Dating apps what happens when you delete them all glamour uk
I deleted all my dating apps and it s changed my life in the most amazing ways
A small part of me; a part I’m going to allow to grow in its own time – is excited about the prospect of dating someone. And for all the right reasons; because of the curiosity that’s been sparked by travel, and the romantic hopefulness that’s been revived through reading, and the general enthusiasm I’ve been reminded of through, well, spending time with those I love. I’ve invested in myself, and my life, and right now it seems like there’s a lot to go around – with the right person. How to make this happen? I have no hard and fast rule about never using dating apps again. I’m interested, for instance, in the new app called Thursday – its USP is that they push in-person meetings, apparently. Although I’d much rather attend their live events first. Then again, do I even want to move in a space which is just for “singles” when the tribalism (of singles/couples) has always bothered me? Now I no longer spend my Sundays in a darkening room, my face illuminated by the blue-light of my phone screen (Tom, 32, from Kensal Rise; Liam, 29, from Hackney), I feel less at-odds with my couple friends than ever. Perhaps I’ll just go on in the way I have been – going out with my friends, trying new things I’m curious about (like a Spanish language learning exchange, or a running club) before returning to the apps. Or maybe ‘Francesca Specter, 30, from Camden’ is a thing of the past. Whatever I decide, I have zero regrets about these six joyful, app-free months.I deleted all my dating apps and it's changed my life in the most amazing ways
Six months ago, I made the decision to delete my dating apps, which I had been using on and off for a decade, indefinitely. Nothing dramatic or terrible had happened. I didn’t date someone so toxic they turned me away from dating entirely. In fact, Patrick, the man from Hinge whom I’d been dating just before deleting the app, was kind, intelligent, and in many ways what I’d look for in a partner. In fact, it was for him that I deleted Hinge and Bumble, my then-dating apps of choice, at the beginning of the year. Because I’d lost the appetite for ‘chatting to’ multiple people at once – who even has the time? – and I figured I could always download the apps again if we were to break up.
But after a couple of months (and one honest-but-disappointing conversation), it became clear that we just weren’t in mutually-compatible situations to continue dating. As so often happens with early romances, we fizzled out, rather than imploded. But there was a poignance to that, too; the time I’d invested getting to know someone I’d never see again. The shared memories that no longer had a home. The secret hopes I’d had about our immediate future as a couple: planning trips away, spending Sundays together, sitting at opposite ends of the sofa or lying in bed reading our respective books in comfortable silence (am I alone in having this as a romantic fantasy?).
When we stopped seeing one another, I felt, immediately, the familiar urge to download the apps again – like I had done time and time again, on and off, for the past decade since Tinder launched in 2012. But I resisted it – and instead I chose to process the disappointment I was feeling in losing the thing-that-could-have-been-a-thing. I felt better after a week or two. But I’d had a revelation. I wasn’t necessarily going to find another Patrick immediately. I’d have to be back on dating apps for a while, kiss a few frogs… – and what effect would that have on me?
Stop listening to TikTok! Some of you have never dated an anxious person, and it shows.
What I realised was that there was an opportunity cost to all the Sundays I spent swiping; the non-starter dates where I spent my Thursday evening; the month or two I spent dating someone exclusively. Not so much because it prevented me from meeting ‘The One’. That was a factor, of course – but I wasn’t just missing out on, potentially, a Big Love. I was missing out, regularly, on a Big Life: travelling; reading; learning; nurturing relationships of all kinds.
I’ve given IRL connections a chance
At first, I decided to channel my dating app hiatus into focusing on real-life romantic connections, and that was a rewarding exercise. I reconnected with my Mr What-If, someone I’d dated the previous year, “giving things a chance” for a few weeks before realising we were right to end things the first time and curing my low-level regret in the process. I called up a DJ I’d once had an instant chemistry with at a bar, and kept in touch with since – we had a fun couple of dates. Nothing ultimately went anywhere, but I felt like there was a greater level of mutual respect, and communication, because the foundation of our relationships to one another were built on more than pixels. You know that old proverb, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”? I’d say a connection made in person is worth two on an app. Eventually, I stopped putting pressure on these relations with the opposite sex – wondering whether they “like me” liked me. The reason I was able to do this, I think, was because I was no longer in the practice of spending hours swiping alone waiting for a match (or not). Over time, this abstinence had helped to cure me of the addiction to romantic ‘wins” – the highs and lows, the feeding of my ego and gamification of my heart. I spent an evening flirting with an event photographer, then a man I met unexpectedly during a 24-hour airport stopover – without even trying to analyse whether these connections were more than friendly from their side. For once, I didn’t really care. Eventually, I decided to take a mindful break from dating as a whole. Which leads me to my next point…
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When I think about the relationships in my life right now, my worries aren’t “He hasn’t texted me back?” or “Will we match”? Without that immediate, pressing sense of the Next Romantic Prospect, my mind is more likely to stray towards the people I most love, and feel excited by – how they are, or our future plans together. I’ve always been blessed with both friends and family, whom I feel able to depend on and have intimate conversations with as well as fun. And it’s only in the past few years that I’ve appreciated that – such is our societal fixation on romantic relationships – my other half, my partner – that for a long time I failed to see the love that was always there. Acknowledging that, my cup overrunneth – I’m not fixating on the text I haven’t received, I’m celebrating, with gratitude, the sheer amount of love in my life. Equally, I live in London, a major city full of vibrant people; events are very much back on post-pandemic, and since the world opened up I’ve travelled a lot, too. It’s through capitalising on these social opportunities that I’ve remembered there are so many wonderful people in the world. This is in direct contrast to dating apps, where you filter away until it seems like you’re swiping through the same three people over and over again – which leads to a scarcity mindset. Now I’ve looked up from my phone screen, the world feels abundant again.
