I’ve always been interested in visibility, what it means to be visible and what new technologies aid/impede being visible. The latest technology to draw my attention is Grindr’s new “Right Now” feature.

“Right Now” is a dedicated feed within the Grindr app where users can post brief statuses and optional photos indicating what they’re looking for at that exact moment. Each post is visible for one hour, signaling to others that the user is available for immediate sexual interaction. This feature aims to reduce ambiguity and streamline connections by making users’ intentions clear upfront. — Adapted from the Grindr Blog

You’re either free right now or you’re not.

But there’s something deeper going on here, something Jonathan Crary writes about in his 214 book, 24/7, where the boundaries between rest and action, intimacy and commerce, start to blur. “Right Now” doesn’t just let you signal desire—it asks you to perform a version of yourself in a one-hour window that vanishes, only to start again. There’s a low-level anxiety built in: am I using it enough? Too much? Am I missing something? This isn’t just about meeting someone—it’s about syncing your libido to the rhythms of a system that never stops moving.

Crary argues that late capitalism wants to eliminate sleep, boredom, and the slow drift of desire in favor of constant alertness. “Right Now” fits perfectly into that logic. Desire becomes scheduled, marketable, and data-driven. You get one free post a day—or you pay. You’re available for a limited time—better hurry. And while it can feel empowering to say clearly what you want and when, the infrastructure around that moment is extractive. Every signal of intimacy becomes part of a feed— meaning: glanceable, swipe-able, tracked.

Wanting someone becomes a kind of content to be produced and consumed.

So the question must be asked: is being unavailable, choosing stillness—is a form of resistance? There’s value in withholding, in not posting, in letting desire exist off-screen for a minute.

In the end, that doesn’t mean the feature has no use; like most tech, it reflects both a need and a market. (And let’s be honest: sex has always been the oldest marketplace) But it’s worth asking: whose rhythms are we syncing to when we use it? And who benefits?