Berlin claims to be an inclusive, sex-positive city, where all types of kinks and connections can be explored. So what’s with the inconsistency I experience using dating apps? I thought everyone was chomping at the bit for some sexual shenanigans, but obviously not. In my recent experience as a fortysomething single woman, people’s words and actions rarely align. They say they are “looking for sensuality with a twist” and the “connection is everything”, but then completely ignore me. Last week, I encountered more ghosts than a Spreepark tour.
Did this man really exist, or was he a figment of my imagination?
Take this as an example: on Saturday I matched with a 33-year-old male on Feeld. We chatted for a while; it was flirty and slightly spicy. He was, I’d say, a typical Neukölln expat: hot, rough around the edges and had definitely enjoyed many weekends in Sameheads (observation, not a judgement!). The next day we moved the conversation to Telegram (standard practice for horny mornings) and decided to meet for a coffee later that afternoon in his Kiez. Once we agreed on the time, I said, “I’ll message you when I’m in the area.” He responded with a kiss emoji. Ten or so minutes later I went back to Telegram, and his messages had completely disappeared. I reopened Feeld to double check something hadn’t gone wrong on my end, and saw he’d left the chat. In the time it took to have a shower, he’d vanished, leaving no trace of our conversation, connection or planned meeting later in the day. He’d blocked me entirely. I was left wondering: did this man really exist, or was he a figment of my imagination?
Still haunted by Sunday’s ghosting, a similar thing happened to me twice in the next few days. During both conversations, plans were discussed and time allocated to our respective dates, and then when said afternoon arrived, the guys had deliberately decided not to respond, choosing to hide behind a digital wall. Look, I know how the dating game works. It’s a systematic allocation of time, wherein we all have options and limited capacity. We need to decide who we see and when, and it’s an endless administrative task of prioritising who’ll best meet our needs. I get it, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t painful when someone decides to drop you and disappear into the ether without any explanation.
I just don’t want people to behave like dickheads. I’m not a takeaway.
Perhaps my recent experiences are symptomatic of a wider problem. During the last decade, we’ve become accustomed to the notion of disposability without any accountability. Alternatively known as late-stage capitalism. We can order Brammibal’s donuts to our door, without considering the low-paid worker delivering it. We buy into fast fashion trends, supporting a garment industry that contributes to mass pollution. We’ve become used to throwing away what doesn’t suit us and getting another one in the mail the next day. What I’m experiencing on dating platforms is a continuation of this behaviour, because obviously we’ve reached a point where I’m treated in the same way as a Wolt order. I’m picked off a menu of available options, delivery is secured and then the order is cancelled within the space of 10 minutes with no consideration or explanation.
At the core of all this, I think, is a growing lack of empathy towards others. For the record, I’m not advocating for a return to traditional dating models or expecting a knight in shining armour to save me. Sure, wining and dining is nice, but I enjoy the apps for their immediacy and the ability to connect with people beyond my own interests. I just don’t want people to behave like dickheads. I’m not a takeaway. Maybe I should start asking for a down payment to ensure people actually show up, or delete the apps altogether and join a run club like everyone else. Or – radical idea – maybe we could just put our money where our mouths are and actually follow through. Because at this point, I’ve had more reliable dates with my Wolt delivery guy.
