Special Essay! - The Nasty Inner Workings of Big Tech & Dating Apps
and the billion dollar companies who want us to remain single and desperate
Being born a Millennial has its generational rewards. Catching the Friends phenomena in real time and the 2021 reboot. Appreciating how Allen Iverson could take anybody one-on-one then debating if he could make it in today’s analytically driven game. Dippin’ Dots. Parents whose common refrain was “be home when the streetlights turn on.” Whatever the hell a Furby was.
So when labeling myself a SINK I need to stay cognizant of all the positive moments that have come with spending my first three decades in America. After all, sinks are nasty places where anything unwanted gets stuffed through the drain, down into a sewage pipe that is assuredly crumbling away under a neglected cityscape. Yes, being Single-Income with No Kids, at least to this writer, is about as desirable as the sludge found inside its acronym.
Left out of that list of cultural trophies is the rise of the dating app. Of course, it has brought me joy in the form of an Alexa with whom I had a fantastic, year long relationship; one I wouldn’t exchange for anything. The impact of these apps, however, seems to have gone both understudied and under-discussed. With a seismic change in mating habits - often a centrifugal force behind both identity and emotional health - how is this possible?
This demands a much needed inspection. Dating apps were not created void of a financial incentive. I’m keen to understand how capitalism and matchmaking intertwine. Do their respective business models betray their stated or implied goal to help humans find a lifelong partner? By funneling singles onto profiles possessing similar political views, ethnicities and religions, do their algorithms work against multiculturalism and interracial marriage? Are they compounding hyperpartisanship by channeling extremists towards other extremists? What are the mental and emotional effects?
Why Do These Apps Exist?
Any story on modern online dating has to begin with Match Group, Inc. The dating app conglomerate operates “a portfolio of over 45 brands, including Match, OkCupid, Tinder” and more recently, Hinge. (Their attempt to acquire Bumble resulted in a notably charming response: “Dear Match Group, We swipe left on you.”) A 2015 SEC filing reiterated Match Group’s mission statement:
“Establishing a romantic connection is a fundamental human need. Whether it's a good date, a meaningful relationship or an enduring marriage, romantic connectivity lifts the human spirit. Our mission is to increase romantic connectivity worldwide.”
It is only in this context that “marriage” is mentioned in the filing. Their focus on “romantic activity” is a stroke of boardroom brilliance. Romance is left to the user to be defined, with some believing it to be a lifelong, monogamous relationship and others interpreting it as something more casual. Match Group surely has their bases covered. On paper, they neither state nor imply that their sole purpose is to assist in marital quests. This enables them the necessary wiggle room to purchase a variety of dating apps, some that specialize in “hookup culture” and some that actually focus on marriage. Let’s consider the way they deploy Hinge.
The dating app with 20 million users and a 15 percent market share has quite an interesting mission statement, one which shows precisely how Match Group wants to mobilize them. They claim their app is “designed to be deleted,” suggesting that marriage is the ultimate aim. Right above that statement is a confusing contradiction, however, where they note that you can also find non-marital relationships, or in their words, “not just the romantic kind.”
This is a blatant, albeit unsurprising contradiction to their parent company’s mission. It isn’t my intention to publicly shame a corporation’s duplicity, but it remains important to remember that Match Group is a business and not a charitable organization. Highlighting this is their $14 billion market cap, one that was boosted by a 12.26% year-over-year increase in revenue as of June 2022. This prompted me to ask myself two questions: 1. Am I in the wrong profession? and 2. If I was the CEO of Match Group, what would drive my business model?
Logically, Match Group and its subsidiaries depend on people being single. Yes, backpage gossip columns and modern Netflix dramas inform us that married people are still on these apps, but SINKs like myself are their lifeblood. One could reasonably theorize that if arranged marriages were the dominant style of matchmaking throughout the world, then dating apps would not be nearly as lucrative. They depend on people using them, needing them, and with the exception of cheating spouses, married people are not the targeted demographic.
Therefore, Hinge’s proposal that it was “designed to be deleted” is nothing more than a memorable, feel-good advertisement. Common sense tells us that the very last thing Match Group wants is for this hand-over-fist money machine to become obsolete. Same goes for the other 45 companies they readily send out into the online dating world. Regardless, Match Group’s financial success is truly impressive. It is safe to infer that they are not publishing applications then simply sitting back and letting the instinctual fear of loneliness work its wonder. Their approach must have some refinement, right?
