Forced Empowerment and the Paradox of Mobile Dating Apps

Empowerment

The concept of empowerment is described in various ways across literature and traditionally refers to female empowerment or empowerment of marginalized groups. At the heart of its conceptualization are power relations, threat, and fear of losing power to someone who may gain power (Kabeer, 1999, 2005). It is about capacity and choice and to be able to act freely upon those maxims that have the potential to bring about change for the individual and the society alike. In her groundbreaking work on women’s empowerment in international development contexts, Naila Kabeer (1999, 2005) emphasizes that it is not sufficient to provide marginalized people with choice, defined as power over the possibilities for action. Choice has to be overtly visible and recognized. Kabeer (1999) argues that “[g]ender often operates through the unquestioned acceptance of power” (p. 14). Unquestioned power structures are the most powerful and resistant and contribute to the preservation of the status quo, that is, those in power, stay in power, while others remain disempowered. Visibility and recognition of choice and action is crucial factor in achieving empowerment. The visibility of choice and power can be made explicit through technological design. However, not every choice is equally consequential. The most important are strategic choices such as where to live, whether or with whom to have a romantic relationship, and whether to have children or not. These are what Kabeer refers to as first-order choices and are highly consequential for women’s empowerment. These set the frames for less consequential choices (second-order choice) that may affect the quality of life but have subordinate power. In the context of her research, first-order choices about whether or whom to marry are not always available to women. In the context of mobile dating apps used in Europe and the United States, however, the first-order choice for women is largely taken for granted. Gender empowerment through the technological design of the apps themselves is thus likely only to affect second-order choice.

Sarah Banet-Weiser (2018) also argues for the limitations of women’s empowerment within a contemporary digitally networked culture. Within the context of media and communication studies, she centers popular feminism and popular misogyny around empowerment movements that became popular digital movements. Popular feminism and popular misogyny represent two parties battling for power and capacity on the cultural landscape. Visibility again is a crucial factor for popular feminism, which explicitly celebrates a kind of commodity feminism within an individualized, neoliberal understanding of subjectivity. Banet-Weiser (2018) critically acknowledges that within an economy of visibility, women’s empowerment is often understood as self-empowerment, as an easy individual choice to “be,” to act confident and empowered: “They just need to believe it and then they will become it” (Banet-Weiser, 2018, p. 30). Such assumptions disregard that the structures which led to disempowerment have long been socially and structurally shaped. On the other hand, popular misogyny, as Banet-Weiser argues, “is expressed more as a norm, invisible, commonplace” (p. 32). Part of the power of popular misogyny is that is it often dismissed as boys being boys.

Heteronormative Mobile Dating

Long before mobile dating apps emerged and revolutionized dating in speed, reach, and availability of potential partners, highly gendered scripts have shaped the dating behavior of heterosexuals around the globe, although details in these scripts, norms, and stereotypes may exist and individuals surely experience different nuances of dating in their personal context. The most important gender script seems to be that men are supposed to take the lead and initiate contact. Research suggests that such heterosexist norms not only exist on mobile dating apps but maybe strengthened (e.g., Chan, 2018). For instance, women and men show stereotypical partner preferences (Abramova et al., 2016) and create profiles that adhere to heterosexist gender norms (Humphreys, 2006; Toma & Hancock, 2010).

Sexual entitlement refers to the heterosexist male norm in which men are expected to be in control and get what they want, whereas women should be submissive and passive (Christensen, 2021; Shaw, 2016). “Guy talk” is a vital part of the male gender script to talk about sex in a crude way, make fun of sex and women’s bodies, to engage in sexting, to objectify women, and to hook up to determine their masculinity and their value (Amundsen, 2021; Montemurro et al., 2015; Roberts et al., 2020; Thurnell-Read, 2012). Therefore, according to these norms, men are those in sexual power while women are expected to welcome their sexual objectivity.

