In Sex And The City, the sitcom that defined the noughties dating scene, Carrie and her girlfriends meet up to discuss the men causing havoc in their lives. It makes me feel faintly envious; when I hang out with my single friends we swap stories about the miseries of dating apps, instead. At 26, I’m a member of Gen Z (now aged 12 to 27, although you have to be 18 to use a dating app).
We have the dubious privilege of being the first cohort to come of age in a time when dating apps are ubiquitous. Once you’re out of the booze-fuelled uni years, no one just chats up a potential partner at a pub or bar any more. And while I can only speak for my own social circle, none of us has struck up relationships with mutual friends, either.
Apps are seen as the only way to meet someone new. But far from making dating easier, it’s turned our love lives into a brutal, exhausting slog. no wonder a recent Forbes survey found that 79 per cent of Generation Z describe themselves as experiencing ‘burnout’ thanks to online dating.
On TikTok, young women beg their audiences to ditch dating apps, with their manipulative algorithms, for the good of their mental health. one typical critic rages: ‘[Dating apps] do not care about you finding your soulmate ..
. they just care about taking your money and keeping the attractive people locked away.’ There are even signs that we’re switching off altogether: shares in dating app Bumble crashed 30 per cent this month after it slashed its projec.