In case you missed it: in a now-deleted TikTok, two gay lifestyle influencers announced the dissolution of their 12-year relationship, and the apparent mismatch in their moods sparked days of widespread jokes and speculation about who dumped whom and why.

While we genuinely feel for anyone navigating a public breakup, the spectacle got us thinking: why did a couple with an impressive following—but not exactly Brad and Jennifer levels of fame—feel they owed the internet a joint announcement in the first place? Was there any way this could have gone well?

After a deep dive into dozens of similar videos—most of which are called "we broke up" with varying levels of caps lock—we've noticed a pattern. Break-up reveal videos rarely land the way anyone hopes. 

Why the format feels uncanny

We all know that all lifestyle content, especially when centered around a seemingly perfect relationship, is performative. Not in a bad way, but it’s literally catered to be watched by an audience. 

The best of them feel real enough to suspend your disbelief: a “get ready with me” video can seem like a peek into a couple’s morning; a direct-to-camera address can feel like chatting with a bestie, even if you can’t talk back.

But a joint break-up video just doesn’t map to any real-life scenario. In the offline world, exes share that news with friends and family privately, personally, and typically separately. 

So right away it’s uncanny: why is this couple explaining they’re no longer together… together? 

That mismatch can create a sense of awkwardness. That’s why we get sing-songy declarations (see: “we are getting divorced!”) or couples inventing new corporate jargon to explain they will now be  “moving through the world unromantically,” 

It feels staged at a moment that really calls for space. Breakups are something we all go through, and usually they’re private, even when messy. Watching them turned into content can feel like peeking at something we shouldn’t. 

The impossible balance

But you can also see the bind for creators, too. What are they supposed to do—ignore the speculation? Address it? Either choice leaves them exposed. That tension is exactly what makes these videos feel impossible to win.

And often, creators explain that the trappings and pressures of internet fame made it harder to be themselves. They made careers out of broadcasting every part of their lives to their followers, so when it ends, the silence feels just as performative as the announcement. 

That’s the impossible balance at the heart of these videos: the more they try to close the loop for their audience, the more it risks pulling them deeper into the spectacle. 

They're messy

These videos carry uneasy, sometimes contradictory notes. But, as the fist-bumpers proved, it’s the bits of seeming reality sprinkled in that cause the real trouble.

Because as manufactured as social media may be, it’s still created by real people in real pain. And while no one knows what they’re truly going through, the internet will inevitably seize on any available hint to piece the story together.

In practice, these videos that are framed as a departure from your regularly scheduled programming become just another genre of content. Heartbreak turns into meme fodder, while offhand lines like “we both grew apart, but I guess he grew apart from me faster than I grew apart from him” stick forever in your brain.

It’s understandable why creators feel they owe something to their supporters. But the best move here is to keep it simple: as much as fans care, they also know it’s all a performance, and that real life is messy. They don’t need mom and dad (or dad and dad or mom and mom) to sit down and spell it out.

In the end, maybe the only thing more awkward than watching two people break up online is realizing the internet has become part of the relationship itself. And like most third wheels, it doesn’t make the split any easier.

The English language gives us thousands of ways to start a conversation, and almost none of them involve revealing your genitals. And yet… a certain subset of guys online seems to have decided the most effective way to say hello is with a nude photo.

These men are committed to putting their best penis forward, despite broad consensus from the rest of the world that nobody likes a surprise dick pic.

So why do they do it? Is it a compulsion they can’t control? Their genuine best strategy for breaking the ice? Or just plain old exhibitionism? I wanted to understand what these cyber-flashers were thinking, so instead of blocking them on sight, I did the only thing I could: I asked.

The digital dark room

 You heard that right. For years now, I've responded to any anonymous nudes I receive with some version of: Why did you send that? 

(Ironically, the question usually gets me blocked. It seems the only thing worse than a surprise dick pic is surprise self-reflection.)

Most recently, I was browsing the grid when a guy sent me zero words and ten identical photos of his ass. When I asked what was behind this decision, he said there was no point in starting a conversation without establishing a baseline attraction. I didn’t disagree in theory, but I asked: why not establish that attraction with a photo of your face? 

