Looking at Disability in Context
During the 1990s, many reformations around disability were being accounted through public spaces, homes, and even those who identified as disabled. While much of the emphasis towards recognition of one’s own identity has taken place, the ability to express one’s self through digital spaces is one that needs to be further critiqued. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) could only do so much as to protect individuals against discrimination and grant them equal access, but the effects of this law can greatly impact how disabled folks use certain spaces. The ability to critique and further discuss disability throughout digital spaces is one that needs to be addressed. While much of app design adheres to guidelines associated with ADA compliance, the potential in exploring interactions disabled people experience is also critical to analyzing how desire itself is cultivated.
Out of the individuals we interviewed, one of our interlocutors (whose name will be referred to as Bee) is a disabled transgender man, and told us his experiences of interacting with Tinder in hopes of finding a potential partner. Tinder’s user interface (UI) relies heavily on swipe mechanics and cards usually representing other users. While finding a potential partner through efforts of swipe navigation, we found certain problems associated with this mechanic. Aside from having autism, we further learned that Bee has cerebral palsy which severely limits his mobility on his right side of his body. In terms of finding a partner, Bee stressed to us how he cannot hold his phone in both hands, and as a result, has to use other conventions towards looking at profiles. Expressing his frustration, Bee admits that Tinder “[h]asn’t changed much… and other apps like Tamey change all the time! It’s frustrating and it’s not inclusive of people with disabilities” (Fieldnotes, May 2020). This frustration in inclusivity shows an existing narrative of struggles paramount to disability experiences within these certain spaces. But rather than digressing forward with the problems Tinder expresses, Bee uses these forms of frustrations and experiences of being Disabled to make himself known and present in the dating realm. The extra effort in presenting himself as a disabled trangender man through physically writing “disabled FTM (Female to Male)” poses a very powerful, and at times transformative process, to make himself known. Bee accounts his physical struggles in utilizing the Tinder app, but more reformatively, he uses this frustration to channel a sense of empowerment of representing his own identity as a disabled man.
Bee stressed that because he’s a disabled individual, he has complete control over his appearance. Using dating apps gives him the full power in choosing how he wants to customize his profile. “Being disabled, people always look at me and judge me for how I look right off the bat, and it’s not like I’m trying to hide it… but so many people are caught up on appearance and they’re afraid to touch me” (Fieldnotes, May 2020). Acknowledging this, there’s a sense of transparency Bee wants to give to other users: he wants to give people his true perception of who he is. The ability in truly expressing oneself through these digital spaces is paramount for any experience, but this form of expression is very transformative of how we perceive identity and the self. In her article ““I Like That It’s My Choice a Couple Different Times”: Gender, Affordances, and User Experience on Bumble Dating””, Urszula Pruchniewska investigates how Users (specifically cis-gendered women) navigate Bumble and what strategies they use to engage with their experiences. She writes “[c]ultural norms and scripts around masculinity and femininity guide the performance of gender identity on dating sites, and research shows that dating apps such as Tinder are rife with misogynistic discours” (Hess & Flores & Pruchniewska, 2424). Bee’s ability to outwardly express himself through these apps comes in a setting where he performs in a dominantly heteronormative space. Aside from looking for a potential partner, his identity and positionality as a disabled transgender man must be also recoginized. Cultivating desire is never truly a heteronormative practice, but one that’s representative of all individuals within these spaces. Like how Bee expressed his identity as a form of empowerment, he’s also making his presence known in a heteronormative, ableist digital space. The efforts of changing the way desire is cultivated through showcasing his identity as a disabled man adheres to the reality that desire can be sought out and granted to anyone regardless of ability and inability.
Sexuality In Context
It can be argued since the beginning of human history that the idea of homosexuality has been considered unnatural with the majority of humans having heterosexuality. While in the past decade, the idea of being able to be sexually attracted to anything has become more accepted, heterosexuality still remains the norm. Tinder and Bumble both provide a very differing experience depending on whether someone is heterosexual or homosexual. Our interviewer B, a disabled homosexual male, said that on Tinder he is forced to identify himself more clearly and “use certain masculine traits and appearances,” and is in general unable to truly express himself. Interviewee 1 felt that because Tinder does not allow users to give gender preferences or more control over who is shown (trans or non-conforming people), it is incredible difficult for someone like him to find someone on the app. Having a hard time finding those with homosexuality is not an uncommon thing in Tinder. A study on queer women shows that Tinder’s algorithm does not cater enough to those with homosexual preferences and thus is unable to give users more homosexual profiles (Duguay). Interviewee 2 is a gay non-binary male and frequently saw that people like to express their sexuality in their bios on Tinder as a work around not being able to express their sexuality completely using Tinder’s settings. Interviewee 2 did not feel as limited in expressing themselves. They felt that the ability to put many things in their bio was enough to negate not being able to fully express their sexuality. However, both interviewees agreed that many any people find that Tinder and Bumble’s UI, while not cater specifically towards them, provide a better focus on finding last relationships and expressing themselves in comparison to Grindr, which is solely focused on hook ups for gay men or Tamey, which is a paid dating app for LGBTQ+ people. These concerns and problems that both interviewees faced are absent from our third interviewee Julie. As a straight, female, Julie’s focus was just finding friends and love. She did not need to concern herself with being unable to find someone with the same sexuality. Tinder and Bumble’s algorithms both ensured that she would only see other males that have an interest in females. Outside of sexuality, Tinder and Bumble’s UI design also affects the user experiences of males, females, and other genders differently.
Gender Identity in Context
In theory both men, women, and other genders have the same UI and features for dating apps like Tinder and Bumble and thus the same experiences. However, the reality is that each gender’s experiences are vastly different from each other. Most dating apps assign “ratings,” a secret measurement that allows the dating algorithm to match you better,” something that should be only helpful. Yet, the truth is that these “ratings” can actually harm a person’s chances of finding someone by showing their profile less often than others (Tiffany). Low “ratings” seem to be a common problem that many men have, and they will often make calculated decisions to “swipe left or right” in order to maintain or boost their rating (Tiffany). According to online forums such as Reddit, Women on the other hand match often but find that most of these matches do not match their appearance standards or are not inclined to message them at all. Interviewee 3’s experience on Tinder also reflects this as she never mentions having any issues with matching or being forced to match with anyone to increase her rating. As a person who identifies as a female her only worry on Tinder was making her appearance look decent enough to post on her profile. Lastly, those who do not identify as male or female have the hardest time on Tinder or Bumble. Interviewee 2 had an extremely difficult time finding any matches and did not have any way to identify themselves more clearly for the algorithm. Overall the experience was not a pleasant experience for Interviewee 2. It is clear from these viewpoints that gender greatly affects a person’s experience on dating apps such as Tinder or Bumble.