Dating apps are a hellfire – but the alternatives feel worse
Pondering dying alone and wondering if it's really that bad
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The other day on a cold, December night, I opened a door to what I thought was a bar in Soho in 2023, but was immediately transported back to being single and in my twenties, and not in a cool, my-joints-move-perfectly kind of way. I’d just been out with friends for dinner celebrating my 43rd birthday, we’d had a joyous time of laughing and eating copious amounts of seafood, and one of my friends suggested walking the streets to try and find a bar with a ‘vibe’.
For anyone who is not based in London, this is something you just don’t do in your 40s, or even in your 30s after a certain point, because you know that nothing good comes from roaming the streets. That the idea of finding the perfect little nook in one of the busiest parts of town, at the busiest time of the year, is analogous to searching for a leprechaun’s pot ‘o gold. But I didn’t want to be bossy, and I thought maybe, just maybe, this act of spontaneity would lead to something exciting.
Reader, it did not.
It never does, especially on a soggy night in London. That door opened to reveal groups of young women, in their twenties, out on the town, looking to meet men. There were no men in that bar, barring one lone man in his fifties who looked up with such desperate eagerness on his face, I wanted to buy him a hot chocolate and gently usher him out.
Looking at those girls reminded me of how almost every night started out, when I was single back then, looking to meet someone. Great optimism and hope, arriving at a venue, searching, searching, often finding nothing, and going back home with a half-eaten kebab.
On the occasion you might meet someone, drunk, sloppy with beer goggles set to a high blur, these were never people who, for me, were remotely compatible or appropriate to be a life partner. How could they be? And yet, there I was, looking for The One, because I had been sold the story by society that meet-cutes happen all the time, that people lock eyes across a bar and the rest is history.
This idea, that it’s better to meet someone in real life, are often trotted out when you tell people you use dating apps, unless you happened to meet your partner through them. But no one ever seems to have the answer as to where you might meet this person if you are not 25. (And even if you are 25, meeting a random stranger in a bar and that stranger turning out to be an amazing, emotionally-evolving human being, is the exception, not the rule).
That’s not to say dating apps are better – of course they aren’t. They can be hugely frustrating, isolating and feed into a pessimism of too much choice, akin to dying of thirst while bobbing around on the sea. But they can give some advantage in the commonalities you might share online, that you can find out instantly as opposed to meeting someone in a bar. And most importantly – as you get older, who has the time?
When I saw those girls in the bar, I could see the excess of time sloshing at their feet. How quickly it would take for them to bounce from a night out, meanwhile I average three days to recover from a hangover.
I’ve been thinking a lot about it recently – being single, whether I’m content and peaceful about it, or whether I should be more pro-active. Especially because I haven’t been inclined to date much in the last two months and can’t quite figure out why.
Over the last few years, I have met some incredible people through dating apps – people I would never have met in real life. I haven’t met anyone who I thought was a terrible person, mainly because I don’t do filler dating, and so if I agree to meet someone for a date, it’s usually because I’ve assessed how well we might get on.
Anyone who makes ‘jokes’ that are Trojan horses to convey problematic views, or raises the hint of a red flag, doesn’t make it through. Fussiness is a word thrown at women to make them settle and become trapped in marriages they knew weren’t right from the start. When I date men, in particular, and they need equality explained to them, it’s just never going to work between me and someone who has made it to their forties without educating themselves around sexism.
When I’ve told people in couples my dating app stories, they like to suggest that the problem is that we’ve moved away from traditional ways of meeting people. And we have, but that’s because most of us no longer live and die in the same village we were born in, the way we work has changed, and women have more social and financial freedom.
But also, what are the alternatives? Dating-specific events, to me, seem like the kind of organised fun that makes my soul curl. As for asking a friend if they have any single pals, that only worked for me once – when I met my late husband and soulmate Rob – and even I, someone who doesn’t believe in fate and pre-destination, doubt I will ever be that lucky again.
The way I tend to view apps is that they facilitate my chances of meeting someone, in a world where I would rarely get the opportunity to in real life. They can be depressing when things don’t work out, but what happens on there isn’t a reflection of how I should feel about myself – whether that’s my age, the way I look, that I might die alone and so on.
That’s where I think they can get depressing. To use them, one has to have a mixture of intention, optimism and to a certain extent, detachment. Otherwise, it’s a k-hole of exhaustion around endless conversations that lead nowhere, paradoxical asks of wanting something casual but the trappings of a relationship.
I also think it’s good to have a time out. Maybe apps would be less exhausting if more of us did it. Recently I’ve been forcing myself to use them because ‘I think I should’ but really I don’t go much beyond the first message because I don’t think I want to date at present. Not right now, anyway. I’m tired and wounded by heartbreak, and hope takes time to grow back when it has been clipped away. I think by continuing to use apps I’m feeding into the problem of people who don’t message or seem ambivalent about meeting up.
Or perhaps I’ve reached a point where I just don’t want to date for the forseeable future and that feels like a scary thing to admit. While the companionship would be nice, the rest of my single life is brilliant. And the whole ‘I don’t want to die alone’ holds less grip on me because we imagine our deathbed to be holding our partner’s hand, which has never made sense to me. Because who then holds their hand when you die? And what if they die before you?
I’m not sure what the answer is but I’ll tell you where it won’t be found – at 11pm in a sticky bar in Soho.
All of this! Although I haven’t actually used dating apps since a brief stint on Tinder during its early stages in 2013 (a bin fire). The two long-term partners I’ve met since have been through working with them (also not advisable as when it goes tits up/you break up) it’s a new level of awkward and awful. After a DEVASTATING breakup of my last long-term relationship more than 2 years ago, I’ve only just felt ready to date again, but where to start? I did actually go to a dating event in Brighton where I live a few weeks ago that was...bleak. The majority of people there were women (all gorgeous and interesting and hyper-dateable) and then a smattering of men who were...not...and as I’m boringly straight/not interested in dating women, it was, needless to say, not a successful night. I did meet some really interesting women...but then there’s no shortage of brilliant, gorgeous, interesting women in my life already. I think the men (or the ones I’d consider dating) are not at these IRL events because the apps (IMO) work much better for men than they do women so there’s not a chance they’d leave the house on a wet Wednesday evening to go and awkwardly chat to people over dating games. It’s something I’ve been talking to my therapist about - I want to meet someone but I’m totally averse to the main way that people meet people (apps) and my old method in my 20s/early 30s of trawling bars and falling into the arms/beds of the hottest man I could find and hoping it translated into a relationship rarely/never worked then and absolutely does not now as a 43 year old woman with tons to offer, but no longer the nubile young bit of meat that, let’s be real, men hunting on a night out want (and thank fuck for that as that period of my life was not something I’d ever want to go back to). So, no answers here, but solidarity. And thank you for writing this
The way you felt out of place walking into a bar -- that's how I feel walking into a Nordstrom or other clothing store. "I used to shop here! How come now I totally don't fit in??" And it's only because everyone's younger than I am. I hate that feeling. I don't see myself as old and drab until I suddenly am convinced I don't belong.
Is it possible it's totally normal and to be expected that for some months at a time a single person won't feel like dating, and then at some other times will try dating, whether through apps, or hobbies/classes, or set up by friends? I definitely experienced that ebb and flow. FWIW I am sure it's possible you could be set up again with someone great by a friend. Its having happened once doesn't rule it out. (Sorry, I seem to be sounding like a mom!)