Opinion
Swipe. Match. Message. Ghosted. Repeat.
It’s not love–it’s a loop.
As a 19-year-old navigating university life, I’ve watched my peers–and myself–get stuck in cycles of digital flirtation that rarely go anywhere. A match is exciting. Until it’s not.
We tell ourselves we’re looking for connection. But these apps seem more interested in keeping us engaged than helping us actually connect.
And it’s by design.
The real cost
Platforms like Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge are built to hook us.
The more we swipe, the more they win.
Anthropologist Natasha Dow Schüll draws a parallel between dating apps and slot machines, noting that “swiping left and right–it’s almost like a horizontal slot machine. You really don’t know what you’re going to get.”
That rush of matching? It’s not love. It’s a feature.
A 2020 study in BCM Psychology linked dating app use with higher rates of anxiety and lower self-esteem. The constant judgmentjudgement of others—and ourselves—–takes a toll.
We start measuring our worth in matches. We reduce complex people to profile pictures. The whole thing becomes less about connection and more about putting on a show.
Connection or profit?
Some people argue that dating apps simply reflect modern love–that they’re neutral tools, and it’s up to us how we use them. Tinder and other platforms often promote the idea that their goal is to spark meaningful connections, not encourage endless swiping. And to some extent, that’s true. These apps can increase access for LGBTQ+ people, those living in rural areas, and others whose dating pools might otherwise be limited.
But if these apps prioritized connection, they’d be designed differently. Profiles might emphasize shared values or conversation over photos. They might nudge us toward putting our phones down instead of picking them back up.
Instead, they’re optimized for engagement, retention, and profit.
A game
Even when we know it’s toxic, we go back. Why? Because it’s easy. Comforting, even. There’s always someone new just one swipe away. Maybe this next one will be different.
Spoiler: they usually aren’t.
That’s not to say all dating apps are evil. Some people find real relationships through them. But it helps to know what we’re dealing with.
These platforms don’t fail us by accident. They function exactly as intended: keep us swiping, keep us slightly unsatisfied, keep us coming back.
We deserve better.
Better connections.
Better designs.
Better digital spaces that don’t profit off our loneliness.
Maybe that starts with small shifts–choosing apps that value intention over impulse, or taking breaks to reconnect with real-world vulnerability.
Maybe we should start by asking what we actually want and whether these apps are helping us achieve it.
Because love shouldn’t feel like a game no one wins.