He sent back a photo from his business school graduation, and told me he used to always send face pics first. But people kept asking for nudes, and often the conversation would dishearteningly fizzle out as soon as he sent them. Eventually, he decided it was best to start with nudes—give the people what they want!—and then see if there was any conversation left to be had.

You could sense a weariness in the way he explained this. Despite optically ambushing me with almost a dozen unsolicited photos of his body, he didn't see himself as a sexual aggressor. He saw himself as a victim, following the rules of a game someone else invented.

Most answers I’ve received boil down to this kind of pragmatism. “We're all on here to hook up, so we might as well cut to the chase." Guys who explain it this way are often bewildered when I won't immediately send nudes back. As one lovely gentleman put it just before blocking me: "How am I gonna eat at a restaurant if I can't see what's on the menu?"

Others have discovered, for one reason or another, they have a higher success rate with their body than with their face. Several guys suggested that some people who wouldn't give them the time of day based on a LinkedIn-friendly profile pic are suddenly eager to chat after seeing their dick. If they'd waited for permission to send XX pics, they would never have gotten the conversation going in the first place. And then there are the super DL senders—the ones who are only willing to provide pictures of their bodies, and hope that’s enough to entice you.

What I noticed again and again in these conversations is that the senders frequently were under the impression that everyone was opening with nudes—while that hasn’t been my experience on Grindr at all. I’ve had many chats, and many dates, come together without a single shared album. 

The ho-cial contract

It got me thinking about another gay phenomenon I’ve experienced.

Once, on a work Zoom, I was introduced to a clearly gay executive. We gave each other the briefest of nods—an acknowledgement of our shared culture—and then nodded our way through a pointless meeting. Later that day, he followed me on Instagram—fine, normal—and then a green circle appeared, revealing he had added me to his Close Friends. And that he had spent his afternoon baking in the nude.

One hour earlier, we'd exchanged polite hellos with our bosses on the line. Now, the only thing blocking his full penis from view was a blueberry muffin.

I didn't ask him why he did it—after all, we had a (lol) professional relationship to preserve. But I did wonder: in his mind, was my being gay and online enough to act as de facto consent to seeing this kind of content?

Other people who post this kind of stuff to Close Friends have told me about their thinking, and their answers are pretty close to what the ass-first MBA guy told me: they saw themselves as following a norm that others had established. They were doing it because that’s just what gay guys do.

The perception gap

That’s the weird thing about online spaces: we all imagine them differently. In real life, we're used to a venue and a crowd setting the tone. Whether you're at a warehouse party or a library, your behavior will likely match those around you.

Online, it feels like you're in a crowd. You're seeing a ton of faces side-by-side as you scroll, but you're usually only interacting in private conversations, with no window into what anyone else is experiencing. It's easy to assume your experience is universal even when it’s not.

I don’t think most people sending nudes first, especially on an app like Grindr, are trying to be overly aggressive. But for many, Grindr is a digital dark room where your mere presence is implied consent to see whatever anyone wants to share. And some assume that if you're in the gay community at all, you're sexually driven in such a way that nudes won't offend you, be them on Grindr, Instagram, or Pinterest.

That’s what’s great about the internet: we can find our people and make it whatever we want it to be. But that’s also why it’s so important to confirm your recipient is on the same page before exposing yourself to them. Even if you’re a nudes-first kinda guy, make your dick your second message—and a fair warning your first.

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When we launched Right Now, we wanted to make in-the-moment meetups simpler. You’re horny. You’re bored. You’re fresh out of the gym. You’ve got 40 minutes before dinner. Right Now helps you skip the scroll, post what you’re into, and connect with people who are ready— Right Now.

It worked. You got on board. You made it hot.

But we wanted to go further. Or actually—closer.

Introducing Live View in Right Now

Starting today, you can see who’s posting in Right Now—and where they are. Instead of only browsing the feed, you’ll now have the option to explore a live map of guys nearby who are down right now.

You’ll see Right Now users’ profiles placed on the map in real-time. Once you tap their profiles, you’ll see their Right Now post—what they’re looking for, if they’re hosting or travelling. Tap around. Zoom in. Check who’s a few blocks away or just around the corner. It’s everything you love about Right Now, but now with something a little more visually appealing.

Built for Immediacy. Designed for Control.

Just like the original Right Now feed, the Right Now map is designed for speed. The map updates in real time, showing who’s available and where (note: your location is an approximation), so you can meet faster and with zero confusion.

