Introduction: Romance Is Dead, And We Killed It (With a Filter)
“I’m in the business of misery / Let’s take it from the top.” — Paramore
Modern dating is simple: take half-naked photos, let AI lie for you, and hope the algorithm finds someone who also knows how to crop out their ex. While traditional, in-person dating came with its own challenges, it demanded courage, social skills, and emotional growth. Modern dating apps, in contrast, have turned the search for love into a shallow, gamified, and often dehumanizing experience that encourages avoidance, superficiality, and emotional laziness.
There are countless problems with using apps to find the person you’re hopefully going to spend the rest of your life with, but in this article, I want to focus on just one: apps don’t lead to growth, and they make us complacent, disconnected, and more miserable.
Swipe Left, But in Person
“I’m not okay… I’m not okay… I’m not o-fucking-kay!” — My Chemical Romance
There were three main components to old-school dating. First, you had to approach people in real life. This was difficult because you had to find a place where single people hung out, and then you had to muster up the courage to say something intelligible to them. Second, you needed to develop social skills and emotional resilience to maintain a conversation with someone while letting your personality shine. Not to mention, you just had a few minutes to do it. Finally, and arguably the most important part, you were exposed to being rejected. Rejection has a bad rap, but it’s crucial to emotional growth.
Rejection lets you know when you and the other person are a bad fit for each other. This was often painful (and believe me, I know what I’m talking about), but it made you a better and tougher person as a result. For men, this was an opportunity to develop the best quality they can have: confidence. Despite what a lot of people think, confidence doesn’t come from success, but from dealing with failure.
There’s something more powerful related to rejection, and it’s the fact that it filters out the inauthentic. Facing someone face-to-face, telling them about yourself, and implying your intentions (such as “I want to get to know you better because I like you”) requires you to be authentic. If you aren’t, you can’t maintain that fake persona for long because emotional authenticity is more visible in real-life interactions.
See, when it comes to dating, you want to attract the people who genuinely like you for who you are. If you show yourself authentically and they reject you, they’re essentially doing you a favor, so you just move on and forget about them. Again, this hurts more than words can describe, but the funny thing about rejection is that it hurts less the more you go through it. Rejection is kind of like leg day: you hate it, it burns like hell, but you keep showing up and eventually start walking with confidence (and a slight limp).
Now here’s something interesting about rejection: By embracing it instead of avoiding it, you become more attractive because you’re projecting self-worth regardless of the outcome. People will respect a man who puts himself out there without safety nets. After all, we can’t help but admire someone who takes risks, is proactive, and is willing to face the consequences of his actions. It’s not quite Tom Cruise sprinting across rooftops, but starting a sober conversation still qualifies as a stunt.
One final point about rejection is that it helps you learn what you want. By interacting with a lot of people, you soon find out what you’re looking for. In other words, you may approach people because of shallow attraction at first, but soon, you’ll develop real standards. The problem with apps is that you never face rejection. People will either swipe left or start talking to you and then ignore your messages. Without real interaction and the pain of rejection, you never get feedback, so you can’t learn anything. You’re just swiping endlessly, like a grandma playing Fruit Ninja.
Ultimately, rejection is feedback. It lets you know in a real and painful way what you’re doing wrong. When you approach people, you get rejected. But if you’re honest with yourself and the people you meet and you’re willing to learn from your mistakes, you’ll grow as a person, and trial-and-error will teach you the rest. Since apps bypass the feedback loop and there are no emotional stakes, you don’t learn anything.
Swipe Fatigue Is Real, and So Is Jessica, 27 (Maybe)
“Nobody likes you when you’re 23.” — Blink-182
One thing that comes up again and again when it comes to dating apps, even if it’s implicit, is the fact that they are convenient. That convenience, though, comes at a high price. You can see, from the comfort of your living room couch, your entire city’s dating pool. If you live in a modestly large town, this creates the illusion of abundance. You think you can keep swiping and never run out of people, but you can only swipe so long before you start noticing patterns. There’s only so much Bora Bora bikini content one man can take. Because nothing says ‘ready for commitment’ like someone who can’t commit to a full outfit. Swipe enough and you realize you’re just cycling through the same five characters with different names. Dating apps are like social media in this regard. The people in them aren’t being themselves; they’re performing.
In the last section, I discussed how real-life dating encourages people to be authentic. When you’re using apps, there are a lot of incentives to lie, which is why people do that a lot. App users spend an insane amount of time building the “perfect” profile, generating bios using AI, or retouching pictures with filters so that if you ever meet the person in real life, they look nothing like the one in the pictures. Then, you have to text a friend to fake an excuse and get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. That may or may not have happened, I’ll let you be the judge of that.
Which leads me to the next toxic aspect of dating apps: they’re built and updated to be as addictive as possible. The entire experience is gamified, which means you’re constantly being manipulated to come back regularly to get boosts and random virtual currencies as if you were playing a sad version of Clash Royale. Some recent studies show that dating apps fuel addiction, mess with your hormones, and don’t foster real connection. Some experts compare dating apps to gambling sites in terms of what users experience. It’s less like dating and more like gambling: just you, a glowing screen, and a 1-in-10 chance Jessica, 27, is a real person.
Comfortably Numb, Romantically Screwed
“I’m just a notch in your bedpost, but you’re just a line in a song.” — Fall Out Boy
While real-life interactions are all about creating meaningful connections, apps are all about chasing dopamine. The thing about modern apps (and what makes them so appealing and addictive) is the fact that you don’t know what you’re going to get when you open them. Right before opening Instagram, YouTube, Tinder, or any other app that lets you doomscroll, your brain releases dopamine. This is the molecule our brains reward us with when we do something novel.
