Tinder vs Reality
Thor
on Tinder
He is one thousand five hundred years old. He is a god. He is new to Midgard and is experiencing human dating customs for the first time. He does not understand doors, tipping, or indoor voices. He brought the thunder. He means this literally.
The Profile
I Bring the Thunder
Bio: "Thor, 1,500. God. New to Midgard. Looking for: mortal companionship. Interests: combat, Pop-Tarts, justice. I will treat you like the royalty you are. Because I am royalty. So I know how."
The Photos
Shirtless (Obviously)
He is standing on what appears to be the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm. He is shirtless. Of course he is shirtless. He looks like someone took Michelangelo's David, gave it a gym membership and a lightning addiction, and then put it outside during a hurricane. Every muscle has a muscle. His abs have subdivisions. The storm behind him appears to be one he personally summoned for the photo, which is both the most narcissistic and the most impressive thing anyone has ever done for a dating profile picture. The lighting — literal lightning — is immaculate. His caption: "Just a casual day." Nothing about this man is casual.
Holding Mjolnir
A selfie in what appears to be a bathroom made entirely of gold. He is holding a massive hammer in one hand and the phone in the other. The hammer appears to weigh approximately forty pounds but he's holding it like it's a coffee cup. His expression is the confidence of a man who knows, with absolute certainty, that he is the most attractive person in any room he enters — including rooms full of gods. His caption: "Worthy." He is not being humble. He is stating a fact. The hammer agrees.
Bifrost Selfie
He is standing on what can only be described as a rainbow bridge in space. The colors are so vivid it looks like the photo was taken inside a kaleidoscope. He is posing with one foot on a golden railing, cape flowing behind him despite the absence of wind (or rather, the wind exists specifically for his cape). Behind him, the entire cosmos is visible. Stars, nebulae, galaxies. He is photobombing the universe. His caption: "The commute." This man travels to work via rainbow.
Group Photo with the Team
He is standing with a group of people in matching uniforms. One is green and enormous. One is in a full metal suit. One has a bow and arrow, which Thor finds charmingly quaint. He is the tallest person in the photo despite standing next to a literal Hulk, because his hair adds another three inches. He has tagged this "Team building with the Avengers." He is the only one smiling. The man with the bow and arrow looks like he's questioning his life choices.
Eating a Pop-Tart
A candid photo of Thor discovering Pop-Tarts for the first time. His expression is one of genuine, transcendent wonder — the face of a being who has eaten feasts in golden halls for fifteen centuries and has just realized that mortals figured out how to put frosting on pastry and sell it for three dollars. He is holding the Pop-Tart like it is the Holy Grail. Like it is Mjolnir. Like it is the most important object he has ever encountered. His eyes are actual hearts. This photo has more raw emotion than most wedding photos.
Petting a Goat
He is sitting on the ground with two enormous goats who appear to be the size of small horses. He is scratching one behind the ears. The goat's expression suggests it would die for him. The other goat is chewing on his cape. He does not seem to mind. His caption: "Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. My ride." These are his transportation goats. He has transportation goats. Every other man on this app has a photo with a fish they caught. Thor has goats that pull a chariot through the sky.
Hinge Prompts
I'm looking for...
Mortal companionship! I have recently been told by my friends that I need to "get out there" and "meet someone who isn't a warrior or a god." I am new to Midgard and to your courting rituals. I have been told that "bringing a severed Bilgesnipe head as a gift" is not appropriate for a first date. I am learning.
My most controversial opinion...
Coffee is better than mead. I said it. I will accept the consequences. My father would banish me again if he heard this. But the mortals have perfected the art of hot bean water and I will not pretend otherwise. An oat milk latte is the greatest achievement of Midgardian civilization and I will fight anyone who disagrees.
The way to win me over is...
Courage. Not the "slaying a dragon" kind, although that also works. The kind where you say what you mean and you mean what you say. I have met too many beings — mortal and immortal — who speak in riddles and politics. I prefer directness. Tell me you like me. Tell me you don't. But tell me the truth. Also, if you can cook, I will propose immediately. I have eaten feast-hall food for 1,500 years and I am VERY ready for a home-cooked meal.
