Periodically deleting and reinstalling Tinder could very well have replaced the "watching Titanic and eating ice-cream" as my generation's most (in)effective breakup remedy.

The short-term ego boost of hearing that elusive match tone is only outdone by the shattering loneliness when you realise Jess (24) who looked super cute and also listened to Client Liaison swiped left on your profile; swiftly but silently rejecting you.

So it was with this suspicious mindset that a friend and I recently decided to attend a "Tinder Party" at Retro's in Fortitude Valley.

The set-up was simple: set your applications location radius to its shortest, gather in an enclosed space with others doing the same, swipe, match, and boom; you'll be conveniently standing next to that person whose photo with a tiger in Thailand was really doing it for you.

Tinder works by showing you the profiles of people around you (usually just a few photos and a short bio) and you then swipe left (reject) or right (accept).

With two catastrophic breakups both far enough in the past, my friend and I ritually reinstalled the app and set our distances to the two-kilometre minimum.

Our first thought was, "If you match, it's great but what if you've rejected someone and bump into them?".

If two people both swipe right, a messenger application opens and awkward contextless conversation begins, but if you've swiped left that person has no way of contacting you.

Our worry was that in this tight space it would become super easy to work out who had rejected you, but look, I'd gone out on the town to sit on a phone dating app; I'd already figuratively jumped the awkward shark.

The club itself was classic Retro's; like a tradie's radio on a weekday it was pumping the best hits of the '80s, '90s and now (early '00s) with a crowd of about 50 people.

But soon, another issue arose: did anyone know the Tinder party was on?

I'd seen the Facebook event, and the sign by the door, but why was I the only person on my phone?

A conversation over the urinal with a punter confirmed my fears; this was looking like a Tinder party of two.

But just like that my phone started buzzing; a handful of notification tabs telling me that yes, a couple of girls did think I was handsome enough to be swiped to the right side of their Apple or Android device.

Three matches.

Once my head had shrunk back to its natural size I hopped on and messaged my would be 'ones'.

"Hey, so you're at this Tinder Party too? How are you finding it?," I wrote.

To my shock horror none of them were, they were up the road at other bars scattered around Brunswick Street.

After a few hours and a few fishbowls it was decided we would head elsewhere; Retro's attempt at a Tinder Party a noble gesture let down by a lack of application more than the application itself.

On the way out we spied a stunning girl swiping through Tinder.

We didn't match.

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