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I plan ahead more strategically
I used to leave most Thursday nights open, in case I could plan a date for then (I realise this is the whole premise of the new dating app, Thursday, but I was ahead of my time). Similarly, in the early days of dating, one or more parties (and in heterosexual relationship, it is almost always the woman) will be likely to leave “just in case space” in their weeks or weekend, for the person they’re seeing. In my experience, this has often led to disappointment when that person i) isn’t free (fair enough) or ii) never suggests meeting up so you end up in a strange tug of war where you don’t want to propose it again (fair-ish, some people aren’t planners, but always nice when both parties pull their weight). Anyway – with both of these off the agenda for a while, I plan my weeks with actual, concrete plans, the way I like them. And it is fabulous.
I’ve learnt conversational Spanish
OK – so this one will take a little explanation. I realised that dating app technology, like many apps, is designed around video game technology: with a ‘rewards’ system based around satisfying colours, sounds and notifications which gets you hooked. Anyway, I wasn’t about to try to outsmart a Silicon Valley software engineer (although side note, turning your phone settings from colour to black and white can reduce the addictive effects). What I did decide to do, however, was replace my dating app tech addiction with one that might better serve me: DuoLingo. For the first month or so of being off dating apps, whenever I reached for my phone and instinctively scrolled to where my dating app used to be, I’d instead be met with my DuoLingo app – and this spurred on a daily Spanish practice. I’ve now learnt just over 2,000 words, meaning I’m well on my way to conversational Spanish (which they say is 3,000) and I’m a tenth of the way to fluency, which is calculated at a minimum of 20,000 words. Will this one day facilitate a meet-cute with a Spanish man? Maybe – watch this space.
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Having let go of the (erroneous) notion that a single right swipe could change my life, I’ve let myself travel once again without fearing that it will shut me off from the prospect of meeting someone, or of developing things with someone I’ve only been dating a week or two. As a result, I’ve seriously exercised my travel wings this year, visiting five countries: Spain (Valencia and Barcelona), Italy (Florence), France (Bordeaux, Colombia (everywhere) and Abu Dhabi. Some of these trips are for work, others for pleasure. But one thing’s for sure; I never would have pushed myself to take them if I was on dating apps right now.
I'm done seeking external validation for my womanhood.
I’ve read more than ever
Throughout my years of dating, I think a large part of what I was searching for was the excitement of getting to know a person – first, the romantic hopefulness of an initial meeting, then peeling back the layers of someone and getting to know them intricately. At times of my life where this hasn’t been possible (namely, as a shy teenager, or during sexless periods like the Christmas holidays or, say, a global pandemic), I’ve turned to books for the same excitement. Because in the same way you invest yourself in getting to know a partner, you do so with a character – it’s no cliche to say you really do fall in love, and so often the best love affairs are written in books too. And while I won’t hide in this escapist world forever, I have enjoyed reading gorgeous novels like Lessons In Chemistry, or Cleopatra & Frankenstein – and consider it a way to keep my foot safely in the romantic world. Because you may regret dating a person who ghosts you; but you’ll almost never regret reading a novel.
I’m excited to meet someone, again
Over the past few months, I’ve been happier than ever. I’ve breezed through situations I might once have struggled with; attending weddings alone, eating solo at romantic restaurants full of couples. I no longer panic about missing out on The One because I’ve realised that the greater fear was missing out on My One Life (which, right now, I’m well and truly living to the fullest).
A small part of me; a part I’m going to allow to grow in its own time – is excited about the prospect of dating someone. And for all the right reasons; because of the curiosity that’s been sparked by travel, and the romantic hopefulness that’s been revived through reading, and the general enthusiasm I’ve been reminded of through, well, spending time with those I love. I’ve invested in myself, and my life, and right now it seems like there’s a lot to go around – with the right person. How to make this happen? I have no hard and fast rule about never using dating apps again. I’m interested, for instance, in the new app called Thursday – its USP is that they push in-person meetings, apparently. Although I’d much rather attend their live events first. Then again, do I even want to move in a space which is just for “singles” when the tribalism (of singles/couples) has always bothered me? Now I no longer spend my Sundays in a darkening room, my face illuminated by the blue-light of my phone screen (Tom, 32, from Kensal Rise; Liam, 29, from Hackney), I feel less at-odds with my couple friends than ever. Perhaps I’ll just go on in the way I have been – going out with my friends, trying new things I’m curious about (like a Spanish language learning exchange, or a running club) before returning to the apps. Or maybe ‘Francesca Specter, 30, from Camden’ is a thing of the past. Whatever I decide, I have zero regrets about these six joyful, app-free months.
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