Dealbreakers
- ✕You are Loki in disguise (this has happened four times)
- ✕You cannot handle thunder (I snore and the windows rattle. Literally)
- ✕You think hammers are "overcompensating" (Mjolnir is a perfectly normal-sized hammer)
- ✕You are lactose intolerant (I eat an entire wheel of cheese per day and the fridge will reflect this)
- ✕You refer to me as a "himbo" (I have a degree in Asgardian astrophysics. I just don't mention it much)
- ✕You expect indoor voices (I do not have one)
What the Date Is Actually Like
The Reality
He pulled when it said push. He ate steak with his hands. He tipped $16,100 in gold coins. He summoned lightning to hail a cab. She's going on date two.
The Arrival (The Door Incident)
He arrives at the restaurant with the energy of someone entering a battlefield. He walks up to the front door. It says PULL. He pushes. The door does not move. He pushes harder. The door frame creaks. A hostess rushes over and gently suggests he pull. He pulls. The door nearly comes off its hinges. "A worthy entrance!" he announces to the entire restaurant. Every person in the establishment is now looking at him. He is six foot four, has arms the size of most people's torsos, and is wearing what appears to be a leather jacket over a chain mail undershirt. He has made no effort to dress down. He could not dress down if he tried. This man radiates "I AM A GOD" in the same way the sun radiates heat — constantly, unavoidably, and with the potential to burn you if you get too close.
The Greeting
He spots his date. His face breaks into a grin so genuine and so LARGE that it fundamentally changes the energy of the room. Every person in a thirty-foot radius feels slightly happier and doesn't know why. He strides toward her table, takes her hand, and instead of shaking it, brings it to his lips and kisses it like he is greeting a noblewoman at a medieval court. "Fair maiden," he says, completely unironically. "I am Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder, protector of the Nine Realms. You are even more radiant than your tiny portrait suggested." By "tiny portrait" he means her Tinder photo. She says, "I'm Jessica." He nods solemnly, as though this is the name of a legendary warrior. "Jessica," he repeats, like he's committing it to the annals of history. "A fine name. Strong. Noble." Her name is Jessica from accounting. She has never felt more noble in her life.
The Mead Situation
The waiter arrives. Thor studies the drink menu with the intensity of a scholar examining an ancient text. After considerable deliberation, he looks up and says: "Your finest mead." The waiter blinks. "We... don't have mead, sir." Thor processes this information the way a computer processes a divide-by-zero error — complete system failure followed by a hard reboot. "No mead?" His voice carries genuine concern, as though the waiter has just told him the restaurant is on fire. "We have craft beer?" the waiter offers. They bring him an IPA. He takes a sip. He holds the glass at arm's length and examines it like a scientist studying a new species. "This is..." He takes another sip. "...acceptable. It is no mead. But it has spirit." He drains the entire pint in one swallow. Then he SMASHES THE GLASS ON THE FLOOR and bellows: "ANOTHER!" The restaurant goes silent. A child starts crying. Jessica covers her face. The waiter, to his eternal credit, simply brings another beer. Thor pays for the broken glass immediately, pulling out a gold coin the size of a coaster. The waiter does not know what to do with this. Neither does the restaurant's accounting system.
The Eating Situation
The food arrives. Thor has ordered a steak. A very large steak. The largest steak on the menu, plus a side of the second-largest steak. He picks up the first steak with his bare hands and takes a bite like a man who has been eating with utensils never. Because he hasn't. He has eaten with his hands at golden feast tables for fifteen centuries and sees no reason to stop now. Jessica watches, horrified and mesmerized, as he tears through the steak with the efficiency of a wood chipper. Grease runs down his forearms. He does not care. He is in a state of pure, joyful consumption. "Midgardian cattle!" he exclaims between bites, as though making an announcement. "Far superior to the beasts of Vanaheim!" He offers her a piece of his steak. From his hand. She takes it. She doesn't know why she takes it. Something about the way he offers food is so genuine, so ceremonial, that refusing would feel like an insult to an ancient tradition. It's actually really good steak.
