Dating apps are losing their lustre, and here’s what’s replacing them

It was after three disastrous dates in the course of two weeks that 36-year-old Riya C, an engineer in Mumbai, finally forsook dating apps. “I realised I spent so much time even outside of these dates, having pointless conversations or trying to screen for decent people through their text messages. I have a very full life, and it took a lot out of me to sort through Bumble Likes or whatever at the end of a long day.”

She had gone into detox mode when a friend recommended a running club; why not combine something she did on a daily basis anyway with her quest to find a partner? “I started in November last year, and for a while there was really nothing romantic there–I made some great friends though! I made my peace with that, and I was honestly quite okay with it.” Until, about two months ago, when 39-year-old management consultant Utkarsh joined the club. “It was a pretty quick spark,” she grins. “It’s very early days, of course, but it’s low pressure, because we just met as running buddies, and it’s been so much fun getting to know him. He’s got a lot of the qualities I was hoping to find in a partner. I’m excited to see where it goes.”

Riya’s renouncement isn’t the anomaly it used to be; the dating app has been dying for some time now. Studies have been surfacing, like the joint study by Carnegie Mellon and University of Washington that analysed 2,40,000 users on an Asian dating platform to find the app favours popularity, not compatibility, or the Scientific American review about ‘scientific’ matching algorithms having no proven link to long-term relationship success. Another death knell was the class action lawsuit in 2024 lawsuit against Tinder, Hinge, and Bumble, with claims that they are purposefully gamified to foster addiction, using intermittent ‘wins’ and limited profile exposure to boost monetisation. It became clear that this ‘system’, advertised as being on the side of the hopeful dater, was actually profiting off the emotional emptiness it creates for its users.

For most single folks looking for love, coming to terms with the fact that the primary–sometimes only–medium they’ve turned to has been failing them, is hard to reckon with. Many still find themselves keeping the option open, and rotate between spending time on them, and then detoxing from them to get their emotional energy back. A  2017 Stanford study updated in 2021 showed that over 50% of new heterosexual couples and 65 % of same-sex couples were meeting online, described as an ‘absolute majority”, making it the single largest meeting method. It was a catch-22; people had premised their hopes on the very apps that seemed to be lining their pockets by dashing it.

While most urban daters still have a love-hate relationship with the apps–using it grudgingly in lieu of an easier substitute, there has also begun the quiet relinquishing of them. And, much like Riya, turning a community centred around an interest into an opportunity for finding love. Twenty-seven-year-old Meghna J has always been an avid reader, so when she quit the apps in January, she replaced them with book clubs. The decision came after months of draining exchanges that often turned sexual far too prematurely for her taste. “I was wasting a lot of time on people that were uninteresting and unserious,” she sighs. “I was only on one app anyway–Hinge–but the quality of people was so disappointing. And almost none of them ever got a single book reference I made.”

The solution she came up with was to go to the pool of readers themselves, joining several online (and offline) book clubs. Through it, she’s already met a couple of people that are both single and have a lot in common with her. “Things are still in the talking stages–but it’s so much more peaceful than apps. The kind of people I meet are well-read, intelligent and obviously open to conversation, because they’re in book clubs.”

The fatigue and frustration of dating app culture has more than one source. There is, of course, the superficiality; being reduced to your best photo and a tagline that is often either cliché or curated. There’s the ‘shopping’ culture it propagates; being spoilt for choice in turn lowering the desire to actually make one. There’s the ghosting, the flaking, the burnout from myriad conversations that go nowhere or have hard stops without reason. And, of course, the emotional anxiety and insecurity it all fuels.

As a Delhi-based corporate lawyer, 31-year-old Arif M. has always had trouble dating, finding it exhausting both to have text conversations and then, to take them offline. “My job is demanding, and needs long hours, which sounds like an excuse to the people I match with.” It was over a friendly cocktail that turned a little flirtatious at his office party that gave him the bright idea to try to date within his field. “I didn’t want to date someone in my office–that can get messy.” But dating a lawyer seemed smart; who better to understand the lifestyle? So, the apps were put on pause and he began RSVPing to a lot more networking events. “If all else failed, it would still be good for my career,” he smiles.