Despite traditional gender norms, mobile dating app use may have the power to change some expectations and pave the ground for a kind of female empowerment. Hobbs et al. (2017), who interviewed several Tinder users, reported that some female interviewees consciously act against their heterosexist gender norms, for instance, by asking proactively for casual sex, which can be understood as an act of empowerment. Recently, Lee (2019) has argued that Tinder seems to have triggered a new socially desirable female role which coexists with the traditional female role. These cool women are characterized by heterosexuality, physical attractiveness, a modern spirit, independence, sexual freedom, and being “laidback” enough to get along with the guys. Importantly, these cool women do not threaten performances of masculinity and male hegemony but can actually reinforce it by “going along” and not challenging misogynistic behavior.

However, this new role obviously depicts a paradox in itself and a sexual double standard for heterosexual women and men (Christensen, 2021; Roberts et al., 2020) in which women are only granted a spurious choice to act freely according to their wishes. Christensen (2021) specifies that women who engage in mobile dating seeking for romance face the risk of being judged as “too thirsty” or if they engage in the hook-up culture being labeled as Tindersluts, which, by contrast, can be taken as a misogynistic reaction. In mobile dating, women can experience harassment, insult, and sexist discrimination (Lopes & Vogel, 2017; Pruchniewska, 2020; Shaw, 2016; Thompson, 2018). Nevertheless, instead of passively enduring misogyny by men, some women have sought coping strategies and choose to call out and blame the shame. Hess and Flores (2018) found that in response to misogynistic behavior women react in two ways: witty improvisation and silence. The latter often elicits further writings of men probably caused by a masculinity threat of rejection, while the witty improvisation broadly challenges toxic masculinity. In addition, Pruchniewska (2020) found that women developed strategies, such as reporting inappropriate behavior, blocking or unmatching their male matches, and minimizing personal disclosures to reduce harassing experiences and to stay safe. In line with Hess and Flores (2018), we assume that women’s choice of posting misogynist interactions to a broad audience begins to invert power structures by publicly sanctioning men for their maladaptive behavior and highlights the need for new normative gender scripts.

Technological Affordances of Mobile Dating Apps

Beyond individual and shared user strategies to mitigate gender-based harassment or enhance empowerment, the design of mobile dating apps can also influence behaviors. Technological affordances emerge from the interplay of technological design features and how users perceive and use them, so they can take different shapes for different users (Evans et al., 2017). In particular, affordances can be seen as invitations to use technology in certain ways and not others. For example, some research has suggested that the “swipe” design feature of some mobile dating apps can lead to a gamification of dating (Stampler, 2014). Of course, swiping does not have to become a game, but its fun user experience and ease of going through many profiles in a short period of time have become part of games that some men and women play with Tinder (Sobieraj & Humphreys, 2021). Different mobile dating apps offer slightly different design features, which differentiate them from one another such as swiping features, different user displays (e.g., stacks vs. grids), or different communication tools. Together with the user’s perception of the particular features, which in turn is formed by the user’s socialization and environment, affordances such as visibility, anonymity, and persistence are dynamically shaped. They can be assumed to moderate the relationship of technical design and the user’s behavior and therefore may result in different goals of use and outcomes (Evans et al., 2017). In this study, we examine the design features coupled with users’ experiences of them to explore how notions of especially empowerment and choice may result as an outcome on the different dating apps besides other outcomes such as rejection or harassment.

The story of Bumble suggests that female empowerment is built into the app. Bumble was founded by Whitney Wolfe Herd who is a former cofounder of Tinder, who left Tinder after filing a sexual harassment lawsuit against Tinder and a former cofounder (Hartmans, 2020). She started Bumble to create a “female focused” mobile dating app. “When members of the opposite sex match on Bumble, women are required to make the first move, shifting old-fashioned power dynamics and encouraging equality from the start” (Bumble, 2020). In line with Bumble’s ambition to empower women, previous research revealed that some women make a conscious choice to use Bumble because of its general reputation for female empowerment (Pruchniewska, 2020; Tanner & Tabo, 2018) but did not focus on the interplay of technological affordances and empowerment. In addition, mobile research suggests that empowerment through technology can inadvertently bring about forms of disempowerment as well (Donner, 2015).

