As the semester rolls along, I’ve been thinking about dating norms. It seems that after years of single status being “in” relationships were making their grand comeback. Forget the excitement of a designer sample sale or the buzz of a new pop-up shop on Mercer Street, we’re all searching for the flesh-and-blood equivalent of a trendy new bag: a significant other. But in this digital age, have we really raised the stakes? Will love find us, like it did our parents, or has dating morphed into a pursuit that demands the same dedication and attention to detail that we pour into our careers?
When my longtime best friend, Giselle, told me that her well known, slightly elitist friend of a friend got on Raya, I reacted with the same indifference as if someone were to tell me the sky were blue. “So?” I said. “Him and every other microwork celebrity with an Instagram following of over 10k.” I’d heard whispers about Raya—stories of either landing your dream Wall Street banker or being swept away by a sea of egos desperate for validation. Either way, it seemed like every other dating app to exist on the market, except those didn’t come with the huge price tag.
But here’s the catch: Raya, much like SoulCycle or Soho House, gave its users that irresistible feeling of belonging to something elite, an exclusive soirée only the chosen few attend while the rest watch from the sidelines. And there I was, curious and skeptical. If online dating was the new norm, would I forget the mystery and passiveness of love finding me and just giving in? Before I even had the chance to fully process my decision to apply, I received an email declaring I was in.
I immediately alerted my friend Giselle and hopped in a taxi to her place. Little did I know what I was getting myself into, but one thing was certain: I couldn’t face this whirlwind alone. When we finally set my profile up and started swiping, we both looked at each other with mutual understanding…we weren’t in Kansas anymore. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, we’d strike up an occasional flirty chat with a freshly minted J.P. Morgan analyst at a bar every now and then, but this was a whole new ball game.
CEOs, investment bankers, those so-called tortured artists with trust funds it was like they rounded up the city’s most eligible bachelors and tucked them away on a little app. No wonder finding a real connection felt like searching for a needle in a haystack; everyone was too busy navigating their sea of matches. Was this the ticket to a new kind of love, or merely a modern mirage?
Rolled by, I was certainly getting the ego boost that Giselle’s friend promised. Sure, I was deemed attractive by these men, but was there anything more to it than that glossy layer of superficial validation?
Enter Raya man #1.
Right off the bat, he was my type on paper: blonde, an athlete and the type of guy who initiates conversation. It didn’t take a lot of small talk for us to have our first facetime call. We chatted in the late hours about things two people who barely knew each other usually chatted about. But as our conversations continued, I quickly realized he was about as deep as a puddle. The man never picked up a book or showed any interest in any particular movies. I quickly realized that I was talking to the one-dimensional guy, a common breed of man that glides through life on good looks alone. It was that rare moment when I felt our polar opposite zodiac signs were trying to send me a cosmic warning. With not much in common, and he living a couple states away, we both executed the mutual ghost perfectly.
Then came Raya man #2
He was blonde, stylish and a creative director for a major publication in New York. He wasted no time messaging me —and 10 minutes into our chat, he called me. He adored art and bemoaned dating apps, which felt like promising green flags. At least until the end of the call when he hesitantly said “You know what the worst thing about this conversation is?” “What?” I managed to ask. “We’ll never be able to meet.” My heart sank. He explained that my residence in Florida was no-go for him and continuing to chat would be like “mental Tetris.” I sat in silence, staring at the wall, feeling like Goldilocks in a forest of dating options: too dull and available, or too enigmatic and manipulative.
As my phone bills began to rack up I wondered if this really was the of modern dating. Was I becoming one of the last remaining members of an extinct species believed finding love offline was still possible
In a world teeming with swipes and screens, I had to hold onto the hope that there were more of us out there. Amidst the digital chaos, isn’t it worth searching for something real, something that can’t be reduced to a profile pic or a clever tagline? As my bank account dwindled, I found myself questioning whether the chase was worth the cost.
I deleted Raya then and there. Maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let love unfold on its own terms, no subscription required.
Love, Nessa