Don’t want to show up on the map? No problem. You can keep using Right Now the way you always have.

Safety First

You’re in control. You can choose to appear on the map or keep using Right Now without map visibility. If you opt in, your location is shown as an approximate area, not an exact address. You can set how much it’s offset within a range you select for added privacy and safety, and you can change or turn this off at any time.

Where It’s Available

We’re rolling out Map View to select cities first: Chicago, Washington, DC, Anchorage, Berlin, Oslo, Singapore, São Luís (Brazil). If you’re in one of these places and have the latest version of the app (25.13 or higher), open the Right Now feed and tap the map toggle to explore. More cities are coming soon.

Get On. Get Seen. Get Off.

Right Now has always been about making things easier for you, your time, and your body count. It all just got faster with the new map 

So go ahead. Check out Right Now, tap the map, and hook up ASAP.

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At Grindr, we believe that all love deserves dignity and recognition. That includes the right to marry the person you love.

Fighting for marriage equality isn’t something we’ve ever had to workshop. From our earliest days, we’ve stood for connection, freedom, and self-determination for LGBTQ+ people worldwide. Our platform exists to serve our global community whose relationships, families, and futures deserve full legal recognition. This commitment is reflected not just in our product, but in our partnerships, advocacy, values, and mission. 

Through Grindr for Equality, we’ve supported major wins like the legalization of same-sex marriage in Thailand and the advancement of civil union rights in Czechia. That support takes different forms: financial backing, safety tools, and using our platform to amplify the people doing the work on the ground.

This work is part of our broader mission to help create a world where LGBTQ+ lives are free, equal, and just. Building the Global Gayborhood in Your Pocket means more than just helping people connect. It means making sure our community is protected, respected, and empowered. That belief has guided us since day one. It still does.

Marriage equality is a fundamental human right that every LGBTQ+ person deserves and one that Grindr will always fight for worldwide. That commitment remains unchanged. A message from our CEO, George Arison, reiterating our position can be found here. 

There is no place for hate on Grindr. 

Per our Community Guidelines, discriminatory language, hate speech, abusive statements, and exclusionary “no” statements – including those targeting race, ethnicity, religion, nationality, gender identity, or other protected characteristics – don’t belong on Grindr. 

Instead, we encourage people on Grindr to express their desires in a positive way by stating what they are looking for.

More than a year ago, in response to a rise in user escalations, we temporarily introduced an additional layer of moderation at the profile level to more proactively address inflammatory content – in this case, the phrase “No Zionists.” 

We recently removed that technical block, but our policies remain the same: discriminatory or exclusionary content has no place on Grindr, and we apply this policy consistently across all profiles and user chats. 

We rely on our community to help uphold these values. If users see a profile that violates our guidelines, we ask them to flag it in the app. Our moderation team reviews flags and takes appropriate action.

Read more on how Grindr moderates content and profiles here. 

Until now, Grindr’s original content—videos, editorials, music drops, and more—lived off-platform. You’d tap a link in your inbox, get routed to a browser, and maybe come back, maybe not. It worked, but it wasn’t seamless, and it wasn’t built for how people actually use the app.

Grindr Presents fixes that.

What It Is

Grindr Presents is a new in-app content hub for curated gay content from Grindr. From entertainment to editorials to exclusive drops, everything lives inside the app now—no extra tabs, no platform jumping.

The best part? Grindr Presents is the only place to watch uncensored versions of series like Who’s the Asshole. These are the cuts you won’t find on Instagram or YouTube. Longer, sharper, and exactly how they were meant to be seen…and heard.

Why You’ll Love It

• Culture Without the Click-Away: All your favorite Grindr-produced content now lives inside Grindr.
• More Reasons to Open the App: Uncensored content, editorial pieces, and more will keep things fresh and give you more reasons to check in daily.
• Uncensored: Grindr Presents is the only place where you can find fully uncut versions of our content.

How to Get Started

1. Open the Grindr app.
2. Tap the side tray.
3. Enter Grindr Presents and start exploring.

We didn’t build this just to be cute (though it is). Grindr Presents is part of a bigger shift: making Grindr not just where the gays are, but where the culture is. So go ahead. Tap in. Stay a while.

It’s all happening inside Grindr.

