
 
 Really? It’s only September. (Cuddlr) 
 
 Scrolling around Charlie Williams’s new app, Cuddlr — proudly billed as the “Tinder for cuddling” — you get the sense that maybe Williams hasn’t spent a whole lot of time online. 
 
 The app, which promises to connect consenting adults for safe, fun, nonsexual snuggling, relies on the same geolocation technology as Tinder, Grindr and their ilk. It also relies on the same core philosophy: That, given the opportunity, people will use their phones to make connections with each other — in this case, unsexy, platonic connections that just so happen to involve lots of physical touch. 
 
 That’s kind of where Cuddlr falls on its face. Call it the app equivalent of the popular Internet axiom, Rule 34: “If it exists, there is porn of it.” It doesn’t matter how much Cuddlr insists the app is for free hugs only — in its seven days in the App Store, it’s already turned to distinctly less PG purposes. 
 
 Consider the number of requests sent in the witching hours after 11 p.m. Or the fact that, despite much trying, the Daily Dot’s EJ Dickson could not find a single other lady to hug earlier this week. Or the fact that every Cuddlr user I messaged for this story was in bed, asked for my picture, or both. 
 
 
 
 Cuddlr notifications: curiously frequent after dark! 
 
 When I finally found a suitable cuddle this morning — young guy, normal picture, just a couple neighborhoods away — we exchanged a series of texts negotiating (what I thought would be) a friendly hug. When he asked to see my picture, I sent him a picture with my boyfriend. He was, well … disappointed. 
 
 “I’m into the idea of spontaneous, no-strings-attached sex,” he texted back. 
 
 So that didn’t work out. 
 
 American society has a complicated, and kind of bizarre, relationship with interpersonal touch: It’s expected between sexual partners and family members, but takes on a distinctly creepy connotation between just about anyone else. Williams points out, in his impassioned raison d’etre on Medium, that mainstream America finds it more acceptable to use an app to meet a stranger for sex than to use an app to find a friendly hug. Since hugs are good for you, and carry little inherent risk, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. 
 
 It also echoes an argument made by the “cuddle party” gurus of the early aughts: “We live in a very touch-deprived society,” the self-proclaimed sex coach Reid Mihalko once said. 
 
 But there’s a reason cuddle parties aren’t in vogue today, just as there’s a reason that every Cuddlr user I corresponded with for this story asked to see my picture. Americans simply aren’t conditioned to think of something as physically intimate as “cuddling” in a non-sexual or non-romantic way. (Heck, it’s in the very definition of the word.) 
 
 And while Williams’s quest to change their minds on that score is admirable — visionary, even — a geolocation app is self-evidently not the way to do it. People will use a geolocation app for sex, full-stop. And no amount of small print or cautionary help text will change that. 
 
 In fact, given the way people already appear to be using the app, the small print almost seems dangerous: with its vague intimation that “a cuddle can be many things” and its refusal to ban users even after someone else flags their cuddle as “inappropriate” — multiple users must make such reports — it’s easy to see cuddlers meeting up with different expectations. (It’s also easy to see lawsuits. Or sexual assaults.) 
 
 This is a bit of a tragedy, really, because geolocation — with its unprecedented ability to connect nearby strangers — has so much (platonic!) social potential. I would love an app that could help me meet my neighbors in my apartment building, whom I very rarely see. Or other dog-owners in my area. 
 
 Frankly, I would even like an app that connected people who like hugs — literal hugs, and nothing else — because I do think that’s kind of a charming idea. I hugged one of my co-workers this morning after spotting him on Cuddlr. It was nice! 
 
 
 
 The screen that pops up when you accept a cuddle-request; this one came from my coworker. Thanks for the hug, Michael! (Cuddlr) 
 
 But the problem with designing an app around that type of very fundamental social interaction, I think, is that because the interaction is so extremely basic — a hug, or a “hi,” or a “hey, you live here too?” — it also strikes us as something that shouldn’t require technology. Something only the truly pathetic would do with the aid of an app. 
 
 I’m reminded of the protagonist in the movie Her, resignedly writing other people’s love letters — a profession invented by Spike Jonze to show exactly how disconnected modern technology has made us. We’re fine outsourcing a range of personal labors to tech, from laundry to listening, but writing a letter is so easy, so uncomplicated, that it seems to fail some critical test. Whereas modern dating/mating is a logistical nightmare — where to meet people? how to gauge interest? how to wade through the cascade of unavailable, unattractive and otherwise ineligible candidates to find the needle-in-the-haystack for you? — finding a hug is pretty easy. (Unless you have no friends, no family, and no affectionate acquaintances … which brings us back to that core idea that only the socially destitute would rely on such an app.) 
 
 It would be nice if our society, and our brains, weren’t wired that way, of course. But while they are, Cuddlr simply isn’t going to see the type of adoption as, say, online dating sites or apps, which 2 in 5 American singles use. Williams is right: Despite the profound popularity of tech-mediated socialization, and the integration of geolocation into most aspects of our technological lives, it’s far more acceptable to use an app to find sex than it is to find just about any other “connection.” Even when the app states, explicitly, that it involves connection of a purely nonsexual kind. 
 