The Stories
Thor is, it turns out, an incredible storyteller. The problem is that every single story involves killing something. "And then I seized the frost giant by its THROAT—" he begins, standing up from his chair for emphasis, accidentally knocking over the bread basket. He does not notice the bread basket. He is fully committed to the narrative. His arms are spread wide. He is reenacting a battle that happened three hundred years ago with the passion of someone describing something that happened this morning. "—and I HURLED it into the chasm, where it fell for SEVEN DAYS—" The table next to them has stopped eating to listen. A small crowd is gathering. A child who was previously crying is now riveted. "—and when it finally struck the bottom, the sound was HEARD ACROSS THE NINE REALMS!" He slams his fist on the table. The table cracks. Not in half, but there is now a visible fissure. He does not notice. "And that," he says, sitting back down as though he hasn't just destroyed furniture, "is why you never challenge a bilgesnipe during mating season." The restaurant erupts in applause. Jessica realizes she has been holding her breath for two minutes.
The Charm Offensive
Despite the broken glass, the hand-eating, the cracked table, and the stories about killing large creatures, Thor is impossibly, infuriatingly, undeniably charming. Part of it is that he listens — really listens — when Jessica talks. When she mentions her job in accounting, he leans forward and says, "You manage the realm's treasury?" with such reverence that she momentarily considers putting "Realm Treasurer" on her LinkedIn. When she tells a joke, he laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, and given that he's 1,500 years old, that's either genuine or very good acting. He compliments her with the earnestness of someone who has never heard of negging: "Your eyes are like the stars above Alfheim — I have visited Alfheim. The stars there are very beautiful. Your eyes are better." No one has ever compared her eyes to anything, let alone celestial bodies above a realm she's never heard of. She believes him. His sincerity is like a weapon — impossible to defend against.
The Bill and the Tip
The check arrives. Thor insists on paying. "On Asgard, the warrior who initiates the feast bears its cost. I initiated this feast. It is my honor." She doesn't argue, partly because she wants to see what happens next. He reaches into his jacket and produces a velvet pouch. He pours it out on the table. Gold coins tumble out — real gold, stamped with symbols she doesn't recognize, each one worth roughly $2,300 in precious metal value. He counts out seven coins. "Is this sufficient?" he asks the waiter. The bill was $87. Thor has just placed approximately $16,100 in gold on the table. The waiter looks at the gold. He looks at Thor. He looks at Jessica. He looks at the gold again. "I'll... need to talk to my manager," he says. Thor nods. "The tip," he adds, pushing an eighth coin toward the waiter, "is for your valor in bringing the second ale without hesitation. You have the heart of a warrior." The waiter will tell this story for the rest of his life.
The Goodbye (The Lightning Cab)
They stand outside the restaurant. It is a beautiful evening. Thor takes a deep breath and smiles at the sky with the familiarity of someone greeting an old friend. "I have enjoyed this, Jessica of Midgard," he says. "You are worthy." She is about to ask what she is worthy of when he raises one hand. The sky rumbles. Not metaphorically — the actual sky is making sounds. Clouds begin to swirl overhead. Lightning arcs across the darkness in patterns that seem almost deliberate, almost like they're forming a shape. A cab pulls around the corner, drawn not by any decision of the driver but by what appears to be a bolt of lightning that struck the street in front of the restaurant, causing the cab driver to swerve directly to their location. Thor opens the door for her. "Your chariot, fair maiden." She gets in, too stunned to speak. He leans into the window. "I shall summon you again, Jessica. Through the device of tiny messages." He means texting. He will text her later that night. The text will read: "JESSICA. THE FEAST WAS GLORIOUS. I HAVE COMPOSED A BALLAD IN YOUR HONOR. IT HAS SEVEN VERSES. I WILL PERFORM IT AT OUR NEXT MEETING." It is in all capitals because he does not know how to turn off caps lock. She will attend the next meeting. She will hear all seven verses. She will bring a friend. The friend will also fall in love with Thor. Thor will not notice. He will be too busy composing an eighth verse.
I have fought frost giants. I have battled the Destroyer. I have faced Thanos himself. But nothing — NOTHING — prepared me for the terror of choosing the right emoji in a text message. The small yellow faces mock me.
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