Why Dating Apps Fail

Vibes are three-dimensional

Good morning! A few weeks ago, GQ asked me to put together a guide for how to write a better dating app profile. It was a lot of fun, but there was one drawback. I’m now back on Hinge.

For a brief window in December, I was blissfully dating app-free. I was doing mindful things like going to the sauna on my own and drinking pickle juice martinis on weeknights. Gone was the drip-feed of likes, the constant stream of conversation, the perpetual flirting and firing of dopamine. Without Hinge on my phone, I was spending less time thinking about dating — which meant less time thinking about myself and how I am perceived — and more time thinking about other, more important things (working out how I was going to split New Year’s Eve between two friend groups, for instance).

The timing also made things easier — December being the busiest, most serendipitous month. My diary was crammed with Christmas parties that threw random crowds together (the perfect kind of party) and London was feeling better than ever: fun, fuzzy, glittery, incandescent. Then the GQ article came up. So, for research purposes, I redownloaded it.

Cut to January and the app is still on my phone — and I have no excuses. I check it religiously as I’m trying to write, even though I have no desire to meet up with anyone. Partially it’s because it’s so cold outside and I spent so much money in December. Partially it’s because I’m too busy doing smug things like watching whole films without going on my phone and batch cooking coconut fish curries. But mainly it’s because I’ve lost faith in an app in connecting me with someone I fancy (never mind someone I want to be in a relationship with).

On dating apps, I find myself focusing on quantifiable markers of hotness and desirability, which have little correlation to what makes me fancy someone in real life. Nothing can predict the ineffable combination of qualities that makes an interaction with someone at a party sparkly, that makes you get each other, that makes things exciting, that means you make each other laugh. And I doubt I’m alone when I say that some of the hottest, funnest intimate experiences I’ve had are with people I probably wouldn’t ‘like’ on the apps.

I’ve also become incredibly distrusting of my own judgment. Like what does it say about me that the last person I dated from Hinge had on their profile that that they were ‘looking for chaos’, or that I’d sooner match with someone who says that their ‘ideal Sunday’ is ‘substance abuse’, than someone who describes weekend activities I’d actually like to do (lying in bed drinking coffee listening to NTS, going to a community sauna, long walk, pub, etc)?? Maybe it’s a British thing (earnestness-fearing etc). It’s probably a me thing. But maybe, in the final year of my twenties, the drama and the chaos is all ok??

Anyway, I have also been busy being a serious journalist. Yesterday, The Guardian published a story that had been in the works for months. In September, I flew to Vallejo, the city where more young adults live with their parents than anywhere else in America. I wanted to understand why Vallejo, which is far from the poorest nor the most expensive city in the US, came out on top for this living arrangement. And with so many young adults (particularly men) cooped up with mum and dad, how were the traditional markers of adulthood and masculinity changing?? I’ll share some thoughts on the reporting of that story soon. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me!