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After eons of disappointing dates, you finally, finally meet someone who checks all your boxes. You’re flirting, marveling at your easy chemistry (and his magnificent dimples). And just as you’re wondering where he’s been hiding all this time, you get your answer: in Cleveland. Or Austin. Or Rome. 

Because he’s only visiting.

Ughhh. Of course. Your new boyfriend lives hundreds of miles away. You ask yourself if it’s even worth going on the date you just arranged, before definitely going on the date. 24 to 48 hours later, you two have fallen madly in love… just in time for his sled ride back to Antarctica. 

Other times, you’re the exotic specimen who has to disappoint someone else. 

It doesn’t matter if you’re hosting or traveling. There’s something undeniably magical—and tragic—about an out-of-town romance. It leaves you breathless, and then leaves you questioning why you never meet guys like that who live in your zip code. But would you be better off dating in another city? Is love really waiting just a plane ride away, or is it all an illusion?

Why it might be a mirage

Before one or two wonderful dates with men from New York, LA, or Birmingham convince you to pack your bags and break your lease, consider that your long-distance love story may not be all it appears to be. It’s possible that what is so amazing about vacation romances is that they’re short.

You know the number one cause of death for promising new relationships? Second dates.

How many times have you told your friends you’ve met your husband, only for it to fizzle out a few weeks later? (Side note: any married person who brags about instantly knowing they would end up with their spouse should be forced to disclose how many times they thought that incorrectly about someone else first.) 

When your burgeoning romance is cut short by a flight home, it never has to be tested. It’s a trailer for a relationship that will never hit theaters, and thus will never have to be rated Fresh or Rotten.

For years, there was a guy I thought I’d be dating, if only we lived on the same coast. When I finally did hop coasts, we immediately got together… for one mediocre date. The fantasy man, it turns out, was a lot more charming (and a lot less into pickleball) than the real one. 

There’s also a risk, when you’re the one traveling, of associating all the positive feelings and things you like about a place with the person who lives there. Your Parisian paramour may have shown you the Venus de Milo, but he didn’t sculpt it.

Why it might be real

But that doesn’t mean the connection is all in your head. There might be a legit explanation for this phenomenon—a reason why residents and visitors click at a deeper level than two fellow townies. 

Travel inherently opens you up to new experiences. Exploring somewhere new makes you, or the guy that’s visiting you, unusually open-minded—totally along for the ride. And coming from separate worlds means you get to meet each other free of context, with few pre-conceived notions (or IG mutuals).

Travel makes you fully present, which makes it the perfect time to let someone new into your life.

And as disappointing as it can be to find out you two may not have a future, knowing this is all you get further opens you up to the moment. You put your concerns and calculations about practical compatibility on hold, and risk a little more intimacy, knowing you have nothing to lose. You make the effort to see them as much as possible in their limited time.

There’s a lesson to be taken away here. It’s not about the geography; it’s about the energy. Next time you’re having a beautiful tryst with a foreign stranger, hold onto that feeling of opening yourself up to one wonderful night or weekend… and then try to bring it to your next date with someone from your own town.

Show the same enthusiasm and willingness for a romantic adventure. Focus on being open-minded, present, and excited… even if you know they’ll still be there tomorrow.

Why it might be a good thing?

In the meantime, before you spend too much time mourning what could have been, take a moment to appreciate what is.

Not that long ago, the gay lifestyle involved a lot of secrecy and subterfuge. The changing world and advent of dating apps means we’ve gone from meeting in the shadows to connecting across the globe. 

I say lean into these city-crossed romances. Put yourself on the grid in Rio while you’re still planning your trip in Jersey, and find someone to share your life with… for as long as you’re going to share a time zone. 

You may not get a husband out of these encounters, but you also won’t get another ex crowding up your city, another face to politely greet at the same three bars every weekend for the rest of eternity. 

Instead, you’ll have a would-be lover who will harbor an unrealistically romanticized portrait of you, just as you will for them. You’ll have a familiar, chiseled face to call on whenever you visit their neck of the woods. And—unless you made some sort of Before Sunrise-esque pact not to exchange contact info—you’ll have someone to chat with, flirt with, and exchange *tasteful* photos with online for years to come.

And you never know! If you do keep the connection going past baggage claim, what starts as a layover may one day become your final destination.