But all didn’t fail. One fine Friday, at a Bar & Bench conference, he met a lawyer from Bengaluru who he found he couldn’t stop thinking about. A couple of months of texting and conversations, and both found themselves flying to see each other every weekend they could. “We’re keeping it quiet right now–we have far too many people in common professionally to go public before we’re ready.” But it looks like it won’t be long now, Arif smiles.

One thing all three experiences have in common is that the meetings happened in low pressure situations. Clubs based on interests and professional spaces expose you to like-minded individuals, but there isn’t the inherent romantic or sexual expectation that comes with meeting someone on an app. “You get to know people first before deciding if they make sense for you as a partner,” says Riya. “When you match with somebody on an app, the expectation is already there that you’re screening for someone to date. It makes it harder to just feel out the situation and see if you like them as a person before you go further.”

Though, in 29-year-old PR executive Sahej’s opinion, that expectation can be okay if it’s a group situation–like a mixer. “I go to these singles meet-ups and mixers from time to time,” he says. “I keep the apps on the backburner, but I barely look at them anymore. I go to an event of some kind that brings together singles in my city, and I’ve really been enjoying those.” He hasn’t found ‘the one’ yet, but he’s been enjoying the ride. “Mumbai may have been rated the best city in the world to date, but trust me, it’s not,” he scoffs. “The mixers are a lot nicer than the apps because it feels like you’re at a party, and you can just have a chat with someone and see if you vibe.”

Mixers, often put together by dating apps like Bumble or Hinge, are often city-centric, throwing app users from nearby locations together to meet in real life. But apps aren’t the only ones putting them together–myriad mixer-focussed organisations have popped up around the country that focus both on demographics and location. There is for instance, The Singles Club (Bengaluru), focused on 40+ age-group mixers, ThirtyPlus (Mumbai), for singles aged 30–45, Small World (Pan‑India, 21–35), that does themed get-togethers, or Bollywood style parties by The Desi Spark. The events are casual, often laced with games and conversation starters, aiming to put singles in the same headspace as meeting someone at a party.

The only difference, as Sahej points out, is that everyone at the party is single and also looking to make connections. “It’s a win-win, because if nothing else, you come out of it having met a bunch of cool people who also live in your city.” The pressure is also far less than meeting for a date with someone you match with on a dating app, because you don’t have to commit an entire evening to someone without knowing them. “If you’re not feeling good energy in the first few minutes you can just move on. And then, when you like someone, you can give them your time and attention.”

For most people moving away from the apps, the key is to start with actual, real-life interactions and then assess for romantic potential–instead of the other way around. While apps are built on an inherently superficial curation system, meeting in real spaces allows for other aspects of personality to present themselves at the same time; a fact Arif can attest to. “I’ll be honest, I would always swipe on a certain ‘type’ of girl; petite, with long hair, and some piercings or tattoos.” He sheepishly admits that he wouldn’t have swiped on his current, 5 ft 7’ partner and her pixie cut on Bumble–but “what an idiot I would’ve been! She’s so beautiful–but dating apps give you the illusion of so much choice that you end up locking yourself into ‘types’. In the bargain, you miss out on anything beyond that narrow idea of what you’ve always thought was attractive.”

Meghna also admits that pushing past the barrier of superficiality that dating apps tend to have has been a learning experience. “I would probably have swiped left on one of the guys I’m talking to,” she admits. “He’s not photogenic, but he’s so nice-looking when you actually meet him. Plus, he’s kind, funny and smart. I would never have gotten to know him on an app.”

For the urban single, the tide is turning–or rather, returning. After years of leaning into technology to expand their dating horizons, the rougher edges of it have finally begun to leave their mark–and a retrogression to simple, more meaningful forms of meeting people have begun to win out. For those that aren’t signing up for mixers or hobby-based communities, there has been a return to meeting friends of friends, going to more parties, making an effort to talk to someone in frequented spaces (like cafes or coworking spaces)–or even asking to be set up. People are, quite literally, putting themselves out there instead of shopping for a partner from the comfort of their couches. And with every new avenue being explored, there is one goal at its heart–a genuine connection.

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