The Cost of Convenient Love
In the age of swipeable singles and endless dating advice, is your gut the only thing left to trust?
Illustration by @jaydascomics
It’s Thursday evening in the city, and you’re with your group of gals catching up on the last few weeks over a boozy happy hour, where the lychee in ‘lychee martini’ is definitely a suggestion. The group knows, like the back of their hand, the big three topics to discuss over the dim lights and art deco lounge chairs (in very sexy outfits, might I add.)
Personal life: This one is usually good, but busy.
Work life: Also good, also busy.
But when the conversation shifts to love, or whatever it passes for these days, the summary doesn’t feel so cut and dry. Sure, it is easier than ever to find a prospective match within a half mile radius (or not in your borough, if you’re more of a distant lover). You’d think our personal tech algorithms would make dating feel, well… good and busy. Except, it doesn't. In fact, its role in romance feels like a lingering third wheel you can’t get rid of.
Like so many other 20-somethings who use social media frequently, I can’t escape dating discourse. It floods my feeds across X, Instagram and TikTok with advice, takes, rules, red flags, green flags, "icks," situationships, and blah blah blah. Dating isn’t just a topic anymore, it’s a culture amplifier.
Just last year, a TikToker known as Reesa Teesa posted a now-legendary, 50-part series titled “Who The F**k Did I Marry?.” The saga, which totals about eight hours of content and racked up well over 100 million views, follows her turbulent relationship with her ex-husband "Legion” and outlined his lies told throughout their marriage. The series lit up the internet and sparked mass conversations about gaslighting, deception, and Reesa’s missed red flags; and one thing became quite clear; people love to hear stories about romantic affairs. The numbers prove it.
Capitalizing off this energy, in another corner of the internet, Pop the Balloon has been making noise, too. The YouTube dating show* (*a version now exists on Netflix, with actress Yvonne Orji as host) brings one contestant to stand before a panel of singles, each holding a red balloon and a toothpick. The host lists off the bachelor or bachelorette’s basics — name, age, occupation, intentions — and at any point, if a panelist hears (or sees) something they’re not into, they pop their balloon. In many ways, it feels like a natural extension of our tech-shaped world.
Pop the Balloon, like dating apps, builds an experience where we’re asked to make fast, binary judgments based on surface-level data, often about people we never would have encountered offline. You have mere moments to decide if someone is worth your time. And unlike a casual run-in at a bar, where banter or “vibe” might override an initial read, this format compresses the entire interaction into a snap decision.
In fact, the format of dating apps is built to appear like the dating pool is limitless, like an endless TikTok scroll of singles. There’s even the age-old saying, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” And while, technically true… there are literal millions in New York City… if everyone believes there’s an endless supply of material out there waiting for us, are younger daters really incentivised to ever lock it in? And even more, do younger daters even know when to?
These stories, from Reesa Teesa’s saga to Love Island drama to TikTok dating coaches (I’m talking about you, Shera Seven) train us to spot every red flag and brace for the worst. On one hand, Gen Z and younger millennials grew up believing there’s a never endless supply of people to date. On the other hand, we’ve been conditioned to expect disappointment. Stories of betrayal, chaos, and emotional manipulation are pushed to the forefront of the conversation while representation that is steady or sincere takes the back burner, and that imbalance is shaping how we approach dating. One foot in, and one foot out.
And maybe the solution to our generational pessimism, and quite frankly, passiveness, starts with how we consume. Not only dating content, but all forms of consumption. There’s always that moment during a 3AM scroll, after an embarrassing amount of Reels, when you catch yourself thinking: Okay girl… it’s time to go the hell to sleep. Or after analyzing your summer bank statements with the rest of the world, and suddenly the whole internet agrees to “lock in until 2026,” with our heads down, pockets tight, and bodies in the gym. But, what does it mean to rethink what we know as “modern” dating?
It means opting in to listening to your gut. Outside of TikTok dating coaches, YouTube podcasters, and Instagram infographics telling us exactly how to act — how do you actually want to move? Personally, I hate the performative rules we’re told to follow: “Text back after this amount of time” “Never say this on a first date.” “If this happens, BEWARE.” “Do this to get him hooked.” And it’s like…hooked where? (And also, if they’re meant to be hooked, they will be. It’s that simple.) Who made these rules, and why are we all so eager to follow them? We already know the obvious red lines…lying, cheating, manipulation… I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about trusting your instincts instead of outsourcing every decision to the never-ending algorithm. Because in a world where love seems to be everywhere, but people are under-connected, isn’t it time we try moving a little differently than we’re told