In conclusion, the literature review suggests that despite strides toward female empowerment, broader technological, social, political, and economic forces have largely maintained heteronormative, White, cisgender power relations (Bivens & Hoque, 2018). While popular feminism has become more prevalent within public discourse and advertising, it is countered with an increasingly explicit popular misogyny (Banet-Weiser, 2018). These concerns are further evidenced in research on dating-specific apps (Hess & Flores, 2018; Lopes & Vogel, 2017; Pruchniewska, 2020). While focusing on the use of mobile dating apps, we take a technological affordance perspective in which we assume that technological affordances are mutually shaped by the design features of the apps and the user’s perception and interpretation alike so that the same app may serve different users in different ways (Evans et al., 2017; Hutchby, 2001). In this regard, we examine the user’s experience of empowerment and choice through different app use. We explicitly compare Bumble, a mobile dating app that claims to empower women, and compare it with Tinder, which research suggests can disempower women. Moreover, we want to examine whether the different technological design features and inherent affordances of Bumble and Tinder lead to varying perceptions of male and female users on these two apps.

Therefore, our research is guided by two primary questions:

Walkthrough Study

First, we used the app walkthrough method (see Light et al., 2018) to examine the current versions of the apps Bumble (02/20/19) and Tinder (02/22/19), specifically comparing the company’s vision, operating model, and governance. The core characteristic of the method is that the researcher walks through the app with a user lens seeking for elements that convey cultural meaning and shape users’ experiences during the processes of registration and entry, everyday use, app suspension, and closure and leaving.

The first author conducted the walkthroughs, using a techno feminism lens to ascertain gendered design choices at each stage. First, the female researcher installed Bumble and Tinder on her smartphone, registered, created an account, used the apps without swiping through profiles or interacting with other users, and left the apps. She registered at first as female and then as male to examine whether interfaces or options changed, which they did not. She recorded the screen and verbally commented on her experience. Afterward, she made screenshots of changed screens and notes about the experience with each app. Finally, she closed the accounts and deleted the apps to ensure that other users did not try to interact with her through the app. Conducting the walkthrough without experience in mobile dating is advantageous as prior experiences could not affect perceptions of design, ensuring high awareness in each step.

Focus Group Study

Before conducting our second study, we sought approval from the local ethical committee, which had no ethical concerns. To examine the perceptions and experiences of mobile dating app users, we recruited focus group participants specifically for experience with Bumble. The focus group script comprised 17 questions, which covered four topics: (1) descriptions of different mobile dating apps, (2) stereotypes/stigma toward mobile dating app users/usages, (3) gender norms, and (4) future of mobile dating apps.

We conducted two female focus groups and one male focus group. We decided to conduct gender-specific groups to enable participants to speak more freely about gendered behaviors and experiences (Morgan, 1998). Participants were recruited explicitly based on their use of the Bumble app. The focus groups took place on the campus of a northeastern U.S. university; the sessions lasted between 72 and 75 min and were conducted by the lead author and a research assistant who took notes during the sessions. Sessions were additionally recorded via camera and audio to enable verbatim transcription afterward. Participants gave consent for the recordings and their participation.

The sample consisted of 26 undergraduate students (17 women and 9 men), ranging in age from 18 to 22. The majority were of Caucasian descent (n = 16), four of East/South Asian descent, one of Pacific Islander, one Black American, one Black non-American, one Bi-Racial/Multi-Racial, and one Hispanic/Latino descent. Our sample represents a cisgender, heterosexual, highly educated group from the middle to the upper class. This is largely the demographic that is represented in Bumble’s marketing materials. Participants received extra course credit and pizza in exchange for their time and participation.

