Nada Eldawy *Call me cleopatra the
way I’ll conquer your heart <3 *Serial Netflix
watcher *Love my cat more than I’ll love you:
I had planned to start this piece by saying I
downloaded Minder (Muslim Tinder) for
purely journalistic purposes, a last-ditch
effort to contribute to Love in Color before
graduating as a chronically-single senior. But
in all honesty, the application was on my phone
weeks before the inspiration to write this piece
struck.
I never really felt like love was meant for
me. Whether that’s a symptom of growing up
without a huge Muslim community or just a
product of insecurity, it was never really on my
to-do list. However, like most people reading
this, I found myself with all this time on my
hands after quarantine, too much of which
was spent aimlessly scrolling through my
phone, before I realized — maybe halal dating
could fill this gap. I downloaded Minder for
a total of twenty minutes, including the time
it took to create my profile. I barely began
scrolling. One second, I saw a familiar face,
the next second, the app was deleted off my
phone and all traces of my profile’s existence
were gone. Then I came across a Vice article
of three people swiping right on Minder for
a month, and before I even finished reading
it, I knew — if I couldn’t stay on Minder for
myself, I could at least do it under the guise of
research. I forwarded the article to Maya, and
the rest is history.
The second time around, I was relaxed
enough to appreciate all the app has to offer.
From checking off your Islamic priorities, to
getting straight to the point about willingness
to relocate and marriage timing, your profile
included all the no-nonsense communication
to avoid games and keep things halal. While
seeing marriage timelines of “less than 1 year”
was terrifying and made me question my entire
existence, it also gave me all the necessary
information to get to know someone seriously
without having to guess their intentions (and
also very valid reasons for swiping left). If this
was my Google Play review, I would give the
Minder profile setup a 10/10 — and if you’re
off-put by the reference to an Android, don’t
worry. So were most of my Minder prospects.
The profiles themselves are a different
story. I only made it a day on Minder before
the guilt of my ulterior motive of writing this
article ate me up, and I added it to my profile. I
went for a cute and quirky, “Here for an article,
but swipe right if you still want to chat!” Most
people ignored the tidbit or asked about it in
shock days after they reached out, leading me
to believe that men don’t actually read what
you write. Prove me wrong.
As for the profiles I saw, there was a severe
lack of creativity. Along with the classic set of
questions, Minder lets you choose three extra
prompts to put on your profile. I cannot express
the sheer amount of men who chose the
question “What do you love about your mom?”
and I’m still wrapping my head around how
many of those answers were along the lines of
“Everything, she’s an angel.” I’m unclear about
whether the whole brown boy obsession with
their mothers is sweet or alarming. There was
also a huge demographic of non-Muslims just
there with the motto, “‘If she’s white, don’t
swipe right’ -me, 2019” (a direct quote from
a fratty-looking white man). To be honest,
I’m not sure what these self-proclaimed non-
Muslims expected to get out of Muslim dating,
especially on a platform that exists explicitly to
meet other Muslims. You could call it interest
in other cultures and religions, but I prefer to
call it what it is: fetishization. On the other end
of the spectrum was the plea of, “Please no
girls who are westernized — no makeup, must
wear hijab, and not be a protester in the streets.
If you support BLM or Gay Rights, please
astaghfirullah just unmatch.” (This wasn’t
supposed to be an exposé, but here we are).
That, too, was a huge red flag. All too often I
feel like my religiosity is written off because
I don’t wear a hijab, so any profiles explicitly
mentioning the hijab ate away at me bit by
bit. But more than that, I was appalled how
<Unnamed Muslim Man> expected women to
swipe right on a person who explicitly opposed
the most integral tenet of Islam: standing up
for justice and helping the marginalized.
Every once in a while, I would come across
a regular Muslim guy who was chill and woke,
and we’d chat. I went through many of the
same conversations consisting of someone
asking me about my favorite Netflix original,
me answering and conversations fizzling out
naturally. A couple times I took conversations
off the app, looking for the elusive “click,” and
while I met some really great people, things
never panned out for one reason or another. A
couple people were just geographically too far
away — a side-effect of me setting my profile
to national to avoid only seeing people from
our Muslim Students’ Association. One guy
accused me of friend-zoning myself right off
the bat (he wasn’t wrong).
Another blocked me after a pretty standard
conversation, which took many days of
friend-therapy for me to realize I hadn’t
done anything wrong (That is a PSA: Saying
you’re not interested is infinitely better than
blocking someone). There was a time or two
when someone checked all of the boxes, every
single one, but the thought of spending my life
with someone scared me so much I exited.
Honestly, while I deleted Minder and do not
foresee returning back to it in the near future,
I do not regret the experience. By the end of
my month-long trial, I no longer felt the urge
to throw my phone at the wall when I saw
someone I knew, and I gained some important
communication skills in the process. Especially
as a Muslim woman, it was valuable for me to
destigmatize talking to people romantically.
