THE DEATH OF DATING

Swipe. Match. Ghost. Digital dating has transformed the way we find love. But as new research suggests it’s hampering our ability to flirt, one (single) writer discovers it’s complicated in every sense

Has digital swiping transformed the way we fall in love?

Hello, how are you?’ A simple enough phrase – until you need to use it. It’s around 9.30pm on a Saturday night when, out celebrating my best mates’ birthdays, I find myself elbow-to-elbow at the bar with a broadshouldered man serving Fassbender vibes. He looks my way. So I do what any selfrespecting socially awkward millennial would do in a situation without a clear script: I get out my phone. By the time I glance up from Tinder, he’s gone, and I’m left alone with a nauseating one-liner from Adam, the deck-shoe-sporting, tigerstroking ‘entrepreneur’ I accidentally just Super Liked. I pay for my vodka soda, then finish it in three gulps. This is dating circa 2018. A sphere where dick pics are the new love letters, a tiny blue tick has the power to send you into a threeday shame spiral, and every time you teeter on the edge of a genuine connection, a little ping reminds you that someone better could be just a few taps away. It’s a world into which, in 2016, after my eight-year relationship ended, I plunged with all the enthusiasm of a toddler leaping head first into a ball pond. When it comes to love, I’m an optimist. But 18 months on the front line of dating has the power to spark cynicism in even the most dedicated of glass half-full types – and it isn’t just the genital selfies. One aspect of the scene troubles me more than most; recent research by dating app Happn found that a third of respondents (by their own account) don’t know how to flirt. And if my recent all-too-brief encounters in bars are anything to go by, I can’t say I’m surprised – or the exception to the rule. Flirting. Chirpsing. The ability to let someone know you like them should be one of the most basic tools I have at my disposal. If those tools have gone rusty when, in mind and body, I’m the most confident I’ve ever been, I want to know why. Has the digital landscape signalled the death of dating as we know (or once knew) it? Could our swipe-tastic thumbs have inadvertently dealt good old Cupid his P45?

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In pursuit of answers, I call Dr Helen Fisher, the pioneering biological anthropologist who led the first FMRI study scanning the brains of lovers to decipher what really goes on in our heads when we fall for someone. ‘The brain system for romantic love lies way below the cortex and the limbic regions linked with emotions; it emanates from the base of the brain in regions linked with drive, craving, obsession.’ So far, so Fatal Attraction. But what of my questions? ‘It’s close to the areas that drive hunger and thirst and, just like them, it’s a survival mechanism. Romantic drive enables you to focus your energy on one person and start mating. It’s a primal process that hasn’t changed for thousands of years.’ She argues that our hardware for finding love is deep, ancient and powerful. ‘There is no way we can kill it. Dating apps aren’t changing the mechanism. They’re a new way to do the same old thing.’ I end our call reassured that digital dating hasn’t totally screwed with my ability to connect romantically. But things have changed. The last time I was single it was 2009, and being hit on amounted to being asked for my Blackberry PIN in a Manchester nightclub. The social landscape of dating is shifting, and with it, our behaviour. Enter Tinder – and the copycat swipe-to-like apps it’s inspired since launching in 2012. When I bring them up around a table groaning under G&TS and going-out bags, I’m hit with a barrage of vitriol. But it’s my

pal Lizzy who says what I’m thinking. ‘I used to find it sweet when guys would come over to chat to me. But these days it just seems creepy. I feel caught off-guard, as if my space has been invaded. We think apps have opened up all these new opportunities, but actually, they’ve created blockers in real life.’ SYNC REQUIRED Circa 6pm the next day, my hangover reaches existential pondering stage and I pause a halfhearted swipe sesh to make sense of what I’ve learned. Sure, our disrupted dating landscape may not be diluting love when we find it, but I’m convinced it’s changed how we approach the search. I put this to Dr Anna Machin, evolutionary anthropologist at the University of Oxford. ‘Modern dating is playing out at a distance and we’ve simply not evolved to meet a mate that way,’ she explains. You know that buzz you feel when an attractive face gives your swiping thumb pause? That’s a spurt of feel-good neurotransmitter dopamine. But it’s nothing compared with the chemical push that erupts in your body and brain when you find yourself in a room with the person. ‘You get a hit of two neurochemicals. First, oxytocin, which quietens the fear centre of the brain, making you less inhibited,’ Dr Machin explains. ‘Then dopamine, which motivates you to actually walk across the room.’

