Circa 1970s, one of my favorite board games was the 1965 edition of Mystery Date. The object of the Milton Bradley game was to collect three matching cards to form an appropriate outfit, giving the player the chance to open the white plastic door to reveal one of six possible dates. If your outfit didn't match the date, you closed the door and waited till the next turn.
Marketed to girls 6 to 14, the 1965 game featured a formal date in a white dinner jacket; a geeky bowler in black glasses; a preppy beach date in flip flops; a suave skier; and... the dud, a dangerous looking dude with a five o'clock shadow, sloppy work pants and a smirk -- to be avoided at all cost.
The game lost its novelty after a few times so I'd resort to ditching the cards in favor of opening the door over and over, trying to figure out how to get the door to catch a certain way to ensure the handsome guy in the dinner jacket.
Fast forward post-Millennium, dating has become an online version of the popular childhood game. When we swipe left or right on Tinder and other sites, we're essentially opening that white plastic door with hope we'll find the guy (or girl) who matches your outfit or lifestyle.
We've bypassed the collecting of cards or getting to know the other as we would if we had met at a party or at the Whole Foods takeout counter. In rare instances, there's a profile to go along with the shirtless photo or posed pic in front of the Eiffel Tower. More times than not, we swipe solely dependent on appearance or image.
When "there's no one new around you," we need to change up the parameters -- or the equivalent of trying to rig the door.
And of course, there's also the possible scenario where you show up in a prom dress (or at least a dress and heels) and your date shows up dressed for the beach -- or worse yet, the dud!