There is so much internalized judgement in
the Muslim community surrounding dating,
but as long as your intentions are pure, there is
absolutely nothing wrong with getting to know
someone or exploring your feelings. In another
world where I was a bit more emotionally
ready, who knows? I could’ve found my naseeb
on Minder.
Maya Moka *Looking for my Arabic
ting *If this doesn’t work out it was a dare
*A life goal of mine: to go viral on TikTok: I
consider myself a hopeless romantic. I grew
up fantasizing about the Hallmark, cheesy
relationships I saw on TV and dreaming of the
day I could someday come to experience a love
of my own, catapulted by a quirky meet-cute
and followed by love letters and dancing in the
rain. I blame Taylor Swift for a large portion
of this. Being Arab and Muslim, however,
and growing up with rigid expectations of
what love looked like and the sequence of
events that it should follow (meet someone,
immediately get parents involved and start
planning your future together), I never really
saw that type of love in the cards for me. Still
though, a girl could dream. It wasn’t until I
grew up that I began to see things were not
all black and white when it came to religion
and dating, and that things could be done
in a more modern way while still being kept
halal (well, depending on who’s definition
of “halal” we’re using). I still had, and to
an extent have, crazy high expectations
for love and hopeless romantic ideals, and
the short-lived relationships I’ve had can
definitely speak to that (If I’ve ever made
you a playlist, you owe me a V-Day present).
So, when the idea of a Muslim dating app
came up, I was very reluctant at first because
I had never considered meeting people in
such a systematic way before. I liked love to
be spontaneous, hitting you out of nowhere
— on a study abroad or on a random night
hanging out with a group of friends when you
realize there might be a little something more
between you and another person. But for the
sake of quarantine, and writing this piece,
I decided to give it a shot. Similar to Nada
though, while I downloaded it under the guise
of MiC content, I secretly hoped it would lead
to something akin to real romance.
I have had the app for about three months
now. That’s three times longer than I originally
planned to have it, and I hate to say it, but I
have indeed not found love. I bought the three-
month premium membership because I had a
crippling fear of being found by people I knew,
which may stem from the irrational feeling
that dating apps are a “last resort” when I know
that’s not true and the sheer embarrassment of
having to announce to the world that I’m single.
I have found a friendship that could have maybe
eventually turned into a relationship if he were
more serious and if we didn’t live on opposite
sides of the country. It started off great, but sort
of fizzled out as things often do when someone
stops putting in as much effort and it begins to
feel like more trouble than it’s worth. In terms
of Minder, it proved to me that I could indeed
vibe with someone I met online and that I do
have the capacity to sustain something with
distance and delayed gratification if need be.
It also dispelled the notion I had ingrained
in myself that romance can’t be real if it has
intentional, planned beginnings. In terms of
guys my age, it proved the usual — diving in
too quickly still isn’t the right move for me and
pretty words often amount to zero actions or
follow-through.
I have also found several short-lived
conversations that ended abruptly, a couple
reasons to change my phone number, many
cheesy bios, many weirdly hypersexual profile
pictures and a much clearer picture of what I
do and don’t want in a potential partner. And
that counts for something, right?
What struck me the most was the
discrepancy between the types of guys on
the app and what they wanted, as well as how
many men simply do not know how to talk to
women — be it from shyness, impatience, not
being serious about the app or whatever else.
Some of them genuinely sounded like they
had never talked to a woman in their entire
life. Don’t get me wrong, my expectations
for men on a dating app were not unrealistic,
but where was the charisma and charm that
Taylor Swift wrote hundreds of songs about?
While some of my matches asked right off
the bat if I would send nudes or was into
something more “casual,” others brought
up marriage within the first conversation.
And then to echo Nada’s point, there was the
outrageous laziness and lack of creativity in
bios: About me: Just ask.;The key to my heart:
food. What keeps me up at night: Netflix.
Thanks, Ali. That, coupled with your
shirtless mirror selfie, really sold me.
However, guys’ lazy bios and cringey photos
are a running joke on most dating apps, so
I definitely don’t chalk it up to religion or
demographics.
All in all, the experience was quite fun and
interesting, and I appreciate Minder for what
it is: A place for Muslims to get to know each
other and clearly articulate what they want in
a partner and relationship. It definitely plays a
role in destigmatizing dating in our religion,
and we deserve a place where we are the norm
and not an exception or a fetish, but I think my
overall disappointment is less about dating as
a Muslim and more about dating apps more
generally.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
4 — Wednesday, February 24, 2021
The L-word
Love in color: Minder edition
Pink happens to be my favorite color.
