Something called VentureBeat, described the Tinder vs. Vanity Fair war of words (okay in the ether if not on paper) as the "best dumbest fight on the internet."
I am not an Ignoramus nor am I a Lothario and know about Tinder as opposed to knowing it only from reading and conversations with younger people, who still need to stop leaning on my Ford Fairlane and get the hell off of my grass, whippersnappers.
For those who use it, Tinder is a little like Fight Club, at least in terms of talking about it afterward. Not so if you publish Vanity Fair. All I really got out of the article is men are pigs and women conquests as a result of using the dating app are called Tinderellas. Saved you eight minutes; you're welcome.
When no less an august news agency than National Public Radio devotes air space and time to what came to be called a meltdown and other nearly semi-apocalyptic terms, it makes me glad to be a fossil and not one of the Kids in America getting crushed by colossal expectations.
Between Sal Paradise and John Berryman, it's a wonder Nancy Jo Sales can get a word in edgewise and I've concluded I can't handle modern love at all.