Singles using dating apps feel burnt out, demoralized and ready for something radically unorthodox – taking dating back to the basics.Illustration by Allison & Cam
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”
“What’s a random fact you know?”
“What’s your secret talent?”
Icebreaker questions ripple through the circle of strangers on a Tuesday evening in downtown Toronto. The 10 women and eight men clutch cocktails and beers at the pseudo-retro-style Rooftop on College, some laughing nervously as they ask and answer the prompts, others giving off the confidence of a tenured professor presiding over class.
The exercise is a kind of social lubricant before the main attraction: speed dating. Singles will chat in pairs for around eight minutes before moving on to the next person, later marking Yes or No beside each date, and within 48 hours, find out if they have any matches. This matchmaking phenomenon started in the nineties, when Gen X and baby boomers were too busy to date, but the singles here tonight say they’re giving it a shot for a different reason: They’re sick of online dating.
“I’ve online dated and hated it. It’s slim pickings,” says 29-year-old Keshini Kumarakesary, who was with her sister and a friend at the event, organized by Flare Events. “I want to meet someone in the real world. Go old school.”
From Gen Z to seniors, every generation is fed up with online dating. The mind games and ghosting, the rejection, the scammers and players. They feel burnt out, demoralized and ready for something radically unorthodox – taking dating back to the basics. And it shows in the numbers: Overall app downloads for Tinder, Hinge and Bumble in the U.S. have declined since a pandemic high in 2020.
The current state of modern dating could be summed up by a viral TikTok from New York comedian Keara Sullivan: “If you’re someone who met your partner off a dating app at any point in the last two years, just know you caught the last chopper out of ‘Nam. … The rest of us who are still single, we’re in the trenches. We’re still in the jungle.”
The complaints about that jungle are universal: Basic features on apps that were once free now require pricey subscriptions, the tedium of carrying multiple conversations that never lead to an actual date, the overarching feeling that a better, more attractive match could be just one swipe away.
It all began in 1995 with the launch of the first mainstream online-dating site, Match.com. Then came eHarmony, Plenty of Fish and OkCupid, which all used detailed questionnaires to find compatible matches. When Grindr arrived in 2009, it upended modern dating. Designed specifically for gay men, the app ranked users based on proximity, showing the profiles of the closest 100 men nearby.
Three years later, Tinder launched with a similar location-focused approach. It only took a few minutes to set up a free profile, a breeze compared with the surveys required by traditional dating sites, and unlock a seemingly endless supply of nearby singles.
Over the next few years, a range of competitors would crop up, including Bumble (where women send the first message), Hinge (which dubbed itself as the choice for people searching for serious relationships and was “designed to be deleted” once you found that special connection), Raya (the exclusive app for celebrities, influencers and upwardly mobile personalities), Feeld (for the polyamorous, kinky and casual) and Her (for queer, bisexual and lesbian dating).
In 2019, a Pew Research Center study found 11 per cent of hetero couples in the U.S. aged 18 to 49 who are in committed relationships say they met their partner online, while that number is nearly 30 per cent for lesbian, gay and bisexual adults. And although online dating was originally geared toward millennials, it became the default dating medium for people of all ages.
After his wife died, Andrew Seligman, a 76-year-old who lives in Toronto, started online dating a year ago. He has encountered some of the classic flaws of online dating, such as outdated profile photos – “sometimes they could be from before COVID, and sometimes they could be before Christ.”
He describes online dating as a “full-time hobby” considering the amount of time he spends sending messages and arranging meet-ups. In the past year, he’s been on around 30 dates, which led to three girlfriends, though he’s currently single.
Like Seligman, many singles say online dating is a lot of work, but with little pay off. Checking the apps multiple times a day and pumping out dozens of messages only nets a handful of replies. Once it’s time to plan a meet up, matches fizzle or flake out.
In this bleak landscape, some are quiet quitting. They’re still on the apps, but the swiping has become thoughtless with profile pictures blurring together.