Interview Study

In addition to the focus groups, we conducted interviews to ascertain individual experiences with Bumble and Tinder. In total, we conducted 26 interviews (13 women; 13 men) with current or former Bumble users, ranging in age from 21 to 57 years (M = 31.69). Four were in Europe, two in South Africa, and 20 in the United States. While the majority indicated as White/Caucasian (n = 22), two people were from Latin-American descent, one from African American descent, and two bi-racial persons took part. Except for one interviewee who indicated her sexual identity as “questioning,” the remaining 25 were heterosexual, cisgender individuals. We assume our sample to a be highly heteronormatively socialized group coming from different, mostly individualistic countries that share values and perspectives on heteronormative relationships. Despite some participants being from different countries or having different racial identities, our sample size did not allow us to make categorical distinctions along with race or nation of origin. Moreover, there was little evidence in non-U.S. responses that their experiences on Bumble were distinct. Former research further indicated that mobile phone use and dating app use are very similar in the United States and Europe (Campbell, 2007; Humphreys et al., 2013; Sobieraj & Humphreys, 2021). Interviewees were approached through the University’s website and through advertising postings on social media. Moreover, three interviewees came from snowball sampling. Interviewees did not receive any incentives. Experience with Bumble ranged from 2 months up to 6 years. Interview duration ranged from 17 to 54 min (M = 25 min); they were predominantly conducted through phone except for two, which were done face-to-face.

Interviews were recorded and transcribed verbatim, then coded with MAXQDA 2020 (VERBI Software, 2019). We initially organized the data roughly around our categories in the interview protocol, which comprised questions about “typical” Bumble and Tinder users, the impact of technical design features on gender norms, the norms on Bumble, empowerment, best and worst experiences, and the future of mobile dating apps. In a next step, we developed inductive categories based on the interview material, such as around the ideas of action and pressure (e.g., “the woman reaches out and takes pressure off guys”; Mayring, 2010). We then consolidated using axial coding (Corbin & Strauss, 2014) to determine the relationships between emergent categories and themes.

Empowerment Through Design

Our findings suggest that the apps’ designs are similar in many ways, but differ in some key areas with regard to gendered empowerment and choice. In fact, the similarity between the apps’ design is the subject of a patent infringement lawsuit brought by Tinder against Bumble (O’Brien, 2018), especially accusing Bumble to have stolen their swiping features.

Initially, the walkthroughs of Bumble and Tinder revealed that their phases of registration and entry were largely similar to each other. Although Tinder and Bumble handle gender as a personal detail differently, both prefer a binary conceptualization, which serves heterosexual cisgender women and men equally well. On Tinder this was visualized by showing the options “women” and “men” centered on screen and under each other to complete the statement “I am,” with the “more” option at the bottom right, linking to a mostly blank screen with a search field to type in one’s own gender identity. Bumble offers the default answers “women” and “men” to the statement “I am a” (for a deeper elaboration on this see Bivens & Hoque, 2018).

One area of difference was that Bumble included optional profile questions, such as what the user wants from Bumble dates (e.g., marriage, long-term relationship and nothing serious), height, education, level of activity, and ideal plans for children (e.g., want some someday and don’t want). Interestingly, there is no “I don’t know option”; however, this category like every other category can be left unanswered. The kinds of questions on Bumble were similar to dating websites, whereas Tinder offered no further opportunity to share personal details in its profile design, besides a bio line that is sometimes called the hook-up line. Such additional profile information can affect experiences of anonymity and visibility on Bumble. Indeed, Pruchniewska (2020) suggested that Bumble users found that the option of providing additional information in Bumble helped them to safely navigate the app.

Suspension, closure, and leaving were also very similar on both apps. Suspension is slightly different since Bumble makes time period suggestions (24 hr, 72 hr, a week, indefinite time) for snoozing the profile, especially when the user chooses for indefinite time, the app urges “Why not starting with a week?.” There is no such prompt on Tinder. Such prompts can influence the persistence of available user data. Moreover, it can be speculated that Bumble’s attempt at persuasion is motivated by the idea that women could be more indecisive and available for persuasion.

