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We’re sick of dating apps. Can the internet still play cupid?
As the consensus on dating apps sours, is there any hope left for digital meet-cutes? We ask how the internet can be a better wing-man in our romantic search.
Photography by Shannon Staples-Alexander
With the events of the year so far, it’s clear that something has to give. Match Group (the parent company of Tinder and Hinge) recently reported that paying users fell by 8% last year to just below 10 million. This was followed by the company being accused of ‘gamifying dating’ back in February, when six dating app users filed a proposed class-action lawsuit accusing Match dating apps of using addictive features to encourage compulsive use. According to the lawsuit filed in federal court in the Northern District of California, Match’s apps use “recognised dopamine-manipulating product features”, so users turn into “gamblers locked in a search for psychological rewards”.
When Bumble announced it was axing 30% of its workforce due to sluggish demand on 29 February, it started to look like 2024 would see the death of the dating app. Rebecca Hill worked as a creative lead at Bumble from 2019 to 2022, and traces the app’s current struggles to the post-pandemic condition. “Back in the pandemic, Bumble expanded massively. Dating apps were the only way to meet people if you were single, but now we can go back out and return to normal. We’re seeing Bumble scaling back everything they invested in,” she says.
Dating app’s shift in success is also down to the growing disillusionment of their users. “It was amazing how lonely people were at user research sessions, and how frustrated they were that the app wasn’t working for them,” Rebecca continues. “It’s a vicious cycle. Users don't have any success, delete it, and are back on it again.”
This cycle of frustration, boredom, and horniness might sound familiar. Anvita, a 21-year-old from London, has been on and off dating apps for the past year. “If I go back on the app, it’s because of boredom. It never amounts to anything, I’m usually only on it for a few days,” she says. Dating apps promise an efficient, effective, and easy way to find a partner, so why is it that we can’t stomach using them for longer than a few days? “They don’t facilitate good connection; it’s so difficult having the same conversations over and over,” Anvita says. “Even if I get along with someone, organising an offline date is a gamble. All I know is that they’re cute, maybe funny from their prompts, but it can still be hard to connect with them in person.”
The repetition of chatting to new matches has also been a problem for 20-year-old Oli, who deleted his apps last month. “Most conversations were surface deep, and as the man it was on me to drive it,” he explains. “Even when women would initiate the conversation, it would be along the exact same lines as other interactions.”
As dating apps have become entirely entangled with our dating culture, the efficient and convenient romance they sell has started to seem less like a fairy-tale and more like a swindle. As soon as you match with someone, you know the attraction is mutual. Convenient? Yes. But also, void of excitement and mystery. Compared to a destined chance meeting or slowly falling for a friend, the repetitive Hinge courtship ritual can’t live up to our need for meaningful connection.
Unfortunately, solving this problem isn’t as easy as stepping outside and immediately finding the person of your dreams. When Tinder launched in 2012, it created a mainstream, dedicated space for dating. In the 12 years since, this digital space has become the norm, while offline dating has turned into a forgotten art. “Apps have the explicit purpose of matching people efficiently. They’ve constructed this digital enclosure so other ways of meeting people offline appear weird or awkward. How do you approach someone in a pub nowadays? Its awkward.” explains Dr Carolina Bandillini, associate professor at the University of Warwick and researcher on romance and digital culture.
So, early Gen Z have never experienced a pre-app dating culture built on mutual friends and spontaneous meetings, and the rest of us are desperately out of practice. Meanwhile, scrolling on Hinge is mind-numbing. While a new third option would be lovely, its looking like it’s up to us to improve what we already have. “I hope that young people will become more digitally savvy and literate so they can feel less obliged to be on a dating app,” says Dr Carolina. “If they’re aware of the app’s purpose and why they’re using it, they can decide whether this is generative. Not just for the individual, but at a collective, social level too.” Dating apps have us hooked on algorithmic addiction, so it’s time to up our media literacy and take control over our approach to online dating. While Big Tech are telling us that dating should be as efficient as Uber Eats, that doesn’t mean we have to listen.
Let’s not forget, sticking to the apps isn’t the only way to meet people online. Long before Grindr launched in 2009, innovating the digital dating we know today, the internet was still used in the search for romance. From the days of Myspace, social media has given singles a platform to connect, while skipping the awkwardness of real-life introductions. Gen Z’s mating dance is a familiar process of liking an Instagram photo, a bold follow, a back-and-forth of liked stories, before someone finally takes the plunge and sends a DM.
“It feels more natural to slide into someone’s DMs over being one of however many prospective partners on a dating app,” Oli says. Dating apps usually introduce us to strangers, while our social media followers make up a network of mutual friends and people in similar geographical or interest-based communities. If approaching people in your community – whether that’s the barista at your local café, a colleague at work, or a mutual friend – is out of your comfort zone, social media still offers the ease and comfort of digital interaction.
Our frustration with dating apps can easily lead to over-romanticising offline dating, but the apps still have the benefits of acting as a safe space for some users – especially women and queer communities – a safe space to explore desire. Grindr shaped the future of dating apps, built on providing a space to explore sexualities and facilitate easier communication amidst the HIV crisis. If dating apps provide a safe space for communities that need it, then it’s up to the platforms to make their user’s experience more human.
Dr Carolina explains: “I hope that the dating apps will revise their promise of turning love into something efficient. That's not possible, and I don't even think it is desirable.”
Whether you decide to to stick with the apps or delete them for good, a healthy dose of tech-smarts – and remembering that behind every Hinge profile there is human just like me and you – can keep the dating app fatigue at bay.