Well, Tinder was already trendy by the time I joined. Everybody was talking about it. Some found love and others considered it to be the paradise of hook-ups. I didn't care; I just wanted to have fun and date differently, so I decided to lose my Tinder virginity.

First of all, if you have an old Nokia from 1998, you're not allowed to join. It is an application for people smart enough to have a smartphone, which geo-localises potential dates near you. You're stalking your neighbourhood for new dates. As you match with them, you can communicate romantically or make indecent proposals to them. Your choice!

Unlike other dating websites where you can list what you're looking for, Tinder does not have this option. Instead, the app is ambiguous by nature; you’ve been warned!

I have to confess that I had reservations at the beginning. The app being linked to Facebook, I worried about the confidentiality of my information and the access and visibility of all of my photos. When I learnt that none of the information from my Facebook account would be disclosed without my consent, I relaxed and officially declared myself as a Tinderella.

The App downloaded, I set up my short profile. Let me quickly tell you the concept: to be able to talk to a potential date you like, there must be a mutual physical attraction. You must both swipe right, which means that you like each other. You’d swipe left if you didn’t like what you saw.

I started flicking over the profiles, just to explore. And I realised that there were diverse and varied men on offer: 10% were seeking for friends (that was what they said); 30% were searching for an authentic relationship (again, that was just what they said); 30% were searching for hook-ups (the only honest ones); and 30% did not fill in their profiles. I think those were the ones who would be happy to jump on everything: women, men, dogs or chickens.

So I potentially had a 30% chance of telling my children that I met their father on Tinder, a hook-up app. We got matched because he was hot: 21st-century digital romance!

I became rapidly addicted to the swiping; I was going very fast and had a hard time stopping. "I like you, swipe right!” “Ah no, you to the left!” “Oh you, you... ah yeahhhh, you're super-hot, you! Come on, straight to the right!”

Within minutes my phone was buzzing with messages from men wanting to chat with me right now. Wow, endless matches! The message "It’s a match! You and Thingummy-Bob like each other!" was continuously displayed. At that time, my ego was super-boosted, Wow! I had no need to envy Kim Kardashian! I was so hot that everybody wanted me! Hiya, I have a busy agenda! So shallow, so simple, so addictive.

Well, Tinder was also a horror museum in itself, showing the deepest and most primitive side of the human being. All kinds of pictures were displayed, and with my past online experience, I could tell what these men were all about.

Half naked decapitated pictures of guys meant: their faces were not worth showing.

Guys at porn museums with big dicks next to them meant: in search of their sexuality.

Guys naked in bathtubs meant: hygiene left little to be desired – a bath is so exceptional it needed photographing.

A picture with many hot girls meant: they are so stupid that none of their own single friends wants to date them.

Guys with children meant: they don't want any more children or they consider themselves marriage material if they are not their own.

Guys showing off Ferraris and Porsches meant: big cars, small dicks. Your choice, ladies!

Guys who use the word "Fuck" more than three times on their profile meant: chavs who dressed like Dr Dre in the 90s.

Guys with blurry pictures meant: a desperate tentative attempt to hide their ugliness.

Guys covered from head to toe in tattoos and piercings meant: poorly paid job or unemployed with depression.

Guys with black and white photos meant: post-war pictures. They are more than one hundred and fifty year-old.

A single very hot picture profile meant: scam.

Penis pics meant: mega horny, hasn't had sex since high school or never had sex at all.

Scanned photos meant: they are 90-year-old perverts.

Selfies-only profiles meant: no friends, men in need of a life.

It was amusing! Now, I was a dating expert (big L.O.L).

To test the app, I decided to swipe right on everyone and this was when all hell broke loose. I was stopped on the 100th swipe – that was the limit per day. I received messages, messages, too many messages: 10 Chris’, 10 Mikes, 20 Pauls, 20 Toms, all confusing. Wow, my brain was on fire and my fingers were sore. How did you maintain 50 simultaneous conversations with total strangers who were all asking questions like, “So, what you up to tonight?”

Easy: you copy and paste the reply, and you only pay attention and greater care to original greetings like Eddie’s.

