Bot Land
How FEELD rescued me from Bumble.
July 15, 2026
Four and a half years ago I deleted the dating apps.
Last week, right before my fifty-sixth birthday, I downloaded them again.
Much has changed.
Apparently tall, dark, handsome men in their 30s are looking for marriage or a long-term relationship.
Get the fuck out of here.
Busy busy with work and surgeries ;)
Having coffee break.
Oh really?
You’re on a coffee break messaging a woman on Bumble in between surgeries AND you have a six-pack?
Sure.
Can’t video chat?
Want to move over to WhatsApp?
Crypto (any mention of the word)
(heart eyed emoji) Looking good.
I’ve gotten six of these -(heart eyed emoji) Looking good -in four days. Exact same words. Same emojis. Same placement of the emoji.
Bot.
Bot.
Bot.
Delete.
Bumble beware. Who you have here is a beautifully seasoned woman who will delete the fuck out of you.
The last time I was on Bumble it was men with exotic animals, shirtless handstands on the beach, tongue-sticking-out selfies.
Now it’s men with angular jaws, collared shirts and AI bios looking to get married.
For a week I fretted.
The apps are over.
Now how am I going to get laid?
Real life sucks.
The apps suck.
Am I forever doomed?
“It just means we need to be more on the lookout in real life,” Rilke said.
It’s been real life for the past four and a half years.
The whole time, somewhere in the back of my mind, there was always the thought:
There’s always the apps.
Except now the apps felt depressing as fuck. And the weird thing is, I wasn’t even horny.
Not really. I wanted something real. Not another Summer of Men.
Until now.
Desire has this funny way of returning. Just like it did that glorious summer.
Men took a back seat. My dad died. My memoir, STRIP, was published. For a while, I stopped searching for anything I wasn’t sure I still wanted.
And now, one week before another birthday, I was back.
Apps loaded.
Ready to swipe.
Ready to see what was out there.
Which brings me to now.
BOT LAND.
For a week I swiped through bot land.
Then, just like that, I had a brilliant idea.
FEELD.
A dating app I had never explored before.
My God.
God is good.
I created a profile.
Five recent photographs.
A simple bio:
Looking for a summer lover.
(Quick video chat first just to see if we’re real and get a vibe.)
The next day:
Forty-nine pings.
Forty-nine men had taken it upon themselves to apply for the position.
Some younger.
Some older.
Bi. Pansexual. Demisexual. Heteroflexible. Straight.
And just like that, at fifty-five I found myself in a position I had never really been in before.
A woman of power.
A woman who was choosing.
Not my younger self.
Not the woman who needed to be chosen.
The chooser.
***
Saturday, July 18 3ish
I’m nervous.
Maybe coffee first next time is a good idea.
Ummm. Yes, it is. But after four and a half years, I’m not in the mood for a cup of coffee.
I’m writing this in real time as I lay on the couch ready to go. I have a simple $5 blue dress on.
Nothing underneath. My shtick. The no-undies.
Really, it’s just because I hate shopping and I’m not going to shop for a guy.
I’m sure he’ll be fine lifting up my dress to discover I’m in the nude.
He’s on his way.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
Except that I’m doing it.
See you next week.
Maybe sooner ; ))
If you’re new to Summer of Men…
The story begins here →
The first encounter →
I enjoyed this, had a bit of a laugh. Times are changing!
🕺❤️