Everyday use of both apps is determined by (1) maintaining one’s own profile, (2) purchasing the advertised premium features, which are similar in both apps, and (3) swiping through other users’ profiles and interacting with them, which is at the heart of both apps.

Swiping profiles on both apps is possible through enabling location-based filtering. While both apps enable filtering for age and distance, Bumble allows two additional profile filters as long as the user themselves had indicated the information in their own profile (i.e., a tit-for-tat principle). This gives Bumble users additional information with which to make choices about whom to swipe on.

On both apps, users are presented with a stack of profiles/cards, swiping either left (dislike) or rights (like) makes the next profile pop up. If the other person swiped right, too, a new screen pops up showing that it is a match. Only when matched can users message one another through the apps. The swiping feature is a pivotal technological design feature that distinguishes Tinder and Bumble from, for instance, other apps or dating websites.

Although Tinder makes no requirements about who makes the first move once matched, Bumble exclusively requires women to message first. This rule is repealed in same-sex matches. In addition, Bumble matches expire after the first 24 hr if one side of the match decides to stay silent. Once both users interact, the match will remain in the match queue and messaging remains enabled. On Tinder, users can message one another once they match and the messaging feature remains enabled unless someone reports or blocks a user or deletes the match, the latter also applies to Bumble.

The message first feature and the 24-hr expiration feature can be read as the pivotal design features that distinguish Bumble from Tinder. While Tinder technologically offers choice to both men and women to initiate communication with matches, Bumble technologically restricts that choice to only women. In doing so, Bumble technologically ensures that women “make the first move” (as articulated on their website). More than half of our interview participants felt that women were empowered by this design choice.

I think they were empowered to have a voice. Since they’re the first ones to kind of create a conversation. They’re in control in that way. Of whether or not they really want to have a conversation after swiping with somebody. [. . .] So it’s kind of, it’s nice in a way that I can be like, “Okay, I’m in control of the situation. I’m here. I can chat with you if I want to.” It’s nice to know that we both are connected. And I can start the conversation when I want to. (Camille)

Like other participants, Camille felt that women were empowered on Bumble by having to start the conversation. Most reflections on empowerment by research participants circulated around possessing power and being in control by deciding whether or not to make the first move once matched by the app.

In addition to deciding whether or not to initiate conversation, the 24-hr rule further forces women to act. Several men in the focus groups reflected on how the 24-hr limit also gives women power on Bumble:

So she has the power to decide whether she wants to message someone or not. And also the 24 hour period gives her power. If she doesn’t want to, then that will delete and she doesn’t have to worry again about, you know, someone messaging her randomly another time if she is uninterested. (Michael)

Yeah, I almost feel like the 24 hour thing is almost like more empowering than having the ability to message first just because, it just totally, kind of gives female users the ability to match at first sight and then be like, “Nevermind, I don’t even want to talk to you” and disappear. (Jacob)

If women change their minds on a Bumble match, the ability to message disappears. As Michael and Jacob’s comments suggest, this can be empowering because there is a vulnerability of women on a dating app like Tinder to continue to receive unwanted messages from matches even if they’ve changed their mind. For most participants, questions of power, choice, and control were strongly intertwined and experienced as a technological and social process.

Since communication initiation goes against traditional female gender roles, some female focus group attendees discussed the motivating character of messaging first. For example, Hannah said, “It forces women to just be more like aggressive or assertive” and to step out of the comfort zone, though it may make them feel nervous or anxious.

Moreover, communication initiation was perceived as a good challenge by male and female focus group members and interviewees alike. For example, several respondents assumed that taking the lead and becoming active in approaching a man or let the match go was very empowering and can provide women with strength and energy. Morgan embraced the strengthening character “as opposed to just hoping and crossing your fingers that someone messages you, I feel like you can have some agency and be like ‘no, this is what I’m looking for’, ‘this is what I want to do.’” And Michelle adds that taking the lead

give[s] her some, some strength and some energy to do it in the real life. It’s not the same thing [on the app] but when you start to do it, you get used to it and then you have more chance to do it in the real life, so I guess, I guess it gives a bit of power to the girl.

