The rise of dating apps in the last decade has changed the way people forge relationships, with Pew research conducted in 2022 finding that 53% of US adults under 30 had used online dating. But dating apps have caused dissatisfaction and despair among many users, as Pew found 46% of all users (and 51% of women) had a negative experience of online dating. Some dating companies have faced business struggles recently, with shares in Bumble crashing by 30% last month after a bad earnings report and Match Group this year announcing an 8% slump in paying Tinder users and cuts to 6% of its global workforce. The Guardian asked people to share why they had chosen to ditch dating apps and forge connections in other ways. ‘I quit the apps on Valentine’s Day. I definitely felt better emotionally’ I’ve been single for about 12 years, and was on the apps since they arrived. I have found the men in London in particular to be flaky, chronically busy or emotionally unavailable. Most will match but never message, and those who do tend to jump straight to innuendoes and try to sway the conversation in a direction I don’t want it to go. I quit the apps on Valentine’s Day. I definitely felt better emotionally, and have attended several speed datings events which I prefer. It’s a much more organic way to meet someone. But I admit I recently returned to the apps, and I’m already at a loss with it. Claire, 38, London ‘My heart was fluttering. But then I messaged him …’ I’ve used dating apps on and off since the end of a long-term relationship 10 years ago. I would routinely delete Bumble when my confidence became so low from having no meaningful connections. But I kept redownloading and repeating the cycle out of boredom, desperation and curiosity. Through Bumble I met a handsome, hard-working man who was well travelled, connected to his culture and seemed to be loyal and have close relationships with his family. We texted a lot and were excited about meeting. We met for brunch near my home, and he was chatty, friendly and complimented me on my looks. He came back for a cup of tea at mine and, as he was leaving, asked to see me again. I said yes. Then he looked into my eyes and asked to kiss me. Of course! After he left, my heart was fluttering. But when I messaged him that evening, I got no reply. A few days later, I followed up. “I’m sensing that you may not actually want to meet up again?” He didn’t reply. A few days later I was swiping and saw this man again with a profile based in another country and different pictures. The whole thing totally freaked me out and I deleted the app. It felt like many men on dating sites really don’t know what they want. Louise, 41, Perth (Australia) ‘I’d missed the butterflies of catching someone’s eye in the real world’ I’ve used dating apps on and off since Tinder first was a thing. At first, they were a fun new way to get dates, but as I’ve gotten older the urge to meet someone in the real world – away from big tech’s algorithms – has become stronger. I’ve just got so tired of the gamification, constant swiping and admin of dating. It’s like having a second job! I decided to have a reset and go cold turkey in June. I’ve been really enjoying the rush and risk of flirting in real life. As a gay man there’s such a drive to communicate through apps, but I realised I’d missed the butterflies you get when you catch someone’s eye in a club or an event and you go from there. Yeah, you can be shot down or get the wrong end of the stick, but it’s so much more fun than swiping through the carousel. Still no boyfriend, but I’m enjoying the ride a lot more. Ben, 33, Copenhagen ‘People don’t represent who they really are on dating apps’ For about 16 years I’ve used dating apps on and off. I feel like people don’t represent who they really are. Maybe they represent who they want to be. My most significant relationship of four years came through an app, but he lied so much about himself, hiding his location, that he was divorced with a child, and other aspects. I didn’t care that he was divorced or had a kid but it was strange how he hid it from me. I now realise the app enabled him to lie about who he was. The energy drain ultimately became too much. So I stopped. Now I’m hoping to make connections by doing the things I love. Overall, being single and free felt pretty incredible – no more fake small talk or dodging creepy dudes trying to sext me! Kaye, 36, Los Angeles ‘I definitely won’t be rushing back to the dreaded app prompts any time soon’ I discovered Tinder when I was living in London about 2013, later moving on to Bumble and Hinge when living in Los Angeles. But even in two major cities, I experienced minimal success and deleted them earlier this year. What I don’t like is how the apps encourage you to be quite superficial when it comes to swiping. I tended to swipe right on guys who were “my type” or who fit society’s standards of “good looking”. I love adventure sports, so any guy with rock climbing photos got an instant swipe right! But this attitude didn’t serve me well – leading to ghostings, zero chemistry and boring dates. Since quitting, and moving back to the UK, I was set up on a date with a friend of a friend. I thought, why not? Would I have swiped right on him? Honestly, probably not, but so far it’s going really well – we had instant chemistry! It’s massively boosted my confidence, showing me that there’s hope outside apps. It just goes to show that sometimes we’re surprised by what actually works for us in real life. I definitely won’t be rushing back to the dreaded app prompts any time soon. Ellie, 35, Kent ‘I internalised a warped view of reality’ My dating life post-university only happened through dating apps, and I met my ex-girlfriend through Tinder in 2017. They were also helpful to meet people while travelling in Thailand. But dating apps in the 2020s feel much less fun. It’s like the not-so-attractive people are shown less, and there’s an injustice in that – relying on Eurocentric beauty standards. As a south Asian man, I noticed that I would get very few likes from white women in London. And I began to internalise this implicit feedback, that I was unattractive and undesirable, which in hindsight was allowing dating apps to warp my view of reality. I remembered going to parties and getting interest from white women and thinking: how could they possibly be interested in me as a brown man? Growing up as the member of a minority, the apps magnified this sense of otherness. It’s a lot more anxiety-inducing to strike up conversation with a stranger. But since quitting the apps, it’s been beautiful to connect with people – not just romantically – whether it’s talking to a Nigerian grandfather in a cafe or going for coffee with a cute girl from yoga. It feels great to meet people without the need for corporations and algorithms. Peter, 31, London