I deleted Hinge yesterday. Hinge is a dating app that says it's "designed to be deleted". The implication is that you'll find The One through its services then delete the app. But I think it's much more likely that, like me, you'll delete the app from frustration and fatigue. (Also, since when does any service design itself to be deleted? No money in that.)
I've used dating apps for many years on and off. I have various complaints about how people act on dating apps (and on dates). It's crazy-making to invest so much time and energy into something with such a low return. Everyone seems to hate the apps, making for a cynical, angry, and exhausted dating culture that pits men and women against each other. We enter dates (if we get any at all) ready to be disappointed.
Whenever there's a supply and demand problem in dating, a frustrated culture results. Dating apps are full of men frustrated that they get no attention (thus why apps like Bumble advertise heavily to women, who are essentially the product overrepresented men are paying for). The dynamics are reversed in the Christian settings I frequent, where the few available men tend to be swarmed by the glut of single women, leading to all kinds of drama. Although there are certainly outliers, in general, male interest in short-term and female interest in long-term has led to a mismatch of dating goals. Men and women see the other as both the answer to and the author of their problems. I can't live with or without you.
The impersonal and vast nature of the apps requires us to filter quickly; we can't possibly get to know every person we encounter. Attractiveness is boiled down to the visual, a few selfies that women filter and men take in the bathroom mirror. Behaviour and politics are decontextualized; there are no mutual friends to give you insight, warnings, or encouragement to stick with someone. Is the "ick" a red flag or just a frivolous reaction? Is this guy who told me he's enjoying reading Mein Kampf a neo-Nazi or an academic researching fascism? Who knows.
Apps encourage us to turn ourselves and everyone else into objects. That's why there’s a "body count" for how many people someone has slept with and a rating scale for someone's attractiveness from 1-10. Metrics instead of meaning, systems instead of substance.
Dating apps start to turn me into the kind of person I wouldn't want to date. I make snap judgments, I toughen myself up to ignore socially unacceptable behaviour and I laugh at how ridiculous people are. I lower my hopes and expectations, I become more callous, I strategize how to market myself, and I swipe and scroll like I'm on Amazon and people are mass-produced for my consumption.
This isn't who I want to be. This is the opposite of how I want to approach relationships—the opposite of gentleness, hope, wisdom, and respect.
And yet, what options are we left with? What public settings can men and women meet in? Our heads are down in our phones, institutions have declined, and many of us work from home. Advice to "meet people in real life" assumes that you have tons of free time and energy to attend social events with strangers, and that your interests are relatively gender-neutral. I can attest that knitting and book clubs do not have a high male representation—even less a knitting club in the library. Alongside that, the growing political gulf between men and women means that even when we do encounter each other (whether in person or online), we tend to see each other as a reflection of what we most dislike. Opposites can only do so much to attract.
This isn't the first time I've deleted the apps. My last break was for almost two years. Every time I return with the hope that I'm only a few swipes away from forever. Because we all know those stories, right? I have both a bestie and a sister whose first date from an app turned into marriage and another friend who found her husband after just two weeks online when she was about to quit. Why do some hit the jackpot right away and others spend eight (or more) years surveying mankind from the Pacific to somewhere in Alberta? I believe in a caring and capable God, but dating apps sure make it all seem random and capricious. This possibility of "just one more swipe and you might find him"—which, for those seeking monogamy, is all-or-nothing—strings us along. Dating apps aren’t designed to be deleted, they’re designed to be addictive.
As someone with a high sense of self-efficacy, it's hard for me to accept that no matter how hard I try, I may just not have any success. I can go to school and take classes to further my career, but there's no such path to romantic advancement. "Putting yourself out there" in dating feels completely different than "putting yourself out there" in applying for jobs. Imagine a potential employer saying, "I just didn't feel a spark with you," or "I'm only getting 'friend' vibes." What makes a match work feels so nebulous these days.
I wonder how things were different in my parents' generation, when everyone seemed to get married so young. Eli Finkel says our expectations for marriage have travelled up Maslow's hierarchy from survival needs (I gather berries and sew hides, you hunt meat) to self-actualization (you help me become the best me I can be), which requires a high level of idiosyncrasy (there was no, "The way you hunt bison makes me feel so seen and understood"). Andrew Cherlin says marriage has become a "capstone" rather than "cornerstone", a signal that we've arrived in adulthood with financial success under our belt, rather than a foundation to build on. Fewer can achieve what today’s marriage requires, and it takes much longer to do so.
For women in particular, marriage doesn't have the same economic necessity it once did. Women tend to be happier single than men are, likely because they maintain stronger social networks. All over the internet, I see women stating they're better off single and that they no longer need men, not even to get pregnant.
I can get behind some of this; I don't want to go back to being a man's property or having no vote. I do believe single people are just as valuable as married people and can live fulfilling lives. But as I must frequently remind myself, I know a lot of men I respect and like, and I'd personally like to do long-term life with a man. I don't think women or the world would be better off without men. And I don't think women are without faults of their own, which I'm forced to scour Reddit to find out about, since my subscription to the NYT only gives me articles on why men suck. (Before you ask—yes, I have dated and will date guys shorter than me.)
Women judge men as being "not worth it" and men judge women as "too picky". And yet, we can't seem to get over each other. The current anger between the sexes feels like evidence of that. When I see the anger, I also see the grief beneath it: the loss of ability to connect, and the feeling that something is missing that all the freedom in the world can't fill. But what is missing may not just be The One. Even the best match on an app can't restore our ability to relate to each other or to develop the character and make the sacrifices good relationships (of all kinds) require. That takes more than Providence or chance.
I wish I could close this post with some glowing ideas about how we could do things differently as a society. I can't. I see more movements to in-person meetups, but I don't know if we'll find an alternative to the apps everyone loathes. That may require a sea change in culture. All I can do is decide how I want to act inside the system we have. I ask myself, "Does God want me to do something I know is actively malforming me? If I choose to not engage in something I'm finding destructive, can I trust that's the right choice, whatever the ultimate result?"
The apps may drag me back again, but I know right now I need a soul break. I want to focus my energy on what gives life, both to me and others. I've spent too long fitting my hopes inside a little screen. I need to focus again on the habits that make me the kind of person I'd want to date. And if that means I'm the only person I date, so be it.
Movingly said, Liz. Full of insights, too.