After the breakdown of an 11-year relationship, I joined the world of dating apps for the first time at the big age of 32.
Initially, I wasn't looking for commitment. I was seeking distraction and honestly, entertainment and I found it by swiping right (and left) for the very first time. It was exciting! Tinder hadn’t even existed when I met my ex - iPhones were only two years old, for goodness’ sake. But apparently, a staggering 45% of couples meet online these days, so what else was there to do but dive in?
Friends who had dated throughout their twenties watched in amusement and horror as I fell into all the same potholes they had, and my therapist at the time nicknamed me ‘Bambi on ice’ as I reeled off tales about my misadventures in the dating world. But still I persisted, in part just for fun, but also in part to satisfy the part of me that still craved security and validation.
My first year of dating
In my first year of dating - for clarity, my experience is in dating men - I feel like I saw it all; the good, the bad and hilarious.
At times I felt like I’d hopped on a jeep and was being driven through the world’s weirdest safari. To any seasoned daters I encountered during those first few months, my ‘newbie’ status was probably all too obvious. But for every awkward goodbye, every dinner that felt like a job interview and every date who tried to psychoanalyse me (there was more than one), there were brand new, amazing experiences.
There were sweet surprises, such as joke gifts to break the ice. I got to try new cocktail bars I never would have discovered, go on boat trips, visit sushi restaurants and take in incredible views of London. I was in ‘say yes’ mode and loving it, the excitement of it all outweighing the timewasters and inevitable ghosters.
The darker side of dating
Eventually, I caught glimpses of the darker side of meeting relative strangers. Some things were expected, like the ever-persistent senders of that type of picture, or the emotional toll of being rejected, but some were less so.
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During one terrible date where I had said no to a kiss, the vibe went from slightly annoyed to aggressive very quickly. On that occasion I was lucky that a waiter had spotted what was going on and kept looking over, making sure we went our separate ways as we left.
Then there was one man who I’d been seeing for a while and felt I was getting to know well, who messed with the contraception we’d been using, only telling me afterwards. It took a full week for the penny to drop that what he’d done was illegal, which I knew thanks to Michaela Coel’s incredible ‘I May Destroy You’, but the shock at the time made it impossible to react.
A study done by Bournemouth University revealed one in four women report this type of assault at sexual health clinics. I got through it with the help of my incredible support network but just knowing what he’d done was not okay made a huge difference, so I would encourage anyone who has gone through similar to speak to a healthcare professional.
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All of the apps
But these less-than-fun experiences didn’t put me off. I had tried Hinge and Bumble and that was fine, but I was searching for the elusive connection. So I also tried Feeld, where I spent more time googling three-letter acronyms than talking to people, and signed up for some of the more niche apps such as The League and Raya.
I can’t deny it’s really, really fun seeing a famous face on your phone, and for a while, Raya seemed like the place to meet interesting people, but ultimately I found the app was designed to encourage even less of a connection. It promised exclusivity and a level of ‘vetting’, but lacked things such as location settings for example - apparently assuming everyone on there is a jet-setter who can hop over to Rio from London for a date.
Despite the shiny, fun, or risqué packaging, when the excitement or newness wore off, I found the experience to be exactly the same as free apps. And apparently, I’m not alone in having the shine wear off - Match (who own Tinder, Hinge, OKCupid and Plenty of Fish) recently reported a five per cent drop in paying users, and a group of people in the US have launched a lawsuit against them too, going after the ‘gamification’ of dating apps, and what they see as predatory behaviour to get users to swap money for the chance at finding love.
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What I’ve learned from two years of dating
It will be interesting to see if innovation comes along to shake up the industry, or if the percentage of couples who meet online goes down, but for me, two and a half years later, what I really learned is two things.
I respect other app daters
I now have a bucketload of respect, sympathy and solidarity for anyone who went through a dating app journey in their twenties. I know I would not have been strong enough back then.
Adventures aren’t everything…
Sure, new experiences are fun, but all I really need is to chat about nonsense over a glass of wine.
I love hearing peoples’ stories and following a conversation wherever it may go - from TV shows to politics to dinosaurs and everywhere in between - whether we’re romantically compatible or not.
Although I’m still dating, I’m only on one app now, and I can relate my own downward trend in swiping to the fact you don’t need an app to chat about nonsense.
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