What the F*ck Are We Even Doing on Dating Apps Anymore
I fear we have lost the plot.
The other day, I was cleaning out my iPhone storage, which can fill up fast at 250 MB (lol). While scrolling through my phone, I realized how many useless dating apps I had. Some have not been opened in over a year, some have never been used, some were downloaded through anonymous recommendations, and others were just for fun.
Reflecting on these past three years alone, I began deleting every dating app. Mainstream ones like Hinge, Bumble, Muzz, and Raya went first, followed by more niche apps: 222, Cuffed, The League, Cerca, Frnds of Frnds, amata, In press, and more.
This made me question the whole process: what the f*ck are we really doing with dating apps?
Time and time again, my closest friends and I have had the most dreadful experiences on dating apps. Which, in theory, has made us 10x more cynical about ever finding our future mate.
We often find ourselves joking to one another, “no like seriously, where is he? He ain’t on the apps, that is for sure!” “But if he isn’t on the apps, where the hell is he?” “Where are we meeting this man?”
From constant swiping fatigue, high ghosting rates, unengaging conversations, unreciprocated efforts, and low-quality matches, dating in 2026 is exhausting, like the current job market.
It’s strange: we have more access to people than any generation: hundreds of profiles, endless swipes, constant matches. Yet things feel shallow, temporary, and easily replaceable.
Here’s the thing: what I have observed is that we have normalized this version of dating where effort feels optional. Where consistency is rare. Where being direct is almost seen as too intense. It’s like everyone is afraid of coming on too strong, so instead they come off as not interested at all.
For example, last year, one of my closest girlfriends went on a date with a young lad. She had met him on a mainstream dating app who happened to be local. He checked off all her boxes, and they seemed to really hit it off.
After about a week of texting, they agreed to meet for drinks. Drinks went well, and midway through the date, she texted me saying he was even better in person. Then, things soured. During the main course, an awkward pause led him to say, “Oh, by the way, I am exclusively into blondes.” (She is a brunette, incidentally.) She was rendered speechless.
She called me furiously, asking, “Seriously, what the hell has dating become, Ayra?”
I will also use myself as an example here. I would like to think I keep a fairly agnostic mindset about dating and meeting people. I once met a man who was muslim like me. Like me, he was also not very practicing. I remember halfway through our conversation. He says to me, “How do your muslim parents feel about you dating?” I was taken aback by his statement. I replied to him, “Double standards much, don’t we think? How do YOUR muslim parents feel about you dating?” To which he replied, “I am a man, it’s different for us.” (You guessed right, I never saw him again after that).
The strangest part of dating isn’t just the conversations (though it is), but how abruptly it ends. You spend hours trying to make something connect, then leave knowing you’ll likely never see each other again. No buildup, no second chance, no gradual rapport, just a quick yes or no hidden by “nice evening.”
It made me wonder, have dating apps fundamentally changed dating for the worse? Even when a connection seems promising and moves offline, the experience often feels disappointing. I actually think technology makes modern dating less bearable.
In our parents’ generation, thirty years ago,even twenty years ago, at the turn of the millennium, dating felt full of promise, a sense of possibility. Now, it feels like interviews with predetermined outcomes.
The way I like to see it, you get one of two men: You will either get the most emotionally unavailable man you’ve ever met in your life: dry replies, mixed signals, and allergic to consistency (yawn: immediate snooze-fest). Or you will get a literal walking red flag: the love bomber who, within 48 hours, is acting like you are the love of his life, planning your future, and calling you ‘different’ in a way that somehow feels deeply convincing. Weirdo.
To both these men, I want to distance myself immediately. Where is my pepper spray when I need it? Immediate block.
There’s no middle ground anymore. It’s emotional absence or emotional whiplash, both incredibly unsustainable.
From my experience, dating apps take away from the dating experience. They make the whole thing feel disposable. Because if people really wanted a connection, why do our conversations die after two days? Why does it feel like everyone is halfway in and halfway out? Like they are keeping one foot on the app, just in case something better shows up?
And that’s the part that really gets to me.
Because it’s not even that people are evil, or emotionally incapable, or secretly terrible. It’s that the entire system trains us to treat everyone like they’re temporary. Like they’re always replaceable. Like, there’s no real urgency to choose anyone, because another option is always one swipe away.
No one fully commits anymore. No one stays. Everyone is half-present, half-searching, half-waiting for something easier, better, more exciting, less complicated.
You can feel it everywhere: the shallow conversations, dates that lead nowhere, the constant sense of being evaluated but never truly chosen. At some point, you stop asking why dating fails and start realizing: the current system isn’t designed to create genuine connections. Instead, it’s designed to keep you participating, not connecting.
Perhaps it’s time we go back to the good old-fashioned ways. Not because they were perfect, but because at least people used to choose. They used to show up. They risked awkwardness, rejection, clarity, and, most importantly, effort. Today in 2026, everything is optimized for convenience, but nothing is built for commitment.
And maybe that is the real cost we are feeling. Not that we can’t meet people anymore, but rather we’ve forgotten how to stay.