Dating Apps Feel Like a Human Catalog to Me — And That’s Why I Can’t Do It

Let me start by saying this:

I’m not judging anyone who uses dating apps. I know they’ve helped people fill a void, find love, sex, clarity, closure — all of it.

But for me? I just can’t fucking do it. I don’t think I ever will. Not because I think I’m better than them. Not because I think they’re evil.

But because every time I think about swiping through faces like options, something inside me resists. Hard. It’s not just uncomfortable, it’s almost shivering.

It doesn’t feel like connection.

It feels like consumption.

It Feels Like a Scrollable Menu of Humans

Here’s what happens when I imagine using a dating app:

I open it.

I see rows of faces.

Stats. Bios. Catchy lines. Height. Hobbies. Maybe a voice note ( I have no idea if you can do this or not, I'm just guessing).

Swipe. Swipe. Left. Right. Swipe. Swipe some more.

No. No. Maybe. No. Hot. No. Feels short. Maybe.

Suddenly I’m not meeting people, I’m scanning inventory.

Even the phrase “my type” starts to feel like a filter setting, not a lived, evolving preference. Like I’m trying to place a custom order for a boyfriend.

I don’t want to scroll through people.

I want to experience them.

The Act of Putting Yourself on a Menu

And then there’s the other side of it.

Not just scrolling through people, but realizing you are also being scrolled through. You’re the one on the catalog.

The act of putting yourself on a menu…

Selecting your best photos.

Trying to seem available, interesting, likable.

Positioning yourself as an option for someone else to choose from?

Excuse. Me. While. I. Throw. Up.

Are you a product? What is that? What are we doing?

Is that not grotesque? Or am I living in a parallel universe?

I’m not a meal to be picked. I’m not a vibe to be browsed. I’m a whole fucking person. A living, breathing human being.

And the idea that I’m supposed to reduce myself into bite-sized, swipeable content?

I can’t do it. It feels spiritually violent.

I Crave Energy, Not Aesthetic

I know people say “the app is just a tool”, and it is.

But the container shapes the experience. And I don’t feel emotionally safe in a container that asks me to judge someone based on five curated pictures and an “I love tacos” bio.

That’s not how I connect.

I need energy. I need tone of voice, timing, shared laughter that wasn’t planned. I need to look into their eyes. I need to notice how someone carries themselves when they’re not performing.

Some of the best connections I’ve ever had would’ve been unmatchable on paper.

I’m Not Saying They’re Bad. I’m Saying They’re Weird (For Me)

I’m not here to dunk on dating apps.

They work for people. I've heard of couples who met online and got married and building lives together.

And if dating apps help you clarify what you want, build confidence, explore new experiences? Good for you. Truly.

But I’m someone who feels everything. I read between the lines. I get attached to possibility. I can fall into fantasy way too easily if I’m not grounded.

And swiping through people — even with good intentions — starts to feel like a spiritual detachment practice I never signed up for.

Presence Over Performance

This is what I really want:

• To meet someone without having to decide if I’m interested before I even know their voice

• To not pre-package myself into a list of interests and try to make it look effortless

• To not wonder whether I’m being liked, or just fitting the algorithm’s vibe

• To have something real unfold without trying to engineer it

I’m not scared of effort. I’m just allergic to performance.

Let’s Not Even Get Into the Messaging Part

And don’t even get me started on the whole what to say in the messages part.

You’re not even with the person in real life — you’re texting a curated version of them… while being a curated version of yourself.

It’s just two hollow avatars reaching for something real. Make it make sense.

Sure, maybe someone who’s completely themselves slips through.

But I fucking doubt that’s always the case.

You’re trying to “build connection” through a carefully filtered sentence typed at 11:11 p.m. while half-scrolling something else — or worse, someone else.

What does that even mean?

What are you even doing?

Have fun scanning through a sea of surface-level small talk and dead-end banter, just to maybe find one real thread.

Maybe.

The Fast-Track to Connection? It Doesn’t Exist.

Here's a thought. A lot of people aren’t using dating apps to date. They’re using them to skip the discomfort of being alone.

It’s a fast track to human connection, or at least the illusion of it. A ping. A match. A dopamine hit. And suddenly, you feel like you matter again.

But how does that even work?

When has anything real or lasting ever come from rushing something? When does depth grow from a shortcut?

You’re skipping all the organic, weird, awkward, beautiful moments where true connection actually lives.

You’re bypassing the part where you notice someone in real life. Where you learn their rhythm. Where your energies slowly, messily find sync. You’re bypassing you — your real instincts, your inner compass — all because you’re scared to be alone with yourself for a little while.

Is it really that hard to sit with yourself without needing someone to talk to, flirt with, text, obsess over, just so you don’t feel worthless?

How about you do that for yourself first.

Hold your own self like you matter.

Then see what happens.

Because anything built from a void will stay hollow.

I’m Not Looking for a Real Connection, I Just Want Sex 🙃

Cool. Then say that.

No shade. No judgment. If all you’re looking for is something casual, that’s valid. But let’s also be honest about what it costs.

Because when you strip away the emotional layers of intimacy and turn people into momentary relief, something in you gets stripped too.

Maybe not right away. Maybe not obviously. But eventually, it eats at you.

When you keep bypassing connection for the sake of convenience, when it’s always about “no strings,” “no expectations,” “no feelings”, you lose your ability to be seen. You forget how to be soft. You train yourself to stop reaching for meaning.

And over time, that chips away at your soul.

Not because wanting sex is wrong. But because pretending you’re immune to longing is a lie. We’re wired to feel. We’re wired to connect. We're human.

And if you keep numbing that part of you — the part that longs for something real — you don’t just lose your capacity to connect.

You start to rot from the inside out.

Not physically. But emotionally. Spiritually. Eventually, you’ll still be alive, but dead in the places that used to feel.

If that’s what you want, by all means.

Continue.

Honestly, I’ve Watched Too Many Crime Docs For This Shit

Here’s another reason I’m staying the hell away from dating apps: I’ve seen enough true crime documentaries to know better. I’m not trying to become a missing person just because I wanted a nice dinner and a little attention.

Some people lie. Some people disappear. Some people are not who they say they are.

And are dating apps even safe? Maybe for some. But let’s not pretend we haven’t all seen at least one Dateline episode that starts with: “They met on a dating app…” The fact that you could possibly get murdered, decapitated, chopped up — just for trying to find someone to vibe with?

Yeah.

No thanks.

Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather meet someone in real life, where I can actually feel their energy… and lower the odds of ending up in a documentary.

Will I Miss People This Way? Maybe.

Maybe someone incredible is on an app right now, and I’ll never match with them. Maybe I’ll miss an amazing conversation, or a spark that could’ve led somewhere.

But I’d rather miss a few people than miss myself in the process.

Because the truth is: I don’t want to find someone.

I want to connect with someone, for real.

And I want them to connect with me, not just swipe right on the idea of me.

TL;DR: This Is My Lane

Dating apps feel like a digital shopping experience for humans. And for me, that’s just not how I’m built to connect.

It’s not that I’m anti-love or anti-technology. I’m just pro-presence. Pro-soul. Pro-energy-you-can’t-swipe.

So if you’re thriving on apps, keep going. Don't let me stop you.

But if you’re like me — someone who’s never downloaded one but has a thousand thoughts about why — just know you’re not weird. You’re just wired differently.

And that’s more than okay.