In line with this, participants suggested that it enabled women to, as Jimmy put it, “practice on the app” what can, first, set the tone for the upcoming conversation and, second, translate into daily life routine. For example, Alyssa suggested that taking the lead on Bumble transferred to her Tinder use where she started to initiate messaging first. Although the choice of who takes the lead in communication is taken away on Bumble by design, some participants thought it nevertheless provides the opportunity for female empowerment.

Some interviewees, however, were conflicted about whether Bumble’s design decision was empowering for women or not. Several interviewees clearly indicated that Bumble with its features is not empowering, a small number did not know whether it is empowering or not. For example, some described the experience as “forced empowerment” because women cannot freely choose whether they want to make the first move or not as Julian questions: “Empowered? Well, I mean, it forced, it is forced empowerment, because they have to make the first move, right?” Because women do not have the choice to make the first move or not, some participants question how empowering Bumble really is, for example, Olivia suggests that Bumble

(. . .) gives a false sense of empowerment. Because at the end of the day, if the first person doesn’t respond, they don’t respond. So you may, you know, it superficially seems like it gives women more power, but actually, it takes two people, ultimately.

Participants like Melissa felt that the design to force women to make the first move actually backfires with regard to female empowerment: “Obviously, Bumble has the feature about the girls talking first, but I think, . . . [it] have kind of backwards effects of saying that girls don’t usually talk first” (Melissa). By forcing women to initiate contact, Melissa felt that Bumble actually reinforced the social norm that men make the first move.

Others who were critical of female empowerment on Bumble described the message requirement as a burden for women. There is no guarantee that the male match will respond and it puts pressure on women, something they may not be comfortable with especially if they lack confidence. However, in taking this step, the pressure to respond is given back to the man as Brianna describes:

That happened to me one time, like, should I message him or not? And I saw the time getting down and it was like, well, you messaged him, and then it’s up to him if he responds, it’s no longer on my shoulders if I messaged him. If I don’t message him, then it’s my fault.

Brianna’s concern about not messaging a match reflected her concern that the potential relationship would never come to fruition because she was too nervous to make the first move. Several women described the choice of communication initiation as pressure-filled and at times anxiety-inducing. For these women, “making the first move” was not experienced as joyful empowerment but as worrisome burden.

One male participant, Tom, suggested that women already have all the power on Tinder because more men than women use the dating app. Indeed, some men in the focus groups suggested one of the reasons they started using Bumble was to increase his odds of getting a match because the ratio of men to women on the app was more in his favor than on Tinder. Moreover, Tom’s suggestion that women have all the power suggests that in his experience the choice to respond rather than initiate is ultimately where the power lies.

Different App—Different Norms?

Most of our research participants were either currently using both apps or had used both at some point in their pasts. The fact that almost everyone in our study had experience with Tinder despite being recruited based on experience with Bumble reveals the ways that mobile dating app usage is overlapping. Nevertheless, users were able to clearly articulate differences in normative expectations between the apps. The most common difference was that participants said Tinder was used for sex and Bumble was used for relationships. There were also implicit class distinctions. For example, Lauren characterized Tinder as “trashier,” whereas Bumble is characterized as “highbrow,” slightly “more respectable,” and “empowering” compared to Tinder (Melissa), which is in line with Bumble’s efforts to brand the app as female-focused and empowering (Bumble, 2020).

The different perception is also strongly intertwined with the assumed motivations to use specific apps. “Tinder is more like a hook up app” (Hannah), while “Bumble is more relationship based, not fully but like more than Tinder” (Rachel). These different perceptions also seem to affect the way users interpret other user profiles:

I would definitely say that there’s a big difference though. (. . .) I’d be like, if like someone’s Tinder bio says I’m looking for a girlfriend. I kind of laugh and swipe left because I’m like, “You’re on Tinder. You don’t want a girlfriend.” (Brianna)

Women like Brianna interpret profiles through the implied lens of hook-up culture. Despite what users might say on their profiles, the expectation for casual sex dominated normative expectations on Tinder.

