, while admittedly crazy, is the price of my safety and, paradoxically, my mental health (some have more tolerance, some less; your mileage, etc.). It is what it is.
I don’t block because someone sends me unprompted nudes, is direct or aggressive, offers to pay me, or misgenders me in a well-intentioned way. In fact, I prefer this sort of interaction, as it shows that the other person recognizes that 1) we are on a gay hookup app for FAGGOTS, 2) attraction both transcends and reinscribes identity, whether or not we think it does, 3) it’s just sex, 4) acknowledging the potential of a financial transaction means they understand that I understand that my attention is valuable4, and 5) that I am clearly fem and should be approached with the princess treatment.
Using the internet is not unlike driving on the highway: people will inevitably rub other people the wrong way, even if there’s no harm intended or done. This is why blocking is a great tool, one I’ll use if someone does or is some variation on the following:
Hits me up without photos. On Grindr, NPNC (no pic, no chat) means I won’t talk to you if you contact me without any pictures of yourself in your bio, which regular users will know happens a LOT. People who are trade, discreet, DL, or have low self-esteem are well within their rights not to have public-facing photos, but many seem to believe that it’s interesting or attractive to receive “hey :) hru can we have sex” from a blank square. While I think this demonstrates that these men just aren’t very good at socializing, it’s also because it hasn’t occurred to them that I, too, have interiority; that sex could be something agreed upon between two people, rather than doled out by whatever madonna/mommy/whore figure dominates their psychic landscape. I’m sure this sort of thing happens between cis men, but there is a layer of misogyny to it that I, like all feminized people, am attuned to5. Chatting without pictures is also fundamentally passive aggressive: by forcing me to ask for photos, I must now confirm that you are fugly, hurting your feelings and making you feel like a victim. You asked, bitch! Proper Grindr etiquette for blank profiles is to send face and/or dick pics in the first message (Grindr offers disappearing images and lockable albums). If I like what you’re working with, now we can talk! If I don’t, I can ignore you without putting too fine a point on it, and therefore hurting your feelings more than they need to be hurt. Personally, I will consider chatting with people who share images of everything but their face, provided they don’t make a big deal about being discreet (don’t care, didn’t ask, get over yourself) and behave normally on all other fronts.
Benevolent transphobia. You know what they say about men talking their way out of pussy? This happens a lot to the male bi, pan, and gynosexual(🤮) crowd. They’re not gay and they’re not straight—they’re open-mindedly living the best of both worlds, so FTM pussy should be a shoo-in, right? Well, no, not if you can’t stop yourself from saying things like I’m bi, I’m not scared of vag! (First of all, sis, gay men love pussy!), or thinking that everyone with a pussy was assigned female at birth, or treating transmasculine people as if we’re interchangeable (if we were, you’d be attracted to masculine pre/non-op trans men, and if you’re in my DMs this isn’t always the case). If they’re not hung up on so-called genital preference, cis bisexuals of both genders are often at risk of believing they’re special because they’re willing to fuck trans people. Universal fetishization means that we’re disposable—but also that we are in high demand. Don’t ever let them forget that. Unfortunately, cis men of all sexual orientations are vulnerable to performative allyship. Considering themselves woke, they’ll smarmily address the elephant in the room—I’m a tranny, isn’t that crazy?—as if this isn’t alienating for me, who has to live as a trans person every single day, and not just when it’s time for big boys to touch their special places. Here is just a sampling of how this can manifest:
I can’t believe other guys can’t tell you’re FTM 😏
Hey HANDSOME, how’s it going MR MAN, what’s up DUDE BRO BUdDY PAL
Wow, I love boi pussy!
Kill yourself!!!!!! Tbh
Cis nonbinaries. I’ve been tweeting through this one! My Grindr bio makes it very clear I’m only looking for men, so I used to ignore messages from non-binary people who are not transsexual. Recently, however, in response to a perverse and unbecoming hunch, I’ve begun replying with: “not into nb.” Half the time, it’s like tossing a grenade in a china shop. Tantrums, rationalizations, and bizarre lies (You’ve caught me at a funny time, someone recently responded. I thought I was non-binary until about two weeks ago. Turns out I’m just a really queer guy!) from non-binary people that move through the world as cis men who for some reason think they’re entitled to my body. Incidentally, on the rare occasion I’ve received similar messages from trans women and transsexual nonbinaries, all of them have been completely respectful.
Asks to see my album without sharing his first. This can be done in two ways. Only one is acceptable:
Hot (rare): a sexy, dominant, usually gay cis man opens with, Show me your album. Daddy!
Repulsive (common): a usually bi or queer cis man6 opens with, Hey, you’re super cute :) I would love to see more of you, if you’re comfy with that.
If I could reach through the phone and slit the ballsack of this second use case, I would in a heartbeat. The entitlement, the uwu/therapy/HR language & syntax, the implication that merely by showing interest in my naked body this numbnuts is doing me a favor—I feel violent just thinking about it. This is profoundly straight behavior without even a soupçon of what makes masculinity attractive. No “no true Scotsman,” but a real man gives compliments, promises you the world, and gets his meat out without prompting. Retvrn!!!!!
Misc. There are just so many ways to get blocked.
Grown men who open with Hiiiii (fags exempt).
Men who say, Oh, I guess you’re not into me then?! when you don’t immediately respond to their 12 expiring photos of them in bars, dick out on the john, at a photo op with Andre 3000, at the NYC Stock Exchange, naked with their ex-girlfriend, etc.
And my personal favorite: I bet you get hit up by so many losers on here, haha. Hi, I’m Chris. I’m married and looking for a long-term FWB. No, I’m not gen7.
Just not my type. Hookup apps give me the power to say no to men without worrying what they’ll do about it. Like a man, I can assess potential partners according to my appetites and whims, unconcerned with weighing their feelings against mine. There’s no reason to be unkind on Grindr (or anywhere) and I do my best to be polite, when warranted. But as gay male culture has taught me, it’s not unkind to say no, deny sex, or express disinterest. Blocking is a part of that, and I think that’s beautiful ;)
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Although I’ve noticed that straight men really struggle with this concept.
IMO, all cis people chase and “chaser” is a matter of degree.
This has been happening to me for my entire adult life and I find it flattering, but it hurts my feelings to vibe with someone and exchange albums (on Grindr, the selection of private photos that are usually nudes), only to have them express dismay or disappear when they realize I have a pussy.
Turning a trick is empowering. Get fucked.
Not all transmasculine or trans male people would use a word like misogyny to describe the experiences of gender-based discrimination they encounter.
Like gay men, trade and discreet (that is, straight) men aren’t as prone to this behavior.
On Grindr, gen (short for generous) means willing to pay.
Whew, this was a cathartic read! I thought that getting skeeved out by so many of the cis enbies while gladly hooking up with cis men meant I was insane
It’s so hard to explain what being ftm on Grindr is like to someone who has never experienced it. The number of men who think that because I have a front hole that I’m just there to be *a* hole is wild. The funny thing is that being a hole is very much part of my kink but there’s a way to approach that and a million ways not to and the Grindr men really only seem to know the latter lol.