 Caveat cuddler: Despite our best efforts, it’s not exactly warm and fuzzy out there. ||||| Frequently Asked Questions 
 
 Cuddlr is a location-based social-meeting app just for cuddling. It's a way of finding people near you who are up for a cuddle, without any pressure or expectation. When you and another person decide to have a cuddle, the app gives you live-updating walking directions to each other, so you can meet up. 
 
 Our culture doesn't have a space for closeness without pressure. The way we talk about meeting and sharing space and contact with someone assumes that it's centered explicitly around sex and dating, or based on the kind of affection a parent might show a child. We're not getting the right type of contact often enough; we don't give and get enough hugs. Hooking up is certainly not always a bad thing, but there's definitely an under-explored time and a place for a more gentle, no-pressure intimacy, and that's what Cuddlr aims to help with. 
 
 It finds the closest cuddlers in walking distance and shares their first name, picture, and successful and problematic past cuddles (if any). Tap to request a cuddle from a specific person or respond to someone else's request. If you both agree, you can shoot them a brief message like "let's meet at the park" or "I'm wearing a green shirt". Cuddlr will then show real-time walking directions between the two of you. Once you meet and have a cuddle, you can give a thumbs-up if everything went ok, or in the event of a somewhat too-grabby cuddle, you can report the user. That's it! The app also lets you share a picture of the cuddle, and, when you're ready, you can ask for another cuddle through Cuddlr. 
 
 Many features, such as chat, photo albums, shared interests and likes, can keep users from actually meeting: they just chat for months, or swipe left-or-right, or send photos. On Cuddlr, you get together straight away, have a little cuddle, and then part ways. If you want to hang out again, you can exchange information then and there— but you already know what kind of cuddles they give. 
 
 For potential cuddlers, you can see how many successful and unsuccessful cuddles they've had in the past. Users with a substantial proportion of reports are unlikely to have their requests accepted, and we ban anyone who is consistently using it improperly. In addition, we don't share your location until you've indicated that you do actually want to cuddle this person, and you can block anyone if you don't want them to even see you on the app. 
 
 Of course you do! Only cuddle with people who you think you'll enjoy cuddling with. Remember, it takes two to cuddle, so simply being on the service won't sign you up for cuddles. Also, you can block anyone you don't want to see or hear from. Blocking is always mutual: you won't see them, they won't see you. 
 
 Not currently. We encourage you to consider cuddling with people who you wouldn't date, sleep with, or even find attractive— as well as those you would. For that reason, while you can scroll past anyone or decline their cuddle requests, and you can block individuals, we do not have built-in filters for categories of people. 
 
 Lots of people ask us "Why do I need to use Facebook or Twitter to log into Cuddlr? Why can't I log in with email? And, why can't I upload my own photos?" The answer is simple: Time. We're a very, very small team. If we let you log in with email, we have to let you upload photos. And if we let you upload photos, some people (this is the internet, of course) will upload inappropriate photos. And then who's going to go through and weed out all the inappropriate ones? We'd have to. And we'd rather spend that time developing new features like enhanced chat and better privacy controls. Maybe someday we'll grow big enough to have some poor intern on pic-checking duty, and then you can log in using whatever you like. For now, though, please accept our apologies for only having two login methods. 
 
 We're working right this very moment on an Android version with a planned release date in early 2015. We may bring the app to other platforms after this, but right now we're focusing on adding features to the iOS version and getting the Android version released. You can sign up below if you want to hear when Android (or any other platform) gets added.
– Imagine a career that let you stay in your PJs, work from home, and make around $400 a night spooning strangers? If that last part of the job description didn't scare you off, you may have what it takes to be what the Wall Street Journal calls a worker in the "cuddle-for-hire" business. It's a cottage industry that's now moving out of the cottage and into storefronts and online to offer platonic (read: nonsexual) snuggling for "therapeutic" purposes: The Journal cites "academic research" that explains the "physical and emotional perks to touch," including increased levels of the bonding hormone oxytocin, decreased heart rate, and stress reduction. Where cuddling gets controversial: Snuggle pros aren't licensed, and some people are wary that such a service could lead to more "unsavory" customers seeking out sexual encounters, the Journal notes. Businesses often have rules in place to keep things on the up-and-up: Clients sign contracts noting what's acceptable cuddling, security cameras keep tabs, and lounge chairs are used instead of beds so customers don't get the wrong impression. Apparently there's a market for these services: The founder of the Cuddle Comfort website—"the first and only website for finding a cuddle buddy"—says it has 18,000 members; a proprietor of the free Cuddlr app claims up to 10,000 people are using his service daily to find cuddle partners, according to the Journal. However, Caitlin Dewey wrote previously for the Washington Post that she tried Cuddlr and was "severely creeped out"—and that such services may lead to lawsuits or sexual assaults. "People will use a geolocation app for sex, full-stop," she says. "And no amount of small print or cautionary help text will change that." (Men can get more snuggly by using a "cuddle spray.")