Has online dating run its course?

Ah, the meet-cute. We were all raised on a diet of them. Carrie’s eyes meet Big’s across a Soho vodka bar in Sex and The City. On October 3, Aaron Samuels asks Cady Heron what day it is, forever branding it the official Mean Girls (2004) day. “You’re the rabbi?”, an already-smitten Joanne asks Noah as he winks back and says, “Hot, right?” in Nobody Wants This, as recently as 2024. Our heroine is a sex podcaster—the most post-millennial job you could dream up—and we still adore her IRL spark with her love interest. It definitely feels a hell of a lot sexier than meeting on Hinge, I’ll tell you that.

The idea of meeting the love of your life (or even your flavour of the season) in a “real-life” circumstance still holds an incredible sense of allure for a digital generation. Part of it is nostalgia, sure. Cc: Gen Z’s obsession with blurry photography, vinyl records, even the institution of marriage. There is a hankering for the warmth of a lost time, when things seemed simpler, more romantic. The story of a smile exchanged across a crowded Japanese restaurant is better party fodder than “I liked the photos of his abs on Tinder.”

Online dating, though still the primary medium for people meeting their partners up to a couple of years ago (according to research from Stanford sociologist Michael Rosenfeld, who found that approximately 39 per cent of heterosexual couples in the US reported meeting their partners online, a notable rise from 22 per cent in 2009), seems to be losing its lustre. A study by Pew Research Center in 2023 found that only about 10 per cent of people in committed relationships or marriages met their partner on a dating site or app.

So, what went wrong?

Thirteen years ago, when India got its first dating app (Tinder), the excitement was palpable. You were no longer limited to the incestuous radius of your school alumni or office floor plan—or, worse, the well-intentioned (but terribly off-base) matchmaking of your “couple friends”. The world was your oyster—or at least, a few kilometres past your neighbourhood bar.

Then the pandemic hit in 2019, and we found ourselves in a Black Mirror adjacent reality. Offline romantic encounters seemed a relic of the past, replaced by premium features like Tinder Passport and Bumble’s Travel Mode that opened up the mating radius to, well, anywhere. You could fall in love with a French sommelier, a Korean florist, or a Bahamian sailor. There were no limits to love...in theory.

In practice, dating became more distant than ever before. Apps seemed to be vexing, yet an obsession, with people reaching for them despite a sense of mounting “ickiness”. This addiction was then called out for being part of the algo, with a proposed Match Group class action lawsuit filed in February 2024, accusing the company of intentionally designing its apps (which include Tinder, Match, Hinge, and OkCupid) to be addictive, prioritising profit over fostering genuine relationships. The plaintiffs claimed that these designs encouraged compulsive use, leading to negative psychological effects. Whether that claim had validity or not, to many app users, the chances of finding someone felt slim. An idea that caused extra anger because of the “plethora of choice” the apps presented, and the drain that came with it. “I’ve tried multiple apps, and I’m pretty much just tired of them all. No particular instance that’s made me feel like I’m done with it, just the overall experience,” says Aditya Pai, 33. Gauri Mahesh, 23, who’s only been on the apps for two years, is already tapped out. “There’s so many pretty girls and good-looking guys— it’s a bi girl’s dream! Except that it’s not.

The women are often there for “friendship”, despite clearly choosing Bumble Date or Hinge. And the men—so many, and not one I’ve had a decent conversation with in forever.”

For Ankita Bansal, 34, the superficiality of it is taxing. “The fatigue of putting your best foot forward at all points of time builds over time, especially when you keep having monotonous conversations— add to that, there’s a lack of clarity from the other end.” The romantic in her also misses “the old school idea of eye contact at a bar, or a random conversation you strike up with a stranger at a cafe.”

 

The superficiality is a common

complaint due to the “plethora of choice” problem. Not only is it hard to choose someone, it is hard to stick with them, because the illusion of choice makes you believe there might be something better. This, in turn, leads to greater dating dissatisfaction and a lowered longevity of relationships. “With everyone’s busy lives, and being spoilt for choice (the grass being greener and all that), it’s a lot tougher to sustain the relationship till it transitions into something concrete,” says Anant Sagar, 36. Twenty-six-year-old Mira K adds, “I have ADHD anyway. Add a bunch of people I’m swiping on to that, and then having to have conversations with them? I get a headache just thinking about it.” She mentions that she gets multiple matches with people she finds attractive, but abandons most on
first touch.

The flip side of that is feeling unchosen. Janani Gowda, 26, says the pickings out there for “girls who don’t look like Sydney Sweeney” are slim. “Some of us do better in life than on paper. I’m a US size 8, without a photogenic bone in my body. Apps were not meant for people like me.

I know I’m attractive, but most men I’ve been with would probably have swiped left on me if I popped up on their Tinder. One actually did,” she laughs.

Several factors influence what makes someone swipe right—from as commonplace as shared interests and clear photos to as wild a card as astrological signs or the kind of pet in your profile picture. But a survey by Forbes Health, in partnership with Talker Research, found that a quarter of the respondents surveyed spend just 31 to 60 seconds evaluating a profile, while 21 per cent take one to two minutes. And 12 per cent decide in less than 30 seconds. But the study confirms Gowda’s hypothesis—the number one factor that determines the direction of a swipe is, indeed, physical attractiveness.

It’s left a bitter taste in the collective millennial-Gen Z mouth, and, for many, dating apps have become a background tab; turned to in dire moments, with the focal medium of meeting new people moving away from apps. “Speed dating was helpful,” says Sagar. Mahesh, instead, has begun to accept every house party invitation that comes her way.

Bansal is reconnecting with old friends, “Specifically people I’ve had connections with in the past.” But she’s moving slowly, working to soothe the burn. “I’m also just tired in general, because how much can you share your life with different individuals in the hope of finding an emotional connection?” Pai is more optimistic, frequenting his usual haunts and meeting people through friends.

It’s a change of tide even apps have begun to recognise. While Bumble’s bread and butter still remains its online platform, their offline mixers have become more frequent.

Tinder has begun pop-up events, such as themed parties or experiential installations in major cities around the world. “Hinge-friendly” spaces (in collaboration with bars and restaurants) aren’t in India yet, but might be soon.

After over a decade of truffle-sniffing through basic bios, confusing group DPs, and first-touch ghosting, the shiny newness of the “unlimited buffet” has begun to wane, proving to be, for many, just empty calories. A new wave seems to be swelling, and it calls for chats that don’t start with an emoji, and more than 30 seconds to make a first impression. And, of course, the most important thing of all-eye contact.

Image credit: Shutterstock.com and Adobestockphotos.com

Author and editor Saumyaa Vohra’s Match Point is a column that explores the ever-evolving dynamics of young love. Vohra is the author of the novel One Night Only, published by Pan Macmillan India

This article first appeared in the January February 2025 print edition of Cosmopolitan India.

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