Another way in which apps undercut emotional growth is that they encourage us to filter people based on checkboxes instead of chemistry. When you spend five minutes with someone in real life, you can tell a lot about that person, even if you can’t articulate it. That’s chemistry. Chemistry is hard to explain because it’s a combination of attraction, body language, emotional connection, effective communication, and intimacy, and you can’t develop that in a message app. When you don’t have real-life interactions, you’re left with a series of checkboxes based on facts that may or may not be true (and they’re probably not true).
There are two important concepts from psychology you must understand when it comes to dating apps. Choice overload is the phenomenon that takes place when you have too many options. As a result, you feel overwhelmed, anxious, and disempowered. This means you end up not deciding at all, and you experience analysis paralysis. When you swipe through dozens of profiles, it feels like you have access to an endless pool of people, but you find it almost impossible to commit to one of them. This creates the illusion that the perfect person is one swipe away.
The paradox of choice is a concept that builds on choice overload (you can read more about it here). The paradox is that while endless options give you freedom, they decrease satisfaction. This is the case because we second-guess our choices, we feel responsible for our happiness, and we idealize the person we didn’t choose. As you can see, using dating apps leads to some serious mental health issues.
AI Wrote My Dating Bio and I Think I’m in Love (With Myself)
“Everyone’s so full of shit / Born and raised by hypocrites / Hearts recycled, but never saved / From the cradles to the grave” — Green Day
Here’s something we see all the time, but we pretend we don’t. Like the weird guy taking mirror selfies at the gym. We see him. He sees us. But we all pretend it’s not happening. People devote countless hours to curating an idealized version of themselves. We spend so much time looking at their feeds that we start believing that the idealized version is the real one. But then you spend five minutes with them and they’re not interesting, or smart, or pretty. The problem in that case is the lack of authenticity.
That’s toxic for dating because almost no one’s being real when using apps. When everyone’s trying to convince you they’re the best, the result is a soulless group of people that have no ideas of their own, no tastes of their own, and nothing interesting to say. Most of the things you fall in love with are people’s quirks and eccentricities. In other words, you fall in love with their weaknesses, not their strengths. I don’t care how many countries you’ve visited; I care about your weird taste in music and that your laugh sounds like a seal with a hiccup. People spend so much time building a persona on social media that they believe that’s the real them, and in the process, they kill the very thing that makes them endearing and… well, human.
Welcome to the Party. The Drinks Are Real, The People Aren’t
“The truth is, you could slit my throat / And with my one last gasping breath I’d apologize for bleeding on your shirt.” — Taking Back Sunday
All of this is exhausting because you feel like you’re doing your best to satisfy people you aren’t emotionally invested in, and on top of that, you never get to learn what you’re doing wrong. Experts call this “online dating fatigue”. Recent studies have shown there’s an overall dissatisfaction with dating apps. A recent article finds that 78% of dating-app users feel emotionally, mentally, or physically exhausted. The other 22% are either the bots or just too drained to show up.
This is the case because we have too many options, or at least, the illusion of it. Barry Schwartz wrote about this in The Paradox of Choice, a book with the same name as the concept I mentioned earlier. At the end of the book, the author concluded that while there’s an optimal number of options, too many of them lead to psychological issues. Dating apps were supposed to be tools for connection, yet ironically, we use them to avoid each other.
Talk to a Human. It’s Terrifying. It Works.
“Why don’t you stand up be a man about it / Fight with your bare hands about it now?” — Paramore
Despite what society wants us to believe, real-life dating isn’t dead; it’s just been hiding behind push notifications and fear of eye contact. No app can replicate the real thing: the shaky voice, the sweaty palms, the mild existential crisis you experience while waiting to see if the other person laughs at your joke. And as awful as that sounds, that’s exactly what makes it meaningful. We’ve confused comfort with connection, but the truth is that love starts with risk and probably a weird story you’ll tell your friends later.
So, even if your friends swear by swiping or your algorithm promises “98% compatibility,” there are still other ways to meet people. Join a club. Go to an awkward speed dating event. Ask someone about their weird book at a coffee shop and hope for the best. At the very least, you’ll walk away with a hurt ego and a story, and that’s more than any dating app has ever offered you. You don’t need a perfect pickup line. You just need to say something.
Conclusion: Just Say Hi, You Coward
“Live right now / Yeah, just be yourself / It doesn’t matter if it’s good enough / For someone else” — Jimmy Eat World
Dating has never been easy. It was never supposed to be. But at least it used to make us braver. Before algorithms told us what we liked and AI wrote our bios, we had to look someone in the eyes and risk hearing “Sorry, I have a boyfriend” in three different ways. But there’s hope. Every awkward hello, every stammered compliment, every real-life interaction reminds us: this was never about perfect profiles or clever bios. It was about two imperfect people stumbling toward connection.
Nowadays, apps promise connection, but deliver convenience. In doing so, they remove the very discomfort that makes love meaningful. The spiral of anxiety before a first date and the awkward conversation that goes nowhere are the point. We may need to uninstall the app and redownload our courage. After all, romance isn’t dead. It’s just offline.
So go outside and say hi. You might get rejected, but you might find someone who also hates dating apps and laughs at your Fruit Ninja trauma.
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