Romance is all about timing.

A good time to meet your future husband: at least a year out from your last relationship, on a crisp November evening, at a candlelit wine bar.

A bad time: the first day of summer. Ten minutes into a night at the club. The day before your vacation to Fire Island (or P-town, or any destination of equal or greater gayness). In other words, the exact moment you’ve decided you’re in desperate need of a slut phase.

But that’s when it always seems to happen. Right when you’re primed to do anything but date, you encounter the rare genuinely dateable man. So what do you do? Risk your budding connection by continuing to play the field? Or abandon your slut phase before it even starts?

Too hot to handle

Pride party tickets that sell out in March and your most neurotic friend’s vacation spreadsheets both confirm: just because something is fun doesn’t mean it’s spontaneous. Having a good time sometimes requires preparation—logistically and emotionally.

Often, we go into a party, weekend, or season primed with a very specific vision of how it will go. And it can be jarring when that vision is interrupted—say, by a handsome stranger with a 401(k). 

The arrival of a perfect man when you were only expecting to mack on perfect strangers might leave you conflicted. Because you do want to find a partner… but not right now. Not in the ticket line for Whorebox Miami (or whatever).

Before deciding whether to keep your shirt on and get to know your eligible bachelor, it’s important to ask why your slut phase felt necessary in the first place. Was it just because you’d heard amazing things about this party? Because summer made you feel a certain type-a way? Or was it because you genuinely needed it—say, to rebuild confidence after a hard breakup?

If you’re a girl who just wants to have fun, read on. But if you were planning to fuck around because it’s all you can handle right now, you should probably honor that impulse. Demonstrate interest in the guy, while making it clear you’re not in a place to date just yet. Then begin your gorgeous, restorative, sticky healing journey.

Let’s make a deal

If there’s no deeper reason for your hoe season, however, it becomes a simple matter of priorities.

One summer in my early 20s, I was all geared up for LA Pride when my friend introduced me to a transplant joining our group for the weekend. He was perfect marriage material: handsome, funny, successful, and new to the city (read: he hadn’t already slept with all my friends yet). But… it was also 4pm on the Friday of Pride weekend. 

We made a date for Monday night. And that’s when the dilemma set in: what should we do until then? We were about to be in each other’s orbit for 48 hours, during which there’d be lots of flirting, dancing, and kissing. Were we still free to participate? 

Meeting the man of your dreams and then watching him put his tongue in other people’s mouths for two days didn’t exactly scream “meet-cute.” But I also didn’t want to be held back by someone I didn’t even know yet. That’s the problem: we all want to have our fun, but we also kinda want to believe our romantic prospects only have eyes for us.

I ended up bringing it up with him directly. We agreed that despite our obvious connection, we’d both prefer to live our best lives that weekend, do whatever we wanted with whomever we wanted, then meet on Monday to start fresh, and chalk it all up to the Gay Lifestyle™. 

In my mind, this was a mature-ish solution to what was, at heart, a scheduling issue. But in retrospect, it was also pretty clear evidence that the most important thing to both of us at that point in our lives was having fun. 

We both knew we were risking something—after all, there was a chance either of us could meet someone “better” before Monday rolled around. But we figured we could afford to leave true love on hold for a few days. 

…or no deal

I wouldn’t make that deal again today. Not because it went poorly—we indeed stuck to our plan and went on the date. (We didn’t get married, but in classic gay fashion, he’s now one of my closest friends.) 

But because I’ve since seen how a little delayed gratification can go a long way.

Years later, a friend of mine was in a similar situation. We’d spent six months planning a Eurotrip with some major gay hotspots. Two weeks before takeoff, he went on a handful of dates with a seemingly perfect guy. They hadn’t even discussed being exclusive yet, but my friend felt strongly enough to abstain from any fun (in the hookup sense, not the general vacation sense) for the duration of the trip, saving all his energy and attraction for Mr. Right.

Today, they’re married.

I’m not suggesting I’d have married my Pride guy if we hadn’t taken our vow of infidelity. But sometimes, you have to make room for the unexpected. 

Romance is about timing, yes, but timing isn’t some force beyond our control. It’s a choice: to be ready for connection when it comes, not just when it’s convenient. Giving a new connection a real shot might mean cancelling your wild weekend, or even your whole slut summer. But if you see the potential for something real, I say: make the timing work… even if it means you don’t have the immediate time of your life.

