Regardless of how you choose to label your sexual orientation — gay, straight, bisexual, or pansexual — better yet, even if you’ve given your sexual preference no label at all, you most likely already know that dating sucks. And you definitely already know that online dating really sucks. You can’t imagine what it’s like trying to date everyone.

As many bisexuals will tell you about the plight of admiring and lusting after both sexes, we often feel like we’re not gay enough for the gays, and not straight enough for the heterosexuals. We’ve all heard the stereotypes associated with bisexuality, and to be sure, they’re not true. We’re not greedy; we can just appreciate the human body regardless of the reproductive system assigned to it. We’ve just got a lot of feelings, ok?

When I giddily changed my dating app preference from just men to men and women, the haze of gym selfies, fish holders, and bed dwellers now included the odd FaceTune, serious outfit envy, and pouty lips. It was information overload. And to be honest, even with all the options, it hasn’t made my dating life any fuller, or any better for that matter. It’s actually introduced more obstacles than I imagined.

They Leave You Hanging on Hinge

Honestly, I hate Hinge. I know this is an unpopular opinion, but hear me out. Hinge markets itself as an app meant for those who want real relationships, an atmosphere a friend once cleverly referred to as a “light OKCupid.” Hinge claims, according to their research, the ‘Your Turn’ feature has reduced ghosting on the site by 25%. But I’ve found that I’ve gotten the least dates, the most boring matches, and the most ghosting on the app.

The women on Hinge are gorgeous; it’s actually kind of fucked up. The men, and no offense here, less so. But it might be the people whom I’m close to and prefer that affect this. Something interesting I noticed however, is that Hinge will give new members 30 days worth of a preferred membership after a few days of swiping. Hinge limits your amount of likes a day so it’s not a swiping free for all like Tinder. I found that when I was bumped up to preferred though, the men started getting a whole lot cuter.

Not a Lot of Interaction

Hinge is the app that directed me towards the women I want to date: intelligent, funny, stylish, present, beautiful women. It’s really too bad that most of them don’t respond to messages. The highest prevalence of ghosting I’ve encountered on all dating apps are from women, sad but understandable. As a woman, I know what it’s like to feel preyed on. Some dating app messages surpass unkind. Women are skeptical because of that, and rightly so.

Although my Hinge matches and I took the time to fill out more about ourselves and our lifestyles than other apps, and even identified deal breakers and whether or not we had or wanted kids, my Hinge matches didn’t really want to interact much. It seemed like so much work for little reward. For that reason, and because of the limitations imposed, I’m just going to say it: Hinge is boring.

For anecdotal purposes, the first message I ever got on Hinge foreshadowed the weirdness I was in for. I matched with a woman whom’s first photo was of her holding a giant bottle of Veuve Clicquot. After chatting about the amount of champagne that was in it, she asked me if I would be interested in meeting up with her and her boyfriend. I was unsure. Then, she proceeded to tell me she was a Dom and he could either be involved or not, but his “cage” would definitely be there. No, thank you.

Tinder Has It All, But It Still Has Problems

Say what you will about it, but Tinder is easy. You have unlimited swipes, there are matches looking for anything and everything, which include: long term relationships, subs, unicorns, one-night stands, friends, and “positive vibes only,” and it is in use all around the world.

I met perhaps my favorite ex through Tinder. I’ve had very hot threesomes, dated people I never would have found on my own, and had some hilarious conversations. Tinder was the first online dating avenue where I could easily eliminate people I knew immediately I wouldn’t get along with. There is something eerily authentic about Tinder. And I’m here for it. That’s not to say that Tinder is a utopia, far from it. Even with some forms of control, I still have to watch out for hostility and homophobia.

Coming Out Over and Over Again

I mentioned what it’s like to essentially have to come out to my dates at some point, a phenomenon my gay friends have had to grapple with too, and it is as annoying and uncomfortable as it sounds. As bi women, we’re hyper sexualized. It’s hot that we might want to have threesomes with a male partner, it’s hot that we want to make out with girls, but when dating girls is mentioned, all of a sudden it becomes a little too gay.

A recent date I met via Tinder did one of the worst things you can do to a bi person, so please take heed. I had already gotten the bi bit out of the way earlier in the evening, when I thought things might be going well. Later, when I reacted to something disrespectful my date had done, he looked at me bewildered and said, “Maybe you should just be dating girls.” No one, especially not someone who’s recently come out, wants their sexuality negged like that.

Sometimes the bisexuality conversation can be very open and honest, and that is what I strive for with people I actually want to date. My ex, whom I met through Tinder also, asked me very genuinely once: “Did you like all the girls you’ve kissed?” My response was, “No, but I didn’t like all the boys either.”