To attract more users in recent years, Tinder redesigned its app, adding profile prompts and quizzes, while on Bumble, men can now initiate conversations. But for many app users, these changes haven’t improved the experience.Illustration by Allison & Cam
Others are quitting altogether and point to increasing costs as the reason. Take Tinder, for example. Many men say the only way to stand out is to send a “Super Like,” which pushes your profile near the front of the line, a feature that requires a subscription. Additional costs range from $5.49 for a “Boost,” which shoots your profile to the top of your area for 30 minutes, to $40.99 for a Tinder Gold monthly subscription, which unlocks features such as seeing who has liked your profile and lets you take back your last swipe. If you want to add preferences, such as height, politics or smoking, that’s also going to cost you.
To attract more users in recent years, Tinder redesigned its app, adding profile prompts and quizzes, while on Bumble, men can now initiate conversations. But for many app users, these changes haven’t improved the experience, leaving them feeling like they’re playing a round of 3-D chess where every move could lose the game.
That game is actually by design, says Treena Orchard, an associate professor at Western University, and the author of Sticky, Sexy, Sad: Swipe Culture and the Darker Side of Dating Apps. And that game is rigged.
“I think it’s important for users to remember that it’s not just them swiping on these devices. There is an algorithm determining the fate of their romantic outcome,” says Orchard.
In 2016, it was revealed that Tinder used an “Elo score,” the same rating system used to rank chess players, to measure a user’s “desirability.” Essentially, the more times someone swipes right on you, the more desirable you become. After backlash from users, Tinder said they ditched the Elo system.
But Tinder, as well as Bumble and Hinge, still use secret algorithms to power their apps and make recommendations, according to Orchard. Reddit sleuths have tried to crack the code, suggesting that the most attractive users are in subscriber-only sections, such as Hinge’s “Standouts,” while average people are relegated to the main queue.
Listen: On the Lately podcast, host Vass Bednar dug deep into the economics – and economic downturn – of dating apps:
A cottage industry of dating consulting businesses has cropped up, claiming to help users hack the algorithm and boost their profile. For US$49.99, one of Roast’s copywriters will review and “optimize” your profile, while for $29, the company will use AI to make you appear more attractive in 10 photos. (Unsurprisingly, AI-generated photos and spam profiles have increased in recent years.)
Orchard says that the apps are designed to keep users swiping by giving them intermittent wins. “There are certain holidays and days of the week where there’s an influx of people and it’s like, ‘Wow, where did all those hot guys come from?’ It’s not like they have just all signed up. They are dispersed collectively by the app.”
And who the algorithms deem as attractive can also be problematic, with research suggesting racialized users are more likely to be victims of unconscious bias. A 2021 study published in the Journal of Research in Personality discovered that prospective partners were being “penalized” for being Black, Asian and Hispanic.
Dr. Yue Qian, an associate professor at the University of British Columbia, is currently researching the emotional effects of online dating for Canadians and has found that it’s taxing for racialized users, particularly Asian men and Black women. “A lot of the online daters we interviewed reported that there was so much work in online dating but so little return,” says Qian. “Those frustrations can take an emotional toll on daters, especially minority daters.”
That’s one reason why Mairo Ahmadu, a 28-year-old in Winnipeg, felt like she was stuck in an algorithm not designed for her and knew she had to break the online habit.
On the apps, she’d swipe through streams of men and women, and get few connections. She says it could be because she’s selective, but she also wonders if it’s because she’s a Black woman in a city that doesn’t have a lot of racial diversity. “There are questions about desirability and what the status quo is when defined by beauty in society,” says Ahmadu.
She tried speed dating and got a couple of matches, but she’s also trying to meet someone by being more social. During Black History Month, she made an effort to go to as many events as she could to meet prospective partners. “I never really see a whole lot of Black folks in Winnipeg until there’s a Black event or something. I made the conscious choice to go out, be seen, and you never know, maybe bump into somebody.”
As the shine of swiping wears off, a slew of analog dating methods are making a comeback across the country, including singles mixers, meet-up groups and speed dating.
Although singles mixers were once associated with how your grandparents may have met, any stigma seems to have evaporated thanks to online-dating exhaustion, according to Alexandra Aquilina, 32, and Sara Gambino, 32, who started a monthly singles mixers called Unhinged in October, 2023.