Like many closeted and slightly confused bi men, I attended a small liberal arts college where it seemed like every other man wasn’t just out as gay, but also knew how to be gay. 

To learn more about the history of the Kinsey Reports, check out Grindr’s Daddy Lessons here.

Of course, there isn’t one way to be gay or queer, but they watched RuPaul’s Drag Race. They knew gay slang. (TBH, I’m still not entirely sure what boots the house down, Mary means, despite often reciting the words with flair.) They gay gasped and gay lisped and gay wristed, were in shape, and were perpetually dressed to the nines. They were having dancefloor makeouts in public while sober. 

Meanwhile, starting my second week of freshman year, I was getting blacked out to hook up with men because the idea of doing so sober felt too gay. I always used the excuse of being sloshed as a reason for indulging in my same-sex desires. Oh, I was just drunk. It doesn’t count. A mouth is a mouth. (Obviously, if you like doing something while drunk sexually, you would probably like doing it sober, if you granted yourself permission.) 

But towards the end of my freshman year, in May 2010, I was sitting with a gaggle of openly gay and straight friends, where a gay man brought up the Kinsey Scale to boast that he was Kinsey 6, a gold star gay, and exclusively homosexual. (For those who don’t know, the scale ranges from 0 to 6, with 0 representing exclusive heterosexuality, 6 representing exclusive homosexuality, and the numbers in between indicating varying degrees of attraction to males and females.)

When I learned of the scale, I was intrigued. At the time, there was hardly any bisexual visibility in the media, and the few men I knew in my life who came out bisexual ended up saying, “JK lol,” and came out as gay shortly after. 

So, I just didn’t think bisexuality was a real sexual orientation. Meanwhile, here was this famous, groundbreaking study whose findings revealed there are a LOT of people who don’t identify as exclusively gay or straight (meaning they didn’t score a 0 or 6). In fact, only 10% of men were ranked a 5 or 6 on the scale (meaning predominantly or exclusively homosexual), and 11.6% of men were given a rating of 3 (meaning pretty equally attracted to both males and females). 

We went around the table and each shared where we thought we were on the scale. I was last in the circle, and all the guys before me either identified as a 0 or 6, whereas the women at the table were more likely to state they were a 1, 2, 4, or 5. 

Finally, all eyes turned toward me. No surprise that the current sex and relationship expert for Grindr was a big, ol’ slut in college, hooking up with anyone who had a pulse. And so my sexuality wasn’t just confusing to me, but also a hot topic of speculation to those around me. (There were always whispers that I was gay in the closet.) 

I took the longest to respond, and eventually, though not super confidently, identified as a 1, meaning predominantly heterosexual but not exclusively. 

I cannot emphasize enough how huge that was for me. That was the first time I admitted to myself and said out loud that I was not 100% straight. Knowing how many other people scored between a 1 and 5 in the study helped me realize I was not alone. I wasn’t this weird dude who was somewhere in the middle. I was a healthy and normal dude who was somewhere in the middle (and not the only one)!

Still, it took another four years to finally embrace the bisexual label (and be able to sleep with men sober). To admit honestly, I am not a 1 on this scale but am actually a 3. That I’m attracted to all genders—men, women, non-binary, and trans. As long as you got a pretty smile, fat ass, and/or thick hog, I will wanna be inside of you (or have you inside of me—ideally both).

But I am so grateful for the Kinsey Reports, as they helped me on my sexuality journey. They were my first big step to admitting, Yeah… I am probbabbblllyyy not straight. And 70 years after the reports’ publication, I want to thank you, Alfred Kinsey. I’m not sure I would be where I am today, writing this article, if it weren’t for you and your work.  

Starting in July, anyone using Grindr in the UK will be asked to confirm that they are 18 or over. This update reflects a new requirement under the UK Government’s Online Safety Act. The Act mandates that platforms and services intended for adults use age assurance methods to ensure only those aged 18 and up can access their services.

This age assurance process reinforces what Grindr has always been: a space for queer adults.