While the choice to make the first move is open to both men and women on Tinder, participants felt that the norm was for men to initiate contact and for women to respond. For example, Michael describes the difference:

Well, I think guys are usually attracted most to Tinder for the sole reason of being able to initiate a conversation or say hi first or stuff like that. And so that’s taken away and kind of makes it a little uncomfortable, not uncomfortable for guys, but just switches it up and it gives girls the ability to do that, and so I think that definitely just changes how you talk and to have conversations because she starts the conversation. She takes the lead on that, so it forces guys to not be in the driver’s seat and to respond more and stuff like that. (Michael)

Although both men and women can initiate the conversation on Tinder, Michael describes the process of what it means for men to go from using Tinder where he was accustomed to being in control to using Bumble where he feels like he has no control and can only respond. Other men indicated said that they dislike having to wait for the woman to approach, suggesting these men are uncomfortable with nonheteronormative conforming communication norms in dating, even if they are potentially empowering to women.

Heteronormative expectations of dating still shaped expectations for participants. As Michelle describes, she and her girlfriends use mobile dating apps for fun, but still, wish for someone who shows some attention.

Um, I will say that it, um, urban girls, (. . .) they want to enjoy their single life but also they are dreaming of meeting the perfect guy, even if they tell everyone that it’s only for fun. [. . .] I mean me and my friends of mine, who are interested in using Bumble, it’s for that, it’s because we all want to have fun and we all want to enjoy our single life but we do hope to meet someone in this context because it’s fun and it’s and it would be if like we want to be hit by, by love, like, like “oh, I wasn’t looking for this but it just happened” you know. (Michelle)

Michelle’s quote suggests that she and her friends use Bumble in secret hopes of falling in love with the perfect guy, but don’t necessarily expect it from the apps. Instead, they try to embrace the “fun” of a single’s life, reflecting the newly evolved cool script for heterosexual women (Lee, 2019).

The interviews and focus groups revealed that implicit and explicit social rules and rituals are inherent in mobile dating behavior. Bumble, which purports to be female-focused and gender norm-breaking, in some ways, reinforced notions of traditional gender roles of women who are looking for relationships rather than casual sex, in hopes of falling in love and meeting the “perfect guy.” While offering different gender norms, users of both Tinder and Bumble identified highly gendered scripts for mobile dating app use.

Limitations

One potential limitation was the discrepancy between the focus group participants (all relatively young adults) and interviewees (with a wider age range). Participants’ age among focus groups attendees was closer to 20 and younger than the interviewees’ average age. Although a college group is the target population for these apps, they may not be the best group for reflection on empowerment and choice, since they are at the very beginning of sexual identity development (Christensen, 2021; Sakaluk et al., 2014) and may not have experienced critical situations for reflections.

Although Bumble and Tinder slightly differ in handling gender identity information, we decided not to further focus on it due to the scope of the article; however, we are aware that it has powerful implications for those who have nonheterosexual identities like Bivens and Hoque (2018) reflected on. Our participants were largely White, upper/middle class, cisgender, heterosexual adults, and thus their experiences likely do not translate to other communities of users. Future studies should strive for a more diverse sample to potentially capture an even wider range of experiences. Alternatively, focusing more specifically on particularly marginalized populations and their experiences of different apps will allow future researchers to understand how race and/or class, for example, can further intersect with technological design features, affordances, and empowerment.

Since the study was advertised as a Bumble-focused study, participants who had positive experiences with Bumble may have been predominantly attracted by the ad. Given that participants shared negative experiences, however, we are not as concerned. That said, the mobile dating app environment continues to change and the findings here about Bumble or Tinder may not translate to future iterations of these apps or to other dating apps.