In Toronto, this means the downtown core, which over the last decade has become a nexus of shiny towers filled with one-bedroom condos aimed at SINKs and DINKs (single- or double-income, no kids) who walk to work, eat out three meals a day and put in 60-hour work weeks.People in their 20s and 30s make up half of the downtown population.Like Earls, it’s another chain from the west known primarily for its sexy wait staff and showy wine lists.
It’s a western import, known for its big burgers and attractive servers, so it’s no surprise that for the first few months, the clientele was made up mostly of young men from Bay Street.
While their elders concealed wedding-band tans down the block at Bymark, the next gen swiftly turned the Earls patio into the city’s most reliable destination for debauchery—a stew of booze, boosterism and pheromones.
The first time I heard about Tinder was in early 2013, from a friend who works on the trading floors in Toronto.
The app didn’t officially launch here until December of that year, but it infiltrated the financial district first, passed along from horny Wall Street bros to their horny Bay Street brethren like a secret fist bump.
It’s a highly skilled, highly educated group that’s out-earning the rest of Toronto by an increasingly high margin: in 1990, the average person living in the downtown core—between Yonge and Simcoe, and Queen and Front—made $45,623 a year (158 per cent more than the average person in the GTA).