\u201cWe\u2019re at a pivotal point for dating apps,\u201d says Dr Liesel Sharabi, a professor at Arizona State University and director of the Relationships and Technology Lab. \u201cThere hasn\u2019t been meaningful innovation in this space for over a decade, and now people are burnt out.\u201d<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a growing appetite for alternatives. Once people spoke about Tinder or Hinge with excitement and hope; now users are cynical and exhausted. <\/p>\n
\u201cPeople talk about a nostalgia for meeting face-to-face and wanting to be liberated from the technology,\u201d says Sharabi. \u201cThere\u2019s this pervasive sense that the apps are no longer helping us find love, but keeping us in a loop of false starts and halfhearted conversations.\u201d <\/p>\n
While dating apps once promised convenience and scale, they now face criticism for delivering too little depth and too much noise. For many users, fatigue has set in<\/a> not just from bad dates but from the very mechanics of how we search for love online.<\/p>\n Much of this fatigue stems from the way apps are built. Profiles are swiped through in seconds. <\/p>\n \u201cDating apps expand the pool of options,\u201d says Sharabi. \u201cBut not necessarily the quality.\u201d With sheer volume comes emotional burnout, a condition increasingly recognised as \u201cswipe fatigue\u201d.<\/p>\n Behind the scenes, most apps use collaborative filtering algorithms \u2013 similar to Netflix or Spotify \u2013 to serve matches. \u201cYou swipe right on someone, and the app starts showing you people that others who liked that profile also liked. It\u2019s not necessarily about what you say you want. It\u2019s about what people like you tend to go for,\u201d says Sharabi.<\/p>\n This creates a feedback loop that may reinforce superficial preferences. \u201cIf everyone includes height in their profile, you might start thinking height matters more than it actually does,\u201d she says. \u201cThe app teaches you what to value, even when those traits don\u2019t predict long-term compatibility.\u201d <\/p>\n That insight is particularly troubling when applied to young users, who are still developing their understanding of relationships and compatibility. \u201cWe see people learning to look for what\u2019s visible and quantifiable \u2013 height, job, hobbies \u2013 not the interpersonal qualities that make someone a good partner.\u201d<\/p>\n For Irish users, dating culture is still a relatively new phenomenon compared with the United States. The vulnerability and effort required in admitting we are looking for love often makes us squirm. Empty profiles and bland openers are common, because actually trying feels too uncomfortable. But the mismatch between what we actually want from dating apps and how we use them extends to users all over the globe.<\/p>\n Dr Jess Carbino, a sociologist who worked for both Tinder and Bumble, agrees that user behaviour is often misaligned with what they actually want. \u201cPeople say they want a long-term relationship, but they\u2019re not always behaving in a way that reflects that,\u201d she says. Carbino observed distinct gendered patterns too. \u201cMen often said they were open to a long-term relationship, but they approached dating more as exploration. Women, once serious about commitment, often rejected mismatches faster.\u201d<\/p>\n She also cautions against the current hand-wringing over Gen Z<\/a> abandoning dating apps. \u201cThere\u2019s always a narrative that the next generation is going to upend everything. It\u2019s often overstated,\u201d says Carbino. \u201cThe truth is, people still want connection \u2013 they\u2019re just experimenting with new forms of it.\u201d<\/p>\n However, there is a growing suspicion towards tech companies and app designers in general, as users become more aware of how tech platforms aim to monopolise attention and manipulate self-esteem. Netflix founder Reed Hastings once famously claimed that Netflix\u2019s biggest competitor was sleep, showing how ruthless the company was in trying to hijack users\u2019 constant attention. In her recent memoir, Careless People<\/a>, Sarah Wynn-Williams, Facebook\u2019s policy director from 2011 to 2017, revealed that the company deliberately exploited adolescent insecurity via emotional profiling and online behaviour monitoring. According to Wynn-Williams, Facebook identified when adolescent girls deleted selfies from their profile and, interpreting this as a potential sign of low self-esteem, would then immediately target these users with beauty and weight-loss advertising.<\/p>\n People think there\u2019s always someone better out there, which undermines the mindset needed to build real relationships<\/p>\n \u2014 \u00a0Dr Liesel Sharabi<\/p><\/blockquote>\n In the world of dating tech specifically, Match Group has a near monopoly hold of the world of dating, as it owns Tinder, Hinge, Match, OKCupid, Plenty of Fish and more dating apps and sites. Descending from one of the world\u2019s first dating websites, Match.com, which was launched 30 years ago this year, the group is now worth more than $8.5 billion. Critics say the corporation operates under a \u201cperverse incentive\u201d to not help its users find love, as it claims, but to keep them swiping indefinitely. <\/p>\n On Valentine\u2019s Day last year, six dating app users in the US filed a federal class-action lawsuit against Match Group. The underpinning legal argument was that the corporation falsely advertises that it helps users find love, but it instead uses an addictive gaming process to keep people lonely, depressed and addicted to the apps. (Match said the lawsuit was \u2018ridiculous\u2019.)