The Very Boring Reason Why I Went Off Dating Apps
Being part of the queer community and not swimming in the toxic cesspool of the heterosexual dating world has insulated me from some of the horrors of dating apps.
I haven’t been in situations requiring me to shoot off location alerts or get the authorities involved. I’ve got some mildly amusing stories to tell to appreciative audiences but that’s about it.
By far my biggest problem with dating apps was that most of the time it didn’t get past chit chat within the app. The conversation followed a familiar trajectory through a standard repertoire of small talk.
Consequently, I got bored very, very quickly. It didn’t take much to distract me from it and most of the time I forgot to go back to it. It rarely compelled my attention and even more rarely sustained it.
But I refuse to accept that every queer woman who inserts themselves in dating apps is boring. That would mean tarring myself with the same brush — I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m the only interesting person around. And the reality is that even in a big city, there are few safe options to meet fellow queers.
It’s just not a format that lends itself to meaningful exchanges. It doesn’t give you any idea of how someone is in a real-world context; how they respond to the world around them in real time.
People try and put the best version of themselves forward on the apps but they’re really doing themselves a disservice. Authenticity wins every time — even if their particular brand of it isn’t your cup of tea, at least you know what you’re dealing with. At least you can make an informed decision.
I blame the pandemic restrictions when the highwater mark of dating was arranging a walk with someone who lived with a 5km radius — one of the few permitted exceptions to being locked in your house.
And you didn’t want to be squandering that on just anyone. So a lot of screening went on. A lot of tedious interview-style questions that were too much like hard work.
A lot of conversations abandoned, just trailing off into nowhere. I don’t think it’s ghosting when both participants simultaneously run out of steam.
People’s attention spans were shattered and we were as skittish as a cat on a hot tin roof. Despite celebrated triumphs with sourdough bread making and elaborate craft creations, it was hard for most of us to apply ourselves to anything demanding.
Not that we had much else to do. With time stretching into infinity and each day an identical copy of the one before, the slightest glimmer of novelty was welcome. Dopamine hits were pretty thin on the ground.
One of the great paradoxes of the pandemic was the abundance of time but the lack of focus to be able to use it productively. Frustrated writers everywhere shelved plans to make headway with any major projects.
Before the pandemic I used to invest hours in getting to know someone via messaging, in some cases developing connections before meeting face to face. It was actually my preferred way of getting to know someone because I was more confident about my ability to express myself in writing.
I told myself that physical contact was secondary to a meeting of minds, as though one would inevitably, seamlessly follow the other.
I haven’t been able to engage in sustained conversations via electronic means since the pandemic. The whole idea of messaging someone back and forward indefinitely is forever loaded with the dystopian gloom.
There is no joy or levity. There is nothing to elevate it from interview questions to flirty banter and witty repartee.
It still oozes the bitter poison of restriction and deprivation, unavoidably a reminder of the absence of actual human contact. I will never again take for granted the freedom of just being able to go out when, where and for how long I want.
I also get the impression that a lot of other people feel the same reluctance to invest in meaningful conversations by electronic means. It still has that air of unreality that came from having no assurance that it would ever materialise into anything more.
Maybe I’m getting old, but these days I need conversations to be anchored in the concrete, sensory world. I’m not looking for the escapism or dopamine seeking a roller-coaster ride of intensity, but the sustainability of real connection and supportive friendships. I’m trying to build community and sense of belonging, not something to get lost in.
I don’t have the answer and it feels like it’s becoming more elusive. It’s no longer a secret that the deeper you are into adulthood, the harder it is to make friends. My expectations are low.
But I just signed up for a book club in a community hall down the road. I’m going low-tech and keeping it real.