Yet, I’m not that excited to see stores boast
hues of pink and red as this time of year
approaches.
The l word didn’t exist for me until
Valentine’s Day. As a kid, I was always
excited by the prospect of Valentine’s: how
lovely it is that we have a day dedicated to
showing affection and care for those in our
life. I dreamed of dramatic confessions,
endless bouquets of roses and taking
time to appreciate one another in typical
romantic-comedy fashion. I believed that
Valentine’s Day enabled people to be brave
enough to say “the l word.”
Since then, I’ve been tying some sort
of magic to the day. A couple of years ago,
I would have been hoping for my own
Patrick Verona to walk through the door.
In high school, I might’ve thought about
the boy in my geometry class sending me
a candy-gram — anonymously of course —
to jumpstart our high school sweethearts
story. Last year, it would’ve been nice to
grab Starbucks with someone. But you see,
none of these aims ever came true. I was set
up by the rom-com industry and Hallmark
holiday that is Valentine’s Day. And before I
knew it, “the l word,” whether in text or out
loud, left me feeling sick.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about why
it’s so hard for me to even say “the l word.”
Maybe because it’s sacred to me. Maybe
because my mom never said it. Maybe
because I’ve only seen it on a television
screen. Maybe because I don’t think it
belongs to me. Maybe it’s not even real. My
friends and I often say that your perception
of “the l word” is based on its presence
around you. So, I’ve been searching for it.
For love. Yes, love. In old photos, hand-me-
down clothes and in every fold of a love
letter. And I can tell you, it’s real.
I see it when my mom silently leaves
a plate of peeled mandarins on my desk.
My uncles who fight to pay the bill at a
restaurant. Friends that send each other
songs that remind them of each other.
Sending audio messages over texting. My
favorite is when partners hold onto each
other’s belongings so gently while the
other is occupied. Plus, all the moments
we can’t see or don’t know about. Like
how you think of someone in your Duas
(prayers). Or looking forward to their
name under your notification bar.
It’s not the break-out-in-song-and-
dance or Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” type
of love that I’ve always envisioned, but it
is love. While it’s nice to hear and see the
word this Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t always
have to be said aloud. Hidden amidst the
pink hearts and bubble lettered l word, it’s
the beautiful action of love that finds itself
everywhere.
ZAFIRAH RAHMAN
MiC Columnist
Valentine’s Day is stereotypical
My
mother
taught
me,
however
unintentionally, about love through her life
stories. She would tell me how when she was
younger, her father would make extra money
by fixing other people’s broken household
appliances. She explained how when her
birthday was approaching, he would pray that
people’s appliances would break so he could
afford to buy her a dress, even though she never
expected anything. My mother showed me home
videos she found from 1998. The videos consisted
of my parents being completely and utterly
mesmerized by my older sister, who was just one
year old at the time, doing nothing besides sitting.
My mother was the one who taught me that love
is gentle, kind, patient and forgiving. She taught
me that love has the ability to grow and change
over time, so that it can become stronger. Love
takes effort and is ongoing.
With Valentine’s Day just around the corner,
I can’t help but note the differences between
mainstream society’s expression of love
and my mother’s stories about love. Society
dictates that men are frantically browsing
stores, trying to figure out the perfect gift
for their significant others. They search aisle
after aisle, wondering if their wife or girlfriend
would want chocolate, flowers or jewelry. Or
maybe they want it all. Of course, the basic
expectation is a nice dinner, so that has to
happen regardless of what gift he chooses.
These men consequently feel as though the
pressure is on when it comes to Valentine’s Day.
Much of society and the media claim that
Valentine’s Day is the designated holiday
to proclaim love and appreciation for the
important people in our lives. In theory,
Valentine’s Day seems like a wholesome way
to express love, and giving gifts is a method
of depicting your love on this holiday. Though
society has largely accepted this, the holiday
can easily turn into a performative, shallow
way of appeasing your supposed loved one
through materialistic items, which ultimately
goes against everything I believe love stands
for. It is just as important to celebrate your
loved ones every single day in simple ways,
whether that be through actions or words.
Since when did the magnitude of love
become quantifiable through gifts and how
much someone spends? Love is not measured
on a monetary scale. Celebrating a holiday
that directly or indirectly supports this notion
can and will never depict the amount of love
someone has for another person, whether
that person is a parent, sibling, friend or
significant other. The modern meaning of
love, as suggested by Valentine’s Day, is not the
same love my mother taught me. When you
really love someone, you show it on more than
just one day. It is seen through actions rather
than materials. This type of love appears to
be absent from the stereotypical notion of
Valentine’s Day.
MEGHAN DODABALLAPUR
MiC Columnist
NADA ELDAWAY, MAYA MOKH &
LORA FARAJ
MiC Contributors
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
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