i who have never known dating apps
reflections from dinner with esther perel
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I met my partner in college. You could say that we had a quintessential campus romance, one that started with me lending a pencil during Econ class. This was during the mid-2010s, so while dating apps existed, they were still relatively new. In hindsight, it feels like we were among the last wave of couples who met before the widespread adoption of apps.
As a result, I have no firsthand experience with what it’s like to use them. So I’m fascinated when my friends tell me about their Hinge stories. Like when they describe how they navigate the online dating “relationship escalator”—the points at which people move their conversation off the app, how the talking stage unfolds over text, the progression to a first date, etc. They often express how exhausting it is to go through the motions of noncommittal interest that fizzles out on a never-ending cycle, and going on "cleanses” where they delete the app until they’re ready to re-download.
Maybe it’s because I’m an eldest sister, but I take my role as a friend very seriously when it comes to being there for my friends who are using dating apps. But instead of doling out advice based on my personal experiences, I just try to listen without judgement, and simply sit with them through the feelings of uncertainty and confusion. I’ll also check that they got home after a date safely, or offer to debrief together over Facetime or brunch. I’m also a strong believer that platonic love is just as important as romantic love, and the depth of the friendships you nurture can teach you what you want in a romantic relationship.
In contrast to an online dating profile, my first encounter with my partner was in-person. We saw each other in real life before we saw photos of each other. I don’t think it was a “better” or “superior” way to date—and I lack the personal experience to even compare the two—it was just different. Sometimes I wonder, if we lived in a parallel universe where we met on an app, would the trajectory of our relationship have unfolded in the same way? How would he have perceived my hypothetical profile, and vice versa? I truly have no idea, but it’s a compelling thought experiment that crosses my brain every now and then.
Earlier in April, at a dinner party hosted by psychotherapist Esther Perel, I had the chance to reflect on the role I play for my friends who are currently on dating apps. Nine guests, including myself, were ushered into the glass-paneled Eames House Studio tucked in the winding roads of Pacific Palisades. We sat around a table, nibbling on asparagus risotto and whitefish as Esther facilitated a conversation about the biggest issues Gen Z faces when it comes to modern dating. At first, I felt a twinge of imposter syndrome because (1) I was the oldest person there aside from Esther and (2) I don’t have firsthand experience with dating apps. What could I contribute to the conversation?
But my anxieties quickly melted as I realized it was okay—more than okay, actually—to be there as an active and supportive listener, in the same way that I try to show up for my close friends.
As my fellow dinner party guests started talking about their dating frustrations and philosophies, I was struck by the universality of the relational dynamics that came up. One person shared that they recently broke up with their girlfriend and are starting to casually date again, but knew they needed some time before the next serious relationship. As others responded with similar anecdotes, I shared that I felt the same way after a friend breakup. Two people talked about the feeling of “delayed timelines” and being “late bloomers” in their queer dating journeys, their sentiment best summed up with the quote “why was everyone sooooo afraid to be gay in high school!?!?” That made us all laugh.
There were several moments where I’d make eye contact with someone else over the glowing wax candles, and we’d exchange a smile that simply said, “I’m present, I see you, I hear you.” The fact that no one was on their phone definitely helped create that intimate environment. I felt like everyone was really open and vulnerable with their stories, and whatever they chose to share deserved to land on empathetic ears.
The contemporary forces of social media and dating apps have created a unique set of challenges in which people are trying to find love. The word “performative” was used countless times. But humans have always been humans. Terms like “ghosting” and “situationships” and “divine feminine” may be new to the mainstream cultural lexicon, but the underlying dynamics have always existed. I may have never known dating apps—but I know what it’s like to feel insecure, to fear rejection, to yearn for connection.
I told Esther and everyone at the table that when people ask me about dating or relationship advice, I’m hesitant to give it. Not because I don’t want to help! But because I think people are far too inundated with pop psychology “advice” and other peoples’ opinions online. What works for me won’t necessarily work for you. In fact, it probably won’t, because we are completely different people.
There’s value in sharing dating/relationship experiences because it makes us feel less alone, but I would never give you prescriptive advice like what to text your crush or whether doing long-distance is right for you. One thing our group agreed on over a post-dinner tea circle was that Gen Z could benefit from consuming less dating advice on the internet. It’s honestly such a gift to debrief dates with my friends and laugh and cry and scream and just be a witness to the full range of human emotion in the pursuit of love. We all need more human presence, not more advice from strangers.
At the end of the night, Esther said something quite simple but true that stuck with me: “I may have a lot of opinions, but I’m not always right.” In a world where dating discourse is louder than ever, we’d all be wise to remember that.
xo viv
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This title made me laugh out loud
getting life advice from social media can be helpful, but yeah, it tends to veer towards prescriptive guardrails and I also find that I would use that kind of advice to evaluate myself as a "good" or "bad" person and was verrrrry concerned about doing the "right" thing (insert subconscious catholic values????). I've thankfully been able to grow past that, but my 20s were RIFE with trying to juggle everything I was being told I needed to do to be a morally just human.