<\/p>\n Carbino worked as a sociologist for Tinder, which is a Match Group company; Bumble, which is not; and now works for neither. She resists the notion that apps are designed to keep users single. \u201cThat\u2019s a conspiracy theory,\u201d she says. \u201cThe reality is that apps rely on word of mouth. If people don\u2019t meet anyone, they won\u2019t recommend it to their friends. The goal is to match people and let them leave the app.\u201d <\/p>\n At Tinder, she says, her research was directly incorporated into product features designed to enhance real connection, such as Passport (which allows users to travel virtually to meet people in another location) and Super Like.<\/p>\n Still, the limitations of these platforms are increasingly visible. Profiles reward brevity over nuance, and the abundance of choice can create the illusion that a better match is always just one swipe away. \u201cThe shopping mentality is a big issue,\u201d says Sharabi. \u201cPeople think there\u2019s always someone better out there, which undermines the mindset needed to build real relationships.\u201d<\/p>\n So, does the problem lie with the technology itself, or the way we use it? \u201cA lot of people are just bad at knowing what they want,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd the apps aren\u2019t helping. They\u2019re optimising for time-on-platform, not emotional insight.\u201d<\/p>\n [\u00a0Online dating fatigue: \u2018Irish people are terrible on the apps\u2019Opens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n For example, one of Sharabi\u2019s recent studies found that relationships that began on dating apps scored slightly lower in long-term satisfaction compared with those that started in person. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a massive drop, but it was statistically significant. And we have to ask why,\u201d she says. Her theory: the mindset cultivated by apps may carry into the relationship. \u201cIf you\u2019re used to thinking there\u2019s always someone else around the corner, you\u2019re less likely to invest deeply.\u201d<\/p>\n This mindset, Sharabi argues, is shaped not just by algorithms but also by cultural expectations of tech. \u201cApps promise customisation and instant delivery. You expect the app to deliver your soul mate the way Amazon delivers a package.\u201d That commodification of romantic connection may be part of what dulls its impact. \u201cYou don\u2019t build a relationship the way you build a playlist,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n Carbino agrees that confusion over what people truly want creates friction. \u201cSelf-reflection is rare, and even rarer when it comes to matters of the heart,\u201d she says. \u201cPeople aren\u2019t always able to articulate what they\u2019re looking for, and even when they can, their behaviours don\u2019t always align.\u201d<\/p>\n This fatigue and scepticism around endless swipe-based dating apps has given rise to new models, including Breeze, a Dutch dating app designed to disrupt swipe culture entirely. Co-founder Marco van der Woode says the app eliminates chatting before dates, focusing instead on getting people to meet in real life. \u201cThe endless swiping and chatting doesn\u2019t actually help people connect,\u201d he says. \u201cWe wanted to design something that gets people face to face quicker.\u201d<\/p>\n Breeze allows users to fill out long profiles and answer question prompts, then allows users to only see a few curated matches each day. If both parties say yes, a date is automatically scheduled at a vetted public venue \u2013 no endless swiping, no abandoned conversations, but an immediate date where you can converse in person. The model is built for intentionality \u2013 and safety. \u201cThere\u2019s no pressure to impress via message, and venues know a date is happening. Our users know if you match, you\u2019re meeting,\u201d says Van der Woode.<\/p>\n Cancel too many dates, and we lock your profile temporarily. It\u2019s about reintroducing accountability<\/p>\n \u2014 \u00a0Marco van der Woode, co-founder of Breeze<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The goal, he adds, is to remove the ambiguity that fuels so much online dating anxiety. \u201cPeople cancel dates, ghost each other, get overwhelmed. We built in consequences for that. Cancel too many dates, and we lock your profile temporarily. It\u2019s about reintroducing accountability.\u201d<\/p>\n Breeze\u2019s business model also reflects a commitment to real outcomes over endless engagement. \u201cWe only succeed if people go on dates. Our growth comes from people telling their friends, not keeping them on the app for hours,\u201d says Van der Woode. <\/p>\n Safety is also central to Breeze\u2019s pitch. All dates occur in public venues partnered with the app, with staff aware that a blind date is taking place. Users can report feedback on the match and venue, and profiles are verified to prevent catfishing. <\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re trying to build a culture where accountability is embedded in every step,\u201d says Van der Woode. The app is testing features that allow users to rate venues and receive safety follow-ups after each date \u2013 a kind of postdate check-in system designed to foster a deeper sense of care in the community.