It was the same routine every month: Yann (people cited by their first names did not wish to share their last names), a 29-year-old Parisian sustainable development manager, would decide to delete Grindr from his phone – only to reinstall the app, which has become a staple for quick sexual encounters, often one-night stands, among gay men. "I know it's not good for me, but it's like I can't stop myself from going back to it," he said. Yann began using Grindr at 18, scrolling through its grid of profiles that showcase a myriad of bare torsos and engaging in direct, often crude, interactions. It's an ocean of possibilities, into which young queer men enthusiastically dive, to the point of gradually coming to spend hours in the evenings scrolling and initiating dozens of conversations. The game consists of "getting each other hot" as quickly as possible, before a potential express-speed sexual hookup, which plays out in "scenarios that are always the same."

"Recently, I realized just how much it shaped my fantasies," Yann confided. When he began his first long-term relationship at 28, Grindr's influence was weighing on his intimate life. "In 10 years of Grindr hookups, I've equated sex with something quick and brutal, rooted in domination or submission, with roles defined by physical appearance, similar to what you see in porn. And I can't seem to break free from it," he said.

Yann was happy with his partner and would have liked to set the app aside, but he never managed to do so. "I would secretly log in to start conversations. I never went on to meet anyone in real life, but I needed those peaks of excitement," he admitted. He now identifies the need as an "addiction," and it took a toll on his relationship. "After that breakup, I told myself I was done with Grindr. But then the loneliness came back," he explained. "I don't go out much to gay bars; I don't feel comfortable there, so it's hard to meet people without it."

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