I Hate Dating, Love From: Me, You, And Every Girl On A Dating App

“Phoebe?” I spun round, and there he was. 

The man I’d been talking to for the past seven weeks, looking like he was ready for a hike; one of us definitely didn’t get the memo (It was a pub date). We walked together, mostly in silence, and I jingled along next to him in my kitten heels and bangles. After what was a generous ten minutes, I concluded: I didn’t fancy him. So after a long three hours, on the way home, I went into M&S and broke my vegetarianism. I brought a chicken sandwich - I considered it a treat for putting myself out there and going on a date.

I got on the train feeling sorry for myself, and if my day hadn’t been bad enough, Tinder came down the aisle asking for my ticket.  

“My ticket?” I asked. 

“Yep”, he said (Tinder’s definitely a man). 

“If you don’t have a ticket, you can either download the app or message your ex”. I frowned. 

“Message my ex?” Tinder nodded.

“Which one will it be?” 

I unblocked my ex. 

There’s a scene in Sex and the City where Carrie turns up on Aidan's doorstep. She stands at the bottom of his stairs rambling about how much she misses him, how good he looks, how she wants him back, and he shouts, “YOU BROKE MY HEART”. I often have that conversation in my head, but I’m both Carrie and Aiden. I’m (unfortunately) not standing declaring my love in New York City - I’m giving myself a pep talk. As I get ready to send the “I miss you, I miss us, you’re looking so good” message, my mind shouts, ‘HE BROKE YOUR HEART.’ I put my chicken sandwich and my phone down. How has the dating scene got so bad that I miss my shitty ex? 

Forget the financial crash of 2008. 2026 is facing the biggest dating crash to date. We’re facing a romance recession. 

"I wake up, have a morning scroll, and prepare myself for opening the apps. Will I be ghosted? Love-bombed? Be faced with the ugliest men in my local area? Meet a man whose consistent, listens to my feelings, arranges lovely dates, meets all my friends, talks about our future and then decides he wants casual? Who knows what the day will bring?” - A girl who's in the trenches.

“It’s just shit. Shit, shit, shit.” - A girl who gets it.

“I just want a boyfriend” - A girl who's been on the apps since 2021

“Given up, babe.” - A girl speaking facts.

I stared out of the train window, the countryside blurring into one, and I started to enter that deep life reflection that only follows after a bad first date. Isn’t it strange how we open an app, swipe through random people, and hope to find someone who will change our lives? Because, essentially, that’s what we’re doing, right? Well, it’s what I’m doing anyway. 

That one match, one message, one profile, the late-night chats, the dates that last way too long, the eye contact, the hand-holding that turns to key cutting, choosing furniture, and writing grocery lists. 

Sometimes I feel like I have a bit of a grocery list when it comes to dating:

-Must be 5’11 or over (5’10 if they wear loose-fit trousers)

-No motorbikes

-Can own a dog but can’t be bigger than a spaniel

-No Formula 1 (I’m not listening to it)

-Must like coriander

-Must not be looking for a partner to travel with (I won’t be going with you)

-Must have a good enough profile that my friends won’t make fun of me

-Can only enjoy the big football matches (I’m not listening to that either)

-Must not mention any details of an ex, unless prompted

-Must not be a finance man (I’m not doing that again)

But have you ever met someone, and you both weren't looking for anything serious? Yet, you have an undeniable connection? Suddenly those casual Saturday nights turn into Tuesday mornings and late-night phone calls and all your groceries go out the window, and there’s no amount of checklists or requirements that can stop what you’re feeling?

As I took the last bite of my sandwich, I replayed those last three hours. Mr Hiker & I had been speaking for seven whole weeks. Did he tick my checklist? Absolutely. He had a good job, he thought coriander was okay, he was 6ft, didn’t like sports, enjoyed staycations, and wasn’t a finance man. But he wasn’t trying to get to know me personally, and he had a replying schedule (don’t get me started). Now I think of it, I was always more excited about the potential of what could be rather than what was. 

I would sit daydreaming of romantic cottage stays, long walks along the beach, evenings spent in wine bars, and yet the most made-up part of it all was the feelings I would have, because in reality, I wasn’t feeling any of it. I just thought I would. Why wouldn’t I right? He ticked all my boxes. 

I realised what my checklist should really look like is:

-Someone who asks me about my day

-Someone who remembers the small details

-Someone who wants to meet the important people in my life, and introduce me to his

-Someone who takes an interest in my hobbies, and has their own

-Someone who has a good sense of humour

-Someone who supports me

-Someone who makes me feel cared for

-Someone who makes me happy

-I know that if, when that man comes along, if he doesn’t like coriander, I would be fine taking the sprigs out. 

I know now that when I was drafting a message to send my ex, it wasn’t really because I missed him. It was because it was the last proper connection I’d felt. Hold my hand and say it with me, ladies: I don’t miss my ex. I just spent the last few weeks thinking I had a connection with a man I actually have zero chemistry with, and now I feel robbed of what should have been.

We spend a week or two (*disclaimer: I really don’t recommend doing what I did, a seven-week talking stage is atrocious; it was just because I was on holiday*) giggling at our phones and imagining a future with that one person. Creating expectation, hope, and what’s happening is that the apps are handing us these false illusions that virtual conversations mean something. In reality, no amount of calling or messaging can ever truly determine a connection face to face, and it will never let you know just how much that person can make you feel. So, we go on these dates with hope and expectations only to be let down when the typing energy doesn’t transfer, and our checklists let us down.

I’ve concluded: I hate online dating. I hate building up hope, and I hate spending two weeks messaging someone and not knowing them by the third. I hate the effort of swiping, I hate the thought of people looking at my profile, and I lowkey hate that my ex isn’t on the apps (he better not be happily moved on whilst I’m going through it), and I hate so much that dating feels more tedious than romantic.

Sometimes I wonder how many connections I’ve missed because they didn’t meet my checklist. Sometimes I wonder if I’d met my dating app flings naturally, would we have even spoken? Sometimes I wonder how it used to feel without having a catalogue of dates in my pocket.

So, there I was, sat on the train pitifully folding my sandwich box, and wondering how I’ll ever have a partner again, feeling like I have to relearn everything that dating is. Maybe I need to stand at a few more bars, potentially join a book club? Delete the apps and start looking up more?

Or maybe I’ll have just a few more swipes.

I Hate Dating,

Love From: Me, You, And Every Girl On A Dating App