"It's like I don't know how to date in the real world anymore." Why do dating apps often take more from people than they give?
"Every morning I open Grindr before I go to the toilet," says thirty-three-year-old Petr from Brno. "Not because I'm pining for someone. But because I feel like I'm missing something. And that the only thing that can make me feel worthwhile is the attention of a stranger."
Petr is no exception. Along with another respondent, twenty-seven-year-old graphic designer Dan, he is part of a group of queer people who experience chronic fatigue, frustration, and anxiety from the constant "search for connection" on dating apps. Instead of relationships comes exhaustion. Instead of desire, defensive patterns and instead of intimacy, invisible wounds that have been with them since childhood.
"I don't even know how to talk to someone outside of an app anymore," Dan admits. "If someone approaches me in a bar, I panic. It's like I've forgotten that dating used to work in other ways."
Grindr, Tinder, Romeo. Connection tools or anxiety machines?
Dating apps were originally a response to the isolation that has historically accompanied queer people. They offered new possibilities, and most importantly, safety. A place where one could date without fear of homophobia, where it was possible to find someone "like me".
However, studies confirm what many queer people have long felt, that browsing an endless number of profiles can fundamentally undermine mental health. Although apps promise smarter and faster connections, they often fuel stress, self-doubt, and emotional exhaustion instead. While technology continues to improve, the human brain does not evolve at the same pace, and remains trapped in a loop of micro-rejections, dopamine highs, and subsequent silent burnout.
In a world where one swipe decides whether you're "good enough," self-esteem is quickly becoming a commodity. And every "no" - even silently, perhaps in the form of ignorance, has the potential to leave a mark.
The paradox of progress
The dating app industry is estimated to exceed $13 billion by the end of 2025. Driving this growth are technological innovations such as AI matchmaking, video profiles or algorithms that promise to predict compatibility. But despite this sophistication, users are reporting the opposite of expectations - increasing levels of frustration, loneliness and emotional fatigue.
A study published in the journal Cyberpsychology, Behavior, and Social Networking showed that frequent use of dating apps correlates with higher levels of anxiety, depressive symptoms, and lowered self-esteem. While app interfaces are becoming more user-friendly, their impact on the psyche may be worsening. And underneath the glossy surface of 'intuitive dating', people are increasingly left alone, overwhelmed by possibilities but disconnected.
The offline world as forgotten territory
"When was the last time you met someone outside of an app? Better yet, when did you feel like you could be completely yourself?" asks Dan rhetorically.
The offline world, he says, seems dangerous, complicated and unreadable for many gay men. Flirting in a coffee shop is "weird", addressing someone on the street "awkward", interest "intrusive".
"I feel like I've forgotten how to attract someone for real," Dan continues. "No photo, no bia, no filter. Just like that. Face to face. What used to happen naturally now requires training. Therapy, communication classes, community events. And above all, the courage to tell yourself that vulnerability is not weakness. That 'not knowing' is okay. And that relationships are not born out of perfection, but out of presence."
Back to myself. And to the other
There is no universal recipe for getting out of this. But one thing is for sure: as long as we treat dating as an optimization project, we'll get nowhere. Because love is not a performance. And queer relationships are not broken. They're just tired of an environment that doesn't give them space.
"When I took a break from all the apps," Peter concludes, "I felt alone. But for the first time, I also felt free. And I had a chance to find out what I was looking for."
So maybe we're not "bad at dating". Maybe we just live in a world that hasn't taught us to love without fear. And maybe that's where change begins, not in more math, but in the courage to look ourselves in the eye. Without a filter. Without the swipe. And without anxiety.