How Grindr Meets the Standard

We’ve designed Grindr’s new age check to prioritize privacy and safety while making the experience as straightforward as possible. Here’s what you can expect:

• Choose how you verify. To confirm they are 18 or older, those using Grindr in the UK can complete a quick video selfie or pair a video selfie with an official photo ID.
• One-time, account-bound flow. The process only needs to be completed once per Grindr account. Anyone signing up will be prompted during registration, and those already on Grindr—or opening the app while in the UK—will be asked to complete it as well.
• No access until the process is completed. Those in the UK will not be able to access Grindr until they complete the age assurance process.
• In partnership with FaceTec. Grindr utilizes biometric verification technology from Facetec, while independently managing all data processing to ensure your privacy is protected and access is restricted to adults.

Accepted photo IDs

If you opt or are prompted to use the method that matches an official photo ID with a video selfie, the following official photo IDs are accepted:

• Provisional Driver’s License
• Driver’s License
• International Driver’s License
• Passport
• British Army ID Card
• PASS Proof of Age Card
• Residence Permit
• Young Scot National Entitlement Card
• Northern Ireland Electoral ID Card
• United Nations Refugee ID Card
• United Nations Driver’s License

How Your Privacy Stays Intact

To protect your privacy, any documents and videos you provide are only used for age assurance, are securely encrypted during the process, and are permanently deleted once age assurance is complete. Grindr will not retain the documents or videos you provide. Grindr only retains information about which age assurance method you choose and whether you passed or failed.

What About Outside the UK?

If you’re outside the UK, you won’t see this verification flow unless you open Grindr while visiting the UK. In that case, the process will apply just the same.

The bottom line

This is a fast, one-time check that helps keep Grindr safe, secure, and for adults only. We’ll continue monitoring global standards and evolving our tools to prioritize user safety, privacy, and rights.

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When it comes to summer, the Gays™ do not mess around. For us, summer isn’t just a season—it’s a way of life. The goal? Doing everything wearing the least. Attend Pride in nothing but see-through undies and a mesh crop top? God bless. Cruising down Commercial Street rocking the tiniest cut-off jorts with the lower straps of your jockstrap visible, holding up those curvaceous booty cheeks? My hero. Sweating up a storm dancing to Mayhem in the club while sporting a whale tail underneath leather booty shorts? Iconic. Or, saying “Screw it” to clothes altogether and hitting up a gay nude beach to let your twig and berries breathe. (Please, don’t forget sunscreen on your genitals—trust me, sunburned dick is no joke.)

In this spirit, I want to encourage queers everywhere to wear one less thing: deodorant. Brat Summer was 2024. Pit Summer is 2025. Now, I know this might ruffle some feathers, and I want to clarify one thing—there’s a difference between musk and B.O. While it’s hard to describe, I don’t think the difference is subtle. It’s kind of like what Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said about obscenity (i.e., porn) in the 60s: “I’ll know it when I see it.” (Well, in this case, smell it.)

So, I don’t think you should work out 15 times a week, lie in the hot sun, and never shower. I want that natural scent—that musk, those pheromones. I want my brain to short-circuit from a primal, evolutionary response when I catch a whiff of your pits because I’m so damn turned on. That’s different from B.O., which smells more like a pig in slop.

Of course, some men love B.O. I’ve had many guys on Grindr tell me not to shower after the gym so they can sniff my “musty crotch.” (That’s one less shower for me, so I don’t mind.) If that’s your thing, go for it—just maybe save the olfactory assault for a kink space instead of unleashing it on your fellow train passengers.

That said, here’s what I’m suggesting: shower daily or after the gym, then skip the deodorant afterward. That’s the sweet spot. It’s how you maintain your alluring, mouth-watering, natural scent without veering into body odor overload—or smelling like a forgotten cheese wheel in the back of your fridge. The former, I’d argue, is more universally sexy; the latter, more of a kink.

So, my dearest gays, queers, bi, non-binary angels, and trans smokeshows—let’s remain hygenic while skipping the deodorant, learn to love our smells and bodies, and consensually sniff some glorious, musky pits.

Pit Summer 2025, here we fucking come.

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Ah, June: the one month a year gay people get to don slutty costumes, overpay for ticketed parties, and venture out in hopes of getting laid. Yes, Pride is about much more than sex… but it’s undeniable that at a certain time of night, a lot of these “celebrations of community” start to feel more like a Horsemeat market.

Which can be fun… when you’re in demand. And devastating when you’re not.  

