There were times when I was married, living the married life, day in and day out, where I felt, and was, lucky. Gratitude filled my heart; my cup runneth over. Love, in all its forms, was always in arm’s reach. Kisses and hugs were given freely, and trust was always in the air. I loved, and was loved.
So much so, I began to feel sorry for those who had not found it. Not because they had not found love in their life, but because of how rancid and toxic the current landscape of dating truly is. The muck that these poor single people must wade through...
I believe from a generational standpoint, many, many would be hard-pressed to disagree. The ways we seek love, the ways in which we find true connection, true loyalty, seem to be fraught with many obstacles; cultural divides cut across random hearts with the slice of a hot blade; politics divide, certainly.
Men and women are more skeptical of each other. Marriage and children have certainly lost their appeal as well. Monogamy, now, is not a given—but must be a conversation. Where the one partner model may have been taken for granted, as obvious, is now another divide—no, I don’t want a partner to share with another, one must say outrightly, at the risk of sounding selfish or prude.
It is not one thing or the other, but a modernized world that pokes at our insecurities, reveals a mirror to our flaws, broadcasts the highlights of other’s lives, from the financial to the romantic, for us to compare, to cringe, to congratulate, or to turn green with envy. No doubt, the online world is largely responsible. But we have also been irresponsible. We have allowed the techno-gadgets to rule us, in many facets of our lives.
Back to the muck I mentioned earlier—the muck of effort, the wading through the many waters of disappointment, false starts, the newly minted term of ghosting—not exactly new in human history, but common enough now, to be a named phenomenon, and indelibly connected to the landscape of romantic entanglement.
The date that was confirmed did not show. The date that seemed interested, made plans, a date and a time, a place to be, only leaving you to be all dressed up with nowhere to go. Now, to start swiping left or right, to try again—and to go through all the same rigamarole with another stranger, having to, needing to, explain yourself again from the very start, with the hopes that this time, they will at least show up when they said they would.
Yes, I was lucky to avoid this for as long as I could. But after the collapse of five years of marriage, I find myself doing all that I said I would never have to do again. I am “on the apps”—swiping away, looking for connection, and looking for love to share.
And this recent introduction into that world has left me drained, daunted, and somewhat horrified. The ease with which others make plans is equal to the ease with which they are therefore dismissed. Human connection is everywhere and nowhere. We dismiss each other as nothing—you can always window shop another partner online.
With each new profile picture, with each new summary, comes a daydream. Everybody is looking for love, everyone appears open, everyone is smiling, everyone appears to be a part of the same daydream. Swipe left, the daydream bursts, swipe right, and the daydream of this person lingers—just long enough to visit the next smile, the next mirage, the next daydream to keep you swiping.
And inside this daydream of online love and dating apps, is a labyrinth of tools to keep you swiping, keep you entertained, keep you coming back. And if you really want to find love online, don’t expect it for free.
Among this labyrinth, I mention is a bevvy of coins, tickets, upgrades, virtual roses to send, and super likes to pay for. The apps are not shy. You want top billing? Pay us. You want your messages actually sent, pay us. The algorithms are geared so much towards profit, it makes you wonder if they wouldn’t purposefully sabotage any attempt at finding a viable partner for the sake of keeping you around.
For context, I begrudgingly downloaded a dating app. And then another. These are well-known apps, and I am sure you have likely heard of them. I dutifully filled out the minutiae and put my best pictures up for consideration. I am open to many a rendezvous—a casual stroll through the park, a beer at a bar, even a more formal date. You cannot ask for much, just the opportunity to talk to someone new.
I have been on these apps for four months—not a single match. Not one. I swipe, I send casual messages, I smile in my photos, I have passion, etc, etc. But I have not paid. And the algorithmic consequences for that are loud and clear.
On the second app, I have actually seen some traction. Apparently, some women are somewhat interested, enough to swipe right on me, and enough to match. But after filling out the profile, dutifully reading what potential partners have to say about themselves, and putting yourself out there, you are hit wth a bill—yes, the app is marketed as free, but the connection requires a credit card.
The faces of my matches are blurred; to see them, in this app I mention, costs $24.99 for the week, $ 48.99 for the month, $315 for the year, or, if you are feeling truly down and out, $479 for a lifetime of use. I find that to be a hard sell—why would I pay for a lifetime supply of an app, I hope to delete for love?
This fee is not levied up front, but expressed purposefully in the thick of pursuit—in the thick of finding out who your matches are, precisely when a lonely heart is at its most vulnerable, and that promise of finding your soulmate (their words, not mine), is just a credit card number away.
I now find myself in that same position that I once considered unthinkable, unenviable, impossible. It feels pathetic. It feels desperate. It feels cheap because it is.
This model is unsustainable, and we would likely be better off without the promises, the coins, the upgrades, the subscriptions when seeking something that is so much more than those things.
This is nothing but predatory behavior on the part of those who so openly and casually promise love, and we should reject it.
I am all in for love, but I want to swipe left on the whole goddamn enterprise. Where connection requires a credit card, I will be on the other side of that.
Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author’s own.
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