At first, the best friends simply wanted to get all their single friends – and their single friends of friends – together in a room. Last fall, Gambino booked a bar and made a TikTok video inviting eligible Torontonians to come out for a night of mingling, party games and speed dating with tickets priced at $20. Within a day, the event had sold out.
In Ottawa, sex and relationship therapist Sue McGarvie launched Over 40 Connect, a community for people aged 40 and older to meet singles and make friends, after she noticed many of her clients were struggling with loneliness in the pandemic. She organizes speed dating and other singles nights, and launched a members-only online forum for members to plan their own outings, too.
Ron Thurier, a 78-year-old widower from Sarnia, Ont., has been seeking a serious relationship over the past three years, but he has only met a few women through OurTime, a dating site for people over 50 he found by Googling “senior dating,” and Match.com. He pays around $35 a month on subscriptions. Living in a smaller city, he often gets matched with women an hour or two away, which is too far of a drive for Thurier. Instead, he’s come to realize the best way to meet someone will be through a friend or in his community.
“I went to a Friday night dance here at a Polish Legion Hall, paid my 10 bucks, sat there, had a cocktail and looked at all these people dancing,” says Thurier. “There were four couples and 12 women that were line dancing by themselves. So I thought, ‘I should learn to dance.’ ”
Thurier lawn bowls in the summer, a great way to meet an older crowd, he says, and in the winter, plays bocce ball. “There’s another opportunity to meet ladies, but most of them are with spouses,” he says. He’s not discouraged though. “The main thing is you got to get out and you got to make the effort.”
Five tips for meeting people outside of the apps
Give speed dating a spin
Speed dating is on the rebound. “You get to meet a range of different people. Sure, you only have seven minutes, but you practise your skills and it gets you out of your shell,” says Dayana Romero, a therapist and dating coach in Hamilton, Ont. Companies such as Flare Events and My Cheeky Date operate in multiple cities across Canada, holding hetero, queer and bisexual events for various age groups. While speed dating tends to attract people of various backgrounds – imagine you’re on a subway car and anyone within a 10-year age radius is fair game – some events are more tailored.
Go to a singles mixer
If you Google “singles mixer” plus any city, you’ll find a variety of events based around everything from books to Buddhism. Others are specifically courting singles facing swiping fatigue, such as the app Thursday, which organizes weekly pop-up events at bars in Toronto, Edmonton, Montreal and Ottawa. The location is kept secret until the day of the event.
Join clubs, social groups and meet-ups
Whether you’re into chess, hiking, anime, birdwatching or whatever niche interest, there’s likely a Facebook group or club in your city dedicated to it. Romero recommends finding these groups online and joining their real-life events. If you’re feeling shy, bring along a friend. Everyone in attendance may not be single, but as Romero says, these interactions could lead to a potential partner.
Work with a matchmaker
Matchmaking has always been common among some religions, but in recent years, organized courtship has gone increasingly secular with matchmakers in Canada reporting explosive growth in clients. Even Tinder jumped on the trend this past October when it launched a matchmaking feature that allows friends to suggest matches for users. Hiring your own personal cupid isn’t cheap – services vary from $90 to $9,000. Some companies are leveraging AI to make matchmaking more affordable, including the speed-dating company Flare, which uses an algorithm to filter through profiles and identify the best matches in its pool of singles.
Be brave and approach someone in the wild
Ever since the pandemic, Romero says she’s noticed that many people’s social skills have atrophied. She works with her clients to build up communication skills, and overall self-confidence, so they can approach people in real life.
Sue McGarvie, a sex and relationship therapist in Ottawa, gives her clients similar advice: Go out there and start talking to people. “I always tell women, you’ve got to make the first move. All the rules are out the window. This is a brave new world,” says McGarvie, who mostly works with singles who are 40 and older.
Approaching someone in the wild can be intimidating , but in a time of swiping fatigue, you may be surprised how many people will be receptive to being passed a phone number scribbled on a napkin, says McGarvie.
Editor’s note: This story was updated to reflect that Sara Gambino was the one who booked the bar to start the Unhinged mixer event and that tickets were $20, not $30.