Perhaps you’ve experienced it: you show up to a much-hyped, rainbow-adorned event with a fresh cut, exposed arms, and high hopes. You’ve never looked better, but no one is looking your way. Cut to three hours later: all your friends are all making out in circles around you, while you’re nursing a melted tequila soda and the DJ is dragging you with their remix of “Dancing On My Own.” 

That’s when party dysmorphia sets in: the feeling that nobody wants you, you’re not good enough, or you don’t belong in this crowd. 

It may sound immature, but going out can sometimes feel like gambling with your self-esteem. So if any of this is hitting close to home, let’s make a game plan for squashing that nasty feeling this Pride.

Step 1: Reassess the situation

First things first: how do we snap you out of this depressive spiral? Find somewhere quiet—or at least close your eyes on the dance floor—and practice a little positive self-talk. 

If you’re feeling unattractive…

Remember your wins. Who is the hottest person you’ve ever slept with? The one whose name triggers a Pavlovian response to mention you two hooked up? Think about THEM. Or think about the gorgeous dude who DM-ed you out of nowhere last month. Instead of agonizing over what’s so hideous about you tonight, recall the times you’ve killed it in the past… and that you haven’t changed that much. Whatever was attractive about you then is still attractive about you now.

If you’re feeling unwelcome…

Question your narrative. To be clear: there are absolutely some queer spaces that are not as inclusive as they should be, and that’s a real issue. But it’s also true that feeling insecure at a party can be a slippery slope. Once your defenses go up, a bad mood can start to color every vague interaction. If you’re looking around at a room full of half-conscious ravers and seeing the eyes of Mean Gays judging or shunning you… remember, it’s just possible you’re projecting. As a naturally defensive person, I can’t tell you how many times I convinced myself some dude disliked me, only to learn they thought it was the other way around. Just make sure whatever you’re upset about… actually happened.

If you’re feeling rejected…

Appreciate life’s gorgeous impermanence. Let’s say there was no ambiguity: the guy(s) you were after tonight flatly turned you down. There is a life-changing quote about the gay community I turn to in these moments, from the 1970s classic novel Dancer from the Dance. Ready? 

“Over a long enough period of time, everyone goes to bed with everyone else.” 

Okay, it might not sound that profound—it’s not making it on any tea towels—but the longer you’re alive as a gay man, the more you realize there’s truth to it. As years pass, guys glow up. Twinks twas. People change, and so do tastes. The heartbreaker that’s unattainable tonight might be begging for your attention in a Pride or two. I’m not saying you should get hung up on someone who’s uninterested… but if you’re not ready to admit defeat tonight, take comfort in the long game. 

Step 2: Form a plan of attack   

Feeling better? Good. Now you have three options: 

Make your last stand: Finish your pep-talk, resolve not to take the party (or yourself) so seriously, and then walk straight up to the guy you’ve been staring at and say hello—knowing you have nothing to lose. 

Retreat to the grid: Not to be the genius suggesting gay men try Grindr… but it is sometimes unintuitive to whip out your phone when you’re already at a party. But if you’re feeling shy and lonely in a room full of a thousand other gay men, it’s likely someone else is, too. Before you bail, use the grid as a super low-stakes way to put yourself out there without suffering through the inscrutable games of eye contact and arm brushes. Just say hey or tap—and in minutes, you could be having a drink with an adorable introvert. 

Find another way to have fun: Say fuck men, and dance! Enjoy the music. Peel your bestie off their new beau and force them to talk to you. Or say hi to someone new—chat up a stranger you’d usually overlook and make a new friend. Reframe your perspective on what makes a fun night out. 

Step 3: Admit defeat?

Or… go home. 

The number one rule is: don’t force it. 

People with supreme confidence, or no sense of boundaries, might say you can turn any night around. But I firmly believe some nights you feel hot, and some nights don’t, no matter what you look like.

If your ethereal energy just isn’t giving tonight, and you can’t find another way to enjoy yourself, walk away and live to fight another Pride. 

Because in truth, any activity you can do during Pride month—except maybe taking ironic selfies with Westboro Baptist Church protestors—is readily available in most major cities 365 nights a year.  

Don’t put too much pressure on, and never forget the best nights—and the best connections—are usually the ones you don’t see coming.