<\/p>\n Another unusual feature: if a user cancels or behaves inconsistently, their account may be temporarily blocked \u2013 not as punishment, but as a pause. \u201cIt\u2019s about making sure people are truly ready to date,\u201d says Van der Woode. \u201cIf someone\u2019s flaking repeatedly, maybe they\u2019re overwhelmed or unsure about what they want. We give them space to reflect rather than just removing them. We want people to treat dating with intention.\u201d <\/p>\n Breeze is not yet available in Ireland, but the company is looking at Dublin as one of its next territories.<\/p>\n While Breeze brings users back into the real world, Sharabi is also closely studying the opposite trend: virtual dating. Through her work at Arizona State University, she has explored how immersive tech such as virtual reality (VR) can enable connection in surprising ways.<\/p>\n \u201cVR lets people interact in ways that mimic face to face without the real-life risk or investment,\u201d she says. \u201cYou can meet someone in a virtual coffee shop and get a feel for their personality before ever meeting in real life.\u201d <\/p>\n [\u00a0What have your online dating experiences been like? Share your storiesOpens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n Sharabi has tested VR for dating coaching, working with start-up Foretell Reality to provide virtual guidance to users. \u201cWe could coach people in real time while they were on a virtual date. In VR the coach can whisper tips in your ear, unseen by your date \u2013 and you can replay moments afterwards to reflect on the interaction,\u201d she says. The results were promising: participants reported feeling more confident and prepared. \u201cIt can be a powerful training tool, especially for those with social anxiety or who are neurodivergent.\u201d <\/p>\n She sees this type of training as a confidence-building tool to prepare people for dating in the real world, not an end goal in and of itself.<\/p>\n Some users, especially those with social anxiety or neurodivergence, report feeling more comfortable behind an avatar, which opens up further questions around self-image and dating. In 2017 writer Leslie Jamison published an essay, The Digital Ruins of a Forgotten Future, in which she interviewed adults who loved Second Life, a virtual world launched in 2003. One interviewee was a woman with multiple sclerosis who was housebound and spent her time on Second Life doing things her physical body could not. Virtual reality can allow users to experience the world in a different body \u2013 but while that can be empowering for some, it comes with complications. Many users designed their avatar to be conventionally attractive according to gender norms, with women picking slim but curvy frames, while male users added muscle.<\/p>\n Sharabi points to the Proteus Effect, a phenomenon whereby users change behaviour based on their avatar\u2019s appearance. \u201cSomeone using a more attractive avatar might act more confidently. It affects how we see ourselves and how we engage with others,\u201d she says. This may be beneficial in a virtual reality world, but begs questions of how it\u2019s teaching us to value our normal bodies offline.<\/p>\n \u201cOne thing VR does is allow for more anonymity, and that can also be kind of a mixed bag, because on the one hand, vanity could be freeing to people and it could make it easier for them to disclose, to share things, to maybe start building a strong foundation for a relationship,\u201d says Sharabi. But for other people \u201canonymity does not always bring out the best\u201d.<\/p>\n Indeed, virtual reality and anonymity has already resulted in serious incidents. In several well-documented accounts, female users in Mark Zuckerberg\u2019s Metaverse reported sexual harassment and boundary violations. Unlike traditional platforms, the immersive quality of VR can make these experiences feel uncomfortably real. \u201cWhen someone invades your personal space in a virtual world, your body still reacts as if it were real,\u201d says Sharabi. \u201cThe trauma response is real.\u201d<\/p>\n Many of these platforms are owned and primarily designed by men and male-led teams, who have been criticised for not heeding the safety concerns of female users. <\/p>\n To me, dating an AI partner isn\u2019t practise – it\u2019s retreat. It may be marketed as confidence-building, but what it really builds is disconnection<\/p>\n \u2014 \u00a0Dr Liesel Sharabi<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"'We](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/WHWSKJ67J5DRTAH22M4AD5WN7Q.jpg\")
‘We see people learning to look for what\u2019s visible and quantifiable \u2013 height, job, hobbies \u2013 not the interpersonal qualities that make someone a good partner.’ Photograph: Mauro Pimentel\/AFP via Getty Images <\/p>\n\n
![\"The](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/X32TYXODMRDLZI5OOVW4GCBJDA.jpg\")
The limitations of dating platforms are increasingly visible <\/p>\n\n
![\"Back](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/X6WL5BROSJBIDB7BP2BM4KXV44.jpg\")
Back to basics: Speed-dating events, singles’ hiking groups and running clubs are gaining momentum. Photograph: iStock <\/p>\n![\"Screening](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/JUVO7DLKUFCO5JOO5A2F4YITIQ.jpg\")
Screening process: ‘People aren\u2019t tired of apps. They\u2019re tired of being alone.’ Photograph: Getty Images <\/p>\n\n