There are two kinds of people: those who are disgusted by the prospect of networking, and those who literally cannot stop networking. You can spot a serial networker immediately because he has business cards on his person at all times and because he offers to “connect you to the mashed potatoes” at Thanksgiving dinner. The serial networker is LinkedIn personified.

This week Bumble launched Bumble Bizz, an app for the serial networkers among us. Bumble Bizz is like regular Bumble except that you’re prompted to “show off your experience with photos of your work” and in addition to the usual bio there’s a section that looks like an abbreviated resume. One sample profile features a woman named Elisabeth. She’s pictured holding a phone and is “a firm believer that we learn through teaching!” If that's how you bag a mentor, then God help me, I'll ford these waters alone.

Serial networkers are menaces in every context but especially on dating apps. One of my friends, a great beauty who works in reality television, recently encountered a serial networker on Tinder. They had a great, flirty first date, and made plans for a second. But then the serial networker abruptly pivoted the situation from romantic to professional. He changed their second date from drinks to an early breakfast, which he spent peppering her with questions about “the industry.” She was initially charmed by all the questions—it’s really nice to meet someone genuinely interested in your work—but she soon realized she’d been tricked into an informational interview. At the end of their date meeting he hugged her and told her to “keep in touch.” She’d been networked.

Getting networked is worse than being put in the friend zone. At least in the friend zone you’re being used for your personality. When you get networked, you’re being used for your job. “It was like I was the nerd in math class and he was signing my yearbook but not giving me his number,” my friend said after the fact. There are spaces that are designed for building professional connections, and spaces that are designed for building mattress connections. The beautiful thing about dating apps is that you don’t have to wonder whether someone is approaching you because they think you’re cute or because they want to network with you. When you sign up for a dating app you’re entering into a social contract with all the other horny people on there: You’re saying that you’re available, and that you’re going to use the app for its marketed purpose (sex).

Most of my friends (I have three) include their jobs in their dating apps, because it can be a good conversation starter. I include my job in my dating app profiles for the same reason a guy might include a picture of himself holding a large fish: It is a thing I am very proud of. Most guys ask me about it in a casual, normal way, but occasionally a serial networker makes it through my rigorous vetting system—I swipe left on anyone with corporate headshot—and tries to network me. This usually starts innocently, with a sly “So what do you do?” Then it escalates quickly to the serial networker telling me that he was editor-in-chief of his college lit review. Sometimes the approach is more entitled. What woman doesn’t want to be asked “How did you get that job?” by way of a pick up line? And who wouldn’t swoon over this immortal greeting from a trumpeter in Costco jeans: “Can you get me a meeting with Jim Nelson? I’ve got a great idea about the next fashion trend.”

A serial networker, bristling at the accusations leveled here, might wonder why I don’t just delete my company from my dating app bios. I have two answers. Firstly, I’m not sure how. Secondly, as diminishing as it is to be approached about work in a romantic context, I’m also so pleased to live in a time when men feel professionally competitive with me. I was recently perusing my mother’s birth certificate for evidence of family ties to Jessica Chastain (none yet but our resemblance is clear if I dye my hair red and you’re really high) when I discovered a very Handmaid’s Tale detail. On my mother’s birth certificate there is a box for “father’s occupation,” but there is no box for “mother’s occupation.” It was a simpler and more terrible time—when marriage was between a man and a woman and networking was between a man and a man—and a woman’s occupation, if she was allowed to have one, didn’t matter. I’m always excited when I’m prompted to report my job, whether it’s on a birth certificate, a dating app, or a restaurant service evaluation.

Still, there’s a time and a place for that. The place is LinkedIn. Or Bumble Bizz, I guess, where the serial networkers of the world can network all night long.

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