Dating apps seem to be facing a reckoning. This seems to be the case for Bumble, the second most-downloaded of these apps, which has lost $40 billion in market share value since 2021. In an attempt to rebrand, Bumble has just dropped the requirement that women must message a new match first, claiming they are responding to feedback that female users are becoming burnt out by having to make the first move.

This is a fundamental misunderstanding of Bumble’s problems. Dr Martin Graff, senior lecturer at the University of Wales, said that the app’s business model no longer works because “women are far more selective in evolutionary terms than men are.” Yet Bumble isn’t struggling (it laid off 30% of its workforce earlier this year) because of the biological differences between men and women. It is struggling because of the sheer exhaustion that comes with the online dating experience: the superficial, soul-destroying swiping; the transactional, formulaic conversations; the impossibility of finding genuine compatibility among the constant conveyor belt of faces. Women aren’t burnt out by having to initiate chats — they are burnt out by Bumble.

It is not just Bumble that users have fallen out of love with. Tinder’s annual downloads are down more than a third from the app’s 2014 peak, with paying users falling by 8% last year. Younger users seem to be particularly turned off by dating apps: one survey claimed that 90% of Gen-Z respondents said they felt “frustrated” by online dating, while another found that 79% of US college and graduate students did not use dating apps at all. For those who do, two-thirds claim that they are more likely to use these apps out of boredom than from genuine matchmaking intentions.

At worst, dating apps have become a breeding ground for objectification, sexual harassment and insecurity. At best, they are an administrative chore and a digital drain: keeping up with dozens, maybe even hundreds, of similar but marginally different conversations does not scream romance and spontaneity. Attraction has been reduced to an algorithmic formula, where users are given both infinite choice and the illusion of control, categorising potential suitors as if they were preparing for a job interview. The rise in “red flags” — supposed “warning signs” from potential dates — is also problematic. Users can feel demonised for the most minor of infractions, while this hyper-vigilance encourages people to constantly question whether others are manipulative, destructive, or simply useless.

Finally, and most importantly, dating apps are not meant to work. Contrary to Hinge’s slogan, dating apps are designed to never be deleted. If they are successful, they lose subscribers, they lose advertising revenue, and they lose their data. Therefore, they must remain pathologically addictive: the “gamification” of their features turning dating into the romantic equivalent of a slot machine. For years now, people have been serial swipers, a mass of singletons tethered to their smartphones, and now users are realising that, for all their marketing copy, these apps are not successful at anything other than fostering addiction.

Bumble, like so many other apps, can try to lure users back in with the promise of new features, new rebrands, new reputations. Tinder is no longer just for those who want hook-ups; Bumble is no longer for women who want to make the first move. Little do they realise, their users want so, so much more.

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