Every time I tell people that, despite being single, I’ve never been on a dating app, they tend to assume I’m lying. Or worse, I’m smug. But the truth is far less flattering — a mix of self-doubt, cowardice, and the fear of being judged by strangers on a handful of curated photos, some basic personal information and some quippy one-liners. Personally, I’ve always found the whole thing to feel transactional, like ordering sex and intimacy off a menu.
Still, for years I’ve been the odd one out. Since Tinder first launched in the UK in 2012, dating apps have become the default. Whether in the hope of meeting “the one” or just out of boredom, most single people I know have downloaded one at some point. And there are success stories. Several friends of mine met their partners on Hinge or Raya and aren’t remotely embarrassed to admit it. One couple I know even printed the Raya logo on their wedding menus.
And yet, something has shifted. The cultural conversation around dating apps is beginning to sour. Ofcom reported a 16 per cent drop in usage across the UK between 2023 and 2024. It seems as if we’re all experiencing dating app fatigue.
The sheer number of platforms has created an oversaturated and deeply uninspiring marketplace. There are dating apps for every niche: Feeld, which focuses on kink-friendly matching; Breeze, which bans messaging entirely and arranges in-person first dates; Thursday, which only works one day a week (guess which) meaning users must match, chat and arrange same day dates, to name just a few.
If we live in the age of the algorithm, why can’t a dating app show me someone I’m compatible with?
Now the major players are resorting to gimmicks. Bumble hosts timed speed-dating chats where profiles are revealed only after conversation. But has the dating app bubble already burst? Tinder and Hinge’s parent company Match Group, as of early 2025, saw its value drop from £29.75 billion in 2021 to £8.18 billion.
Recently, I spent a couple hours with a friend mindlessly swiping through several dating apps in the hope of finding her a summer fling. But when I looked at the men on offer none of them were her type.
We live in the age of the algorithm. Platforms such as TikTok, Instagram and Spotify have proven just how eerily accurate these systems can be. So if Spotify knows I’m experiencing a “dreamy, hazy Tuesday morning” then why can’t a dating app show me someone I’m compatible with?
According to sociololist Dr Jennifer Lundquist, an expert in online dating, “most dating algorithms rely heavily on surface-level data” and this doesn’t put into consideration that people are attracted to differences, and they don’t work because they reduce romance to a formula that does not understand “chemistry, timing, or even nuance.”
When I spoke to a friend of mine, Jehan Lenoir, an app developer, he emphasised that people are put off by the rise of “pay to win” features. Now you pay for almost everything, to see who’s liked you, boost your profile, or undo accidental swipes.
Plus, there are other apps being used to meet people. Platforms such as Instagram, with its DMs and story replies, have become dating tools. People now meet via applications that weren’t even designed for it — even film platform Letterboxd has become a medium for flirting with strangers. The trick for straight guys is to put a Sofia Coppola movie in their top four and for the girls, a Paul Thomas Anderson flick. (Thank me later!)
This is all to say, if you’re tired of traditional dating apps, perhaps check your DMs. And if that doesn’t work, maybe it’s finally time to head to your local pub.
