Beyond the Binary: Navigating Cis-Focused Apps and Dating as a Nonbinary Person

The cursed greeting-card holiday approaches yet again, and I find myself evaluating my relationship with dating, partnership, and intimacy over the decade I’ve attempted some semblance of embracing it as an aromantic, queer person.

I’ve been out as queer since I was 16 (I’m 28 now), though I think I’ve always had some trouble dating and being intimate, with men specifically—some of that may be my aromanticism, but it surely connects to my journey with gender and sexuality. 

It wasn’t until my mid 20s when I understood I was attracted to people of all genders and until my late 20s when I came out and began living openly as nonbinary. I can safely tell you that it made my relationship with dating and intimacy even more complicated.

Dating and casual relationships often feel like a pre-emptive brace for impact; it’s an insecurity, often confirmed in action, that a cis person I’m dating or being intimate with generally doesn’t see me as I’ve described, rather lazily defaulting to a false assumption that I’m a cis man who is asking them to use they/them pronouns for me.

I remember having a pretty fun time with someone last year, only to be misgendered continually after I’d already disclosed my pronouns and gender, brushed aside as I corrected him. The sex was fun, but the rest of it, not so much. We didn’t see each other again.

The gay, male space has been supremely strange and toxic to navigate in my experience, and I can’t make that sentiment without referencing the hellscape that is Grindr, which I’ve deleted and redownloaded more times than I can count. I often don’t reply to messages given the amount of hard boundaries I’ve set for myself regarding the behavior of other users.

So, of course, part of this solution is—Keegan, get the fuck off Grindr. Many cis, gay men, and others, have led conversations encouraging others to delete the app because of how toxic it can be.

Though, it’s not like the other options are inclusive either, and that comes down to programming choices on behalf of developers.

Apps like Tinder and Bumble were all designed innately for cis, straight people, and it’s clear using the app as a nonbinary, queer person. As an empty gesture, they allow you to self-identify your gender as nonbinary on your profile, but you can’t save the option before the interface asks the user if they would like to be shown to people looking for men or women.

So, essentially, the app is saying, “Are you BOY nonbinary or GIRL nonbinary,” which is … entirely missing the point and a total misunderstanding of many nonbinary people and their relationship (or lack thereof) to gender.

Hinge recently updated their app allowing people to choose nonbinary as an option for themselves or the people they want to see.

The Hinge FAQ states: “With support from GLAAD, Hinge continues to develop an authentic, empowering, and positively impactful experience for the LGBTQ+ community on Hinge. This is especially important for nonbinary people who are often disappointed and disheartened by apps that aren’t affirming of their identity.”

The thing is, I don’t want to be shown to people who are looking for men. Some people may perceive me as a man—that’s on them—but I’m not. I want to see people who are looking for nonbinary people. I want to be shown to people who, potentially, have already interrogated their own relationship and perception to gender; I want to have the knowledge before I’m entering a vulnerable scenario that I am seen and that my experience is valued.

*Enter the cis folks who will usually interject about now.*

I posted about this on TikTok last year after briefly trying out Bumble for the first time, and a commenter replied: “There are nonbinary people I’m attracted to as a gay man, but if I’m making a dating profile, I’m gonna check a box saying I’m looking for men.”

To which, I posted a video reply saying: “Unfortunately, this comment really reads as, ‘I will date nonbinary people who I perceive as men,’ and this goes two ways, right? It’s not all about you. I want to date people who are going to affirm my gender and see me as a nonbinary person, not people who see me as a man.”

Most of the comments on that semi-viral TikTok (more than 200,000 views) were from trans and nonbinary people empathizing, with the few cis people centering themselves and their feelings on apps that are already built for them.

If the genitals of the nonbinary person you are about to swipe on are so important to you, then maybe it IS best that you just stick to cis folks. No one is forcing cis people to date us. That programming detriment essentially welcomes opportunities that threaten the safety and potential violence toward trans users, and if not that, just uncomfortable and unwelcoming experiences when we’re trying to build relationships.

This sort of gymnastics is part of the reason I’m increasingly looking more for T4T relationships, dating and being intimate only with other trans folks with that inherent understanding that being recognized and affirmed in my gender will not be an obstacle I must conquer.

OkCupid is better overall. They do not place nonbinary and gender-nonconforming people back into boxes, instead allowing users to select from the same list of expansive gender options for themselves along with those genders they would like to see. So, if you don’t want to date nonbinary people, if you don’t want to date someone who has marked themself as transfeminine or genderqueer, don’t select them. They probably don’t want to date you, either.

The fact is, so many of these conversations center the wants of cis folks, which is ironic given that these apps, these conventions, this world, is already built for them. 

I don’t have some sort of grand, forward-looking, hopeful moral to end this column. I honestly do not know how to navigate this. I have set more firm boundaries for myself when interacting with cis folks online, and ultimately have switched gears in hopes of expanding my in-person queer community, hopefully with more trans folks, and exploring love and intimacy the old-fashioned way—not through a phone.

I would like to find a compatible partner, or partners, at some point. I would love a world where trans folks can navigate these very human needs with the same accessibility and acceptance as their cis counterparts.