Tinder at the DNC: I tried to pick up delegates and this is what happened

In Philadelphia, late July air weighs like a brick on your chest. Breaking a sweat is mandatory, a code of honor, a sign of life. At 10 p.m. on Wednesday, I was very much alive, covered in a thin layer of perspiration, and crying on the street in Fishtown. Somehow, all the events in my life had culminated in this moment where I — surrounded by people I had met only hours before — softly and joyfully wept with a stranger's puppy in my arms. This was never the fate I'd imagined for myself. Tinder brought me here. The Democratic National Convention brought me here.

This week, the city has been a smorgasbord of political types, the media, people so impassioned they travelled to our city to celebrate or to protest. It's like throwing a dinner party for the between 30,000-50,000 expected visitors, only I had never met any of my guests. My party planner was Tinder, the dating app that connects users instantly should they both swipe right on the other's profile.

Other than where I live, I had no affiliation or reason to be near the convention, but I wanted to get in on the action. What could I learn about politics from an app that would facilitate the hookups of the visiting powerful, passionate and potentially problematic with the passive? Could I swipe my way into political enlightenment? Could I make #DemBoy a thing?

As protesters swarmed the streets, I began sorting through Philadelphia's newest eligible bachelors. I changed my profile to reflect my desire for a #DemBoy — my hashtag-mating call for DNC attendees — for the week. Restricting myself to only swiping right to those who appeared to be in town only for the DNC, I quickly racked up a pool of #DemBoys, some of whom got the joke, and many of whom did not. A selection of guys from delegates to press to protesters were quick to message me and eager to make plans.

Between requests that #DemBoys refer to me as "Madam South Philly" or to meet me at the Black Eyed Peas concert (which I mistakenly believed to be occurring in a surprise location other than The Fillmore), the only thing that prevented meetups during a reasonable hour was the fact that most of these fellows were actually working during the event, either providing coverage or serving as a delegate or aide. Between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m. I received the most messages. They may be political, but they still have desires.

According to Tinder, use of the app was up 54 percent in Philadelphia during the DNC compared to the week prior. Looking back to the Republican National Convention in Cleveland July 18-21, Tinder use increased by 82% compared to the preceding week. (This could mean either Republicans are friskier, or the influx of new Tinder users to Cleveland offset the city's existing swipers).

Steve* didn't mind being another statistic. We both happened to be at W/N W/N after the closing of the "Truth To Power" exhibition presented by Rock The Vote. After serving in the Army — he was based in Hawaii — Steve relocated to Tampa, Fla.,  to help run the campaign for a state senator.

"DemBoy in the house," I said as he joined my roommates and I at a table next to the bar. This was his first Tinder meetup and I gave him no warning there would be guests.

He was passionate about human rights, education, healthcare, the environment. I made him explain how the whole delegate process worked and what the difference between a primary and a caucus was. He'd just won his first elected position in Florida, the beginning of what he hoped to be a long political career. The fact that he served in the military looked good, he said. It's something that can help you in politics. My normal conversations center around music and memes. It was refreshing to feel challenged and inspired by discussion.

Instead of attending the Black Eyed Peas concert, Steve and I, along with his friend Francesca* who had joined us, were on our way to Fishtown to meet with one of his friends from Hawaii. En route is where we discovered the puppy I mentioned earlier. A woman sat on her front step cradling the ball of fur, still unnamed, only two months old. I asked if I could hold the pup.

"God bless America," I exclaimed with tears in my eyes, the small animal cradled in my arms.

"It melted my DemBoy heart," Steve recalled the following day via text.

And that's all I could have ever hoped.

*= Names have been changed.