Eddie

Obviously, on Tinder, there is no pre-date. Eddie approached me saying, "You are too pretty to be on Tinder. But what’s going on beneath the facade? I'd like to get to know you better. Available for a drink next week?" It was an average line, but the best of a bad bunch so far. So we arranged a date following Thursday.

I was about to meet Eddie of Scandinavia; a blond, good-looking green-eyed Viking.

Well, on my way to my first Tinder date, I wondered what to expect. The whole Tinder system was a new concept in itself. I did not even have Eddie's phone number. We communicated via Tinder. That was a good way to save contact space on the phone and avoid having 50 Michaels listed. It felt like I was going on a blind date though. Zero information, but physical traits in mind. I had a lot to say to him, but at the same time, I had nothing to say to him. It was a strange sensation. I abandoned my train of thought just to realise how late it was. It was already 19:45 and I was still in Leicester Square station. Not good! Why did I take the tube? Oh yes, rush hour and I would have been mega-late by cab. I was supposed to be at Chalk Farm in 15 minutes! Was it feasible? I had seven stations to go. At the same time, I had the right to be delayed on this occasion; I was going 10 miles away from my home (Tinder told me!), and he had just to walk a few meters from his office to reach our place of rendezvous.

I didn’t consider this rendezvous as a formal date but more like an experiment. I couldn’t wait to understand the Tinderboy. Who were these men behind Tinder? And what did they want? What did they expect? How did they manage the whole Tinder experience?

Fuck, I couldn’t believe it; I was going to be 15 minutes late. Grrr… I hoped Eddie would wait for me. Potentially, he could be upset, leave, and block me on Tinder. It would be so easy to do.

Four stops, 19:52! I wondered if he had a lot of dates and if it was easy for men to get a date.

Mornington Crescent, 19:55, another two stops, I was hoping I wouldn’t exceed 15 minutes late.

Well, I think the tube driver had a nap as we stayed a couple of minutes at Camden Town station. 15 minutes late... Grrrrrr! Oh no! 17 minutes! Chalk Farm had lifts to reach the exit.

I arrived at Chalk Farm, and for some reason my mobile wouldn’t connect to Tinder. WTF?! I was then stressed out because I couldn’t see him. Eddie of Scandinavia might have already left. I did not know what to do – I persisted in connecting, but O2 decided to annoy me! My stress lasted 10 minutes until a good-looking man approached me and I recognised Eddie straight away. Phew! Super reassuring! I was delighted to meet my date. Very cute, even if his smile was marred by an imperfect dentition. He was very well dressed until I noticed his shoes. They looked like pharmaceutical shoes.

So, after two glasses of wine I was already knocked out. I was all smiling and talking. On the other end, Eddie was quite boring, but the alcohol helped to make his mind-numbing life interesting. I could tell that his Tinder experience was the highlight of his life.

I learned that Eddie was a Danish architect; he made it sound terribly dull. With his monotonous tone, he described how he had arrived in London out of love and how he broke up with his partner after a couple of months in the big smoke.

After our third drinks, Eddie and I had a walk towards Primrose Hill, where I’d never been. We walked up the hill and I discovered a fantastic view over London. It was incredible and so romantic. A shame I was with Eddie.

All in all, I can say that I had a pleasant evening. Eddie was a good man. At the end of our encounter, we kissed awkwardly on the cheek and I left to grab a cab.

Upon my return to the apartment, I discovered a Tinder message from Eddie; he told me that he had enjoyed an incredible evening. He couldn't wait to receive all the pictures of the launch of my perfume. I replied with a quick, "Yes, cool. Will update you." Then he answered immediately, "I will keep in touch." What? No! It's Moi who should have written this! It’s Moi who’s not interested. Eddie was handsome but not sexy, talkative but boring, cultured but not smart. What ambivalence!

Well, I never heard back from Eddie of Denmark and I didn’t care. Tinder was cool; good for the ego. There were so many fishes. So many handsome studs. Endless possibilities. And when the matches arrived, you were delighted, and you forgot that there are probably other guys who ignored you. Then you chat, you set "dates", and the adventure becomes real. I had so many adventures yet to come. Next!