The users whom reappear after countless remaining swipes are becoming contemporary metropolitan legends.

Alex Hammerli / The Atlantic

Alex is 27 years of age. He lives in or has use of a property having a kitchen that is enormous granite countertops. I’ve seen their face lots of times, always using the expression—stoic that is same content, smirking. Positively exactly the same as compared to the Mona Lisa, plus horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Many times, their Tinder profile has six or seven pictures, plus in every one, he reclines from the exact exact same kitchen that is immaculate with one leg crossed lightly throughout the other. Their pose is identical; the angle of this picture is identical; the coif of their locks is identical. Just their clothes modification: blue suit, black colored suit, red flannel. Rose blazer, navy V-neck, double-breasted parka. Body and face frozen, he swaps garments like a paper doll. He could be Alex, he could be 27, he could be in the kitchen area, he’s inside a good top. He’s Alex, he’s 27, he could be inside the home, he could be inside a good top.

I’ve constantly swiped kept (for “no”) on their profile—no offense, Alex—which should presumably notify Tinder’s algorithm that i’d in contrast to to see him once more. But we still find Alex on Tinder at least one time a thirty days. The most up-to-date time we saw him, we learned their profile for a few moments and jumped once I noticed one indication of life: a cookie container shaped such as a French bulldog showing up then disappearing from behind Alex’s right elbow.

I’m not the only person. Him, dozens said yes when I asked on Twitter whether others had seen. One girl responded, “I are now living in BOSTON and now have nevertheless seen this guy on visits to New York City.” And evidently, Alex just isn’t a separated case. Read more