With these nuanced yet necessary tweaks to the traditional dating app model, The League cuts through so much of the riffraff that makes dating apps good in theory but not always great in practice.

Plus, for those who want added privacy, Bradford developed a premium service, the League's "Heavy Hitters," which ensures ultimate control. Think about it: There are single people who are only on Hinge to look at the pictures, not to do anything, and married people messaging away on Tinder just for the thrill of flirting.

As a Heavy Hitter paying $15 a month (standard use of The League is free), no one can see your profile unless you want them to. Unlike most dating apps, you can't just join The League and immediately start pawing through the platform—which is, of course, what the press lunged at earlier this fall. Bradford doesn't want those game-players and ghost-like profiles cluttering her app, so she says that if users "aren't logging in, not responding to users, or people are messaging them and they're not messaging back, little things like that," they'll take action.

There are literally hundreds of apps to choose from, and if you’re a busy guy looking for something meaningful, scrolling through an endless stream of music-festival selfies probably isn’t the best use of your time.

But that doesn’t mean smartphone dating isn’t for you.

(Hey, to echo Lloyd Christmas, there’s referred to it as the “Soho House of dating apps”—but if you can manage to get an invite, we say go for it.

The app traffics mainly in creative types and anything ultra status-y: celebrities, people who work in the media, athletes, and even reality TV contestants.

There's a waiting list, which Bradford explains is integral to the customer experience, since she wants to ensure each person who joins the dating pool has suitable and varied matches in return. With that in mind, Bradford developed "a flagging system so that if the user is just there to check it out and not participate, we put them back on the wait list." Because a dating app should only be for people who really, actually want to date, right?

Behind the scenes, The League works not unlike a private matchmaker—curated, careful, thoughtful—but with the ease and Gen Y-ness of an app, it attracts young 20 and 30-somethings, not 50 year old "entrepreneurs" looking for their fourth wives. On other apps and sites, while you can designate, say, that you are a 24-year-old woman who only wants to date men 25-34 years old, it doesn't matter: Your profile will still be visible to those 68-year-old men trolling for 24-year-old women, even though you've already said you are not interested in that. While they're careful to only show you matches that make sense for you, they'll also only show your profile to people you would potentially be interested in, too. And yet no one has cared to enforce such a practical policy on the digital dating world—until Bradford.

(Want to a shot at model and actress Cara Delevingne, or even Sharon Stone?

Go for Raya.) If you go this route, prepare to be Googled and judged.

) removes some of that stress by giving you a limited number of matches every day at noon.