‘DEAL-BREAKERS DON’T EXIST WHEN THERE’S A CHEMICAL ATTRACTION’

Not only is the Bumble-induced buzz less potent than its IRL equivalent, it’s also less useful. That’s down to something called histocompatibility. ‘This is how you unconsciously gauge how good a match someone is by assessing how different their genes are to yours, via a set of cell proteins called the major histocompatibility complex,’ explains Dr Machin. And to sniff out someone’s potential as a mate, you need to get in front of them. ‘The more diverse your genes, the stronger the immune systems of your offspring will be and the more attractive that person will seem to you.’ In fact, all of your senses come into play. ‘Your eyes take in a person’s body language and symmetry to assess their genetic strength and virility; when you laugh with them, your body is flooded with betaendorphin, a potent bonding chemical, making you more open to starting a relationship; there’s even a theory that we kiss to taste our partner’s compatibility.’ So, you need to be face-to-face with a potential bae in order to be the highly attuned matchmaking machine your body wants you to be. And yet, we’re repeatedly told that online dating platforms are based upon science. Take eharmony’s poster on the London Underground. ‘Our scientifically proven matching system decodes the mystery of compatibility and chemistry so you don’t have to.’ Big promises. Too big, according to the UK’S advertising standards regulator, who upheld a complaint that branded it ‘fake news’. ‘You can’t whittle love down to an algorithm,’ scoffs Dr Machin. ‘Not least a similarity algorithm, which most of these apps use. Similarity is one of the poorest indicators of compatibility.’ She goes on to critique the ‘box-ticking approach’ I know I’m guilty of. I swipe with my own tick list front and centre of my mind. Russell Group uni; pushing 6ft; good bone structure; left-of-centre politics; decent grammar… Spoiler alert: that’s not how love works. ‘Apps encourage us to think that ticking our most important boxes will guarantee happiness and relationship success. But research shows that in a high proportion of successful

relationships, someone’s partner ticks one or none of their former boxes,’ Dr Machin explains. ‘Supposed “deal-breakers” don’t exist when there’s a chemical attraction.’

PRESS TO RESTART

Swiping culture may be flawed, but it’s undoubtedly widened the pool – increasing your odds of finding a partner by 17%, according to scientists at the University of Bath. Now, it’s estimated that one in seven people end up in relationships with someone they never would have met if it weren’t for dating apps. In this sense, could Tinder et al be (whisper it) good for dating? To that point, let me tell you a love story. Jane, 37, a marketing director from Surrey, stumbled on to Tinder after a three-year relationship – ignited with a traditional jolt of attraction across a bar – didn’t work out. Fatigued by a previous slog on ‘boxticking’ websites, her expectations were low. ‘I would always match with men like me: university-educated with a love of theatre,’ she says. ‘We’d exchange messages for weeks before meeting up, and when we finally did, there was no spark.’ Then she saw Steve on Tinder. Fancied him. Swiped right. Matched. After a few messages, he asked her out for a drink. She knew straight away that she liked him. Three years later, they’re engaged and have a house, a cockapoo and a baby on the way. ‘Our paths never would have crossed otherwise. I spent my twenties focused on my career, while he worked in a sports shop,’ she says. Combine this with his divorcee status and Jane admits she’d have vetoed him on traditional dating sites.

‘IT’S ALL TOO EASY TO FALL IN LOVE WITH A DIGITAL VOICE’

The newer apps broaden your pool of choices by eliminating your box-ticking bias, while also narrowing your pool by location. This, it seems, is the sweet spot. ‘Less information can be helpful,’ says Dr Machin. ‘It allows you to instantly assess someone’s suitability based on what you see. A bit more like real life.’ Dr Fisher believes the fast pace works in our favour, too. ‘While people spend weeks messaging on traditional sites, Tinder users tend to meet after six days,’ she explains. ‘This is important because if you meet up quickly, you can assess whether or not you like them and, if not, you can start looking for alternatives.’

FACE TIME

This refrain comes up time and again: meet quickly. Those hours unclaimed by work or family obligations are your ‘most precious resource’. That’s according to Joanna Coles, author of Love Rules: How To Find A Real Relationship In A Digital World. ‘Your time is too important to waste, and the search for the person you want to be with is too exciting to leave to chance – or an app. The tools are very useful but they won’t find you the person you’re looking for. Only you can do that.’ Being proactive means actually meeting up with them – and fast. Research suggests the average single person goes on just two dates a month. This worries Coles. ‘It’s all too easy to fall in love with a digital voice. You don’t get an accurate picture of them – you can’t hear if they maintain eye contact or whether their witty retorts are actually crafted by their friend.’ She points to the work of cyberpsychologist Mary Aiken, who argues that there are four people in a digital relationship: two flawed, unpredictable humans and two curated digital selves. ‘Love isn’t some mystical force,’ Dr Fisher adds. ‘It’s a brain system. And we know that the more you get to know someone, the more you like them.’ A brain system. Strip back the heavily curated profiles and the tools you need are there, if you have the courage to use them. No matter how strong your in-app banter, nothing is as enlivening – or as fun – as the real thing. I can’t suss out if someone’s right for me with one eye trained on Netflix and the other on my mates’ Instagram Stories. Instead, I’ll be doing it on walks, over coffees and, yes, in bars – where I can let my highly attuned, ancient animal senses do their thing. Now, repeat after me: ‘Hello, how are you?’ Love Rules: How To Find A Real Relationship In A Digital World (£18.99, Harper) is out on 17 May, available for pre-order from Amazon