Iāve always felt weird about dating apps.
Despite its normalcy, especially for Gen-Z, I canāt help but be turned off by the inorganic nature of having an algorithm decide who you may or may not want to sleep with.Ā
I promise Iām not on a high horse. Iāve spent my fair share of time on these apps since I came to college, several dates, a handful of which I would consider good. More of them were okay, one or two plain catastrophic. Thereās always something missing that I find with in-person connections, not virtual ones, and Iāve boiled it down to one thing.Ā
Chemistry.Ā
Something that canāt be summarized into 5 carefully selected photos or 3 wannabe witty, actually witty, or probably-lifted-from-Tik-Tok prompt responses. The messiness of connection that dating apps wipe clean and sterilize.
Our desire for intimacy is becoming more and more of a cornered market. You can pay for one more swipe, pay to see who liked you, and even pay your way up through the ranks of a potential matchās feed. Who benefits from this? It seems like the only reason is to increase profits for the corporation behind the app while simultaneously increasing the social divide between Gen-Z. Why donāt they want us to see each other?Ā
Our attention is commodified by short-form content, scrolling, and advertisements. Our desire to be close to one another has been similarly commodified. The idea of me (face, body, witty remark; hook-up, lover, girlfriend) is being sold to the highest bidder. Iām expected to stay on the appsā giving the men something to pay forāĀ in return for being wanted by them. I want more.
I donāt want to know your make and model, your hopes and dreams, and ātwo truths and a lieā before I know if you smell like soap, cologne, or something spicy and unnameable. I donāt want to dive into small talk if we arenāt making a mess of pastries on the table below us, wind blowing my hair and crumbs into my lipgloss during a brunch-y first date at Daycamp.
I canāt help it, I like the awkward bumps in conversation, pausing to chew and breathe together. I donāt want to text for two weeks and then meet up. I want you to ask me out on a whim because you dare to risk the rejection of not knowing if Iāll say yes, not having me all laid out in front of you in an online advertisement.
In this digital age, we spend all day looking at each other. Liking photos, stealing glances, Snapping backā I think youāre in my eleven AMā but do we see each other? Itās like we exist through tempered glass. So close, yet so far.Ā
I know itās gauche and trite to bemoan being born in the wrong generation, so I wonāt bore you. Itās not even trueā I love our generation. I was born to drink a $7 strawberry matcha, smear Sol de Janeiro lotions and potions all over my body, and scroll Pinterest while listening to Lorde. I just wish, sometimes, we were less digitally connected.
My phone feels like a leash. When I was on Tinder, it felt like a dystopian Facebook Marketplace. Maybe Iām a hopeless romantic, the product of too many 90s rom-coms, or maybe I dare to believe that the same world that inspired all those meet-cutes still exists all around us if we let it.
Iām not here to tell you to get off the apps. I just want you to look up.Ā
Visit the farmerās market even if youāre allergic to peonies. Join a hiking club even if you know breaking in the boots will give you blisters. Go to the local concerts whose bands you barely know the name of, and let yourself be the new face in a crowd. Get lost walking home. Take four right turns and end up back where you began, having seen four new things.
Spark up a conversation with someone who intimidates you. Hold the door even if theyāre a few too many steps away for it to feel natural. Compliment a strangerās shoes with the mismatched laces. Ask that one personā you know who Iām talking aboutā if they want to grab a bite to eat.Ā
You might be surprised by what you findā something raw, vulnerable, hopeful, messy, and scary. We all need to be a little more scared. Itās not supposed to be easy.