The Algorithms
What makes and keeps these apps popular is the performance of their algorithm. Hinge, for instance, does not shy away from discussing their reliance on the Gale-Shapley model. Originally designed by two future Nobel Prize winners, the algorithm intended to solve the Stable Marriage Problem. Alvin E. Roth of Harvard University described David Gale and Lloyd Shapley’s methodology:
“...proposed an algorithm for finding a "stable" matching, in which no man or woman is matched to an unacceptable mate, and no man and woman who are not matched to each other would both prefer to be. The algorithm works by having agents on one side of the market make proposals (offers or applications) to agents on the other, in order of preference. Those who receive more proposals than they can accept reject their least preferred, but don't immediately accept those they don't reject; they instead hold them without commitment, and acceptances are deferred until the end of the algorithm. In the meantime, agents who have been rejected make new proposals, which lead to new rejections (including of proposals that were held at an earlier period but are less preferred than a new proposal), until there are no rejected agents who wish to make further proposals. At this point all proposals that are being held are finally accepted, to produce a matching.”
On the surface, it appears that Hinge’s intention of bringing about marriages is sincere. There is a significant gap, however, between presenting strong possible matches and producing marriages. First, Hinge inputs a remarkably puny amount of user data into their algorithm. Within a 20 mile radius, there are a lot of women between 27 and 32 years old. Good luck narrowing that down. If you want to, though, you have to pay.
With more information, Hinge’s algorithm may have a better chance of unearthing that perfect someone. So naturally, they keep a monetary threshold to finding true love, admitting that preferred members “get twice as many dates.” After paying up to $100 bucks, Hinge will allow you to customize the qualities of your desired match. Filter the profiles you come across by height, parental status, politics, education level, or a number of other preferences. A cynical man may believe that hinge is playing the most perfect balancing act, one that brings in enough money to make a worthwhile profit while also financially discouraging users to upgrade and therefore, remain single and on the app.
Second, the Stable Marriage Problem is a misnomer. Fairly, humans still associate that feeling we call love with marriage. It is because love is so rare and ephemeral that we hold extravagant, sacred ceremonies for it. It is why we have a specific Ben & Jerry’s flavor reserved for tear-inducing Hallmark films. But the SMP centers on finding suitable matches, not love. Gale and Shapely understood this, which is why their original paper focused on how college admissions could determine who to offer acceptance to. If you want to feel depressed, just repeat “Hinge uses a college admissions algorithm to help me find a husband/wife.”
Whether you call it “love at first sight” or the Sicilian thunderbolt “colpo di fulmine,” falling head over heels for someone usually necessitates more than the preferences section on a dating app. Hinge can find you someone you’re compatible with, but they have no mechanism for finding love, and that is more than just fine with them… it is their most profitable outcome.
Third, the data they use is hardly of any use. When I asked my grandpa how he fell in love with Dotsie he didn’t reply “she was 5’4 and drank moderately.” But when he was on his deathbed, drifting in and out of consciousness, he would admit that the smile he held was due to a particular daydream, one where he was dancing with his wife. Hinge and its algorithm isn’t designed to gather the data of care, warmth, and selflessness or any number of intangibles associated with love. How could it? The majority of its matchmaking data is based on vague physical qualities or unsubstantial personal information.
For example, when someone “likes” a picture of a girl, Hinge notes the information for your algorithmic profile. That data is inherently flimsy, conveying that I find women attractive who are between 5’6 and 5’11, and nothing more. The algorithm won’t sense, cannot sense that I saw a spark in her eyes. Or a sense of liveliness in her smile. Or that she was wearing a messy yet still sporty ponytail that divulged her carefree playfulness.
Granted, attractiveness is surely an aspect of love, but Hinge would have you think it is the one we gravitate to the most, or perhaps the only one we gravitate to. If not, they would comprise profiles strictly featuring personal information and (hopefully) witty responses to their pre-made prompts. Now, I do not suspect Hinge of possessing some form of AI that quantifies attractiveness in order to place the sexiest profiles in front of their sexiest counterparts. Although I’m a cynic, that conspiracy shall remain in the Slack thread between Kyrie Irving and Alex Jones. Nonetheless, a targeted critical thinking question can clarify what I want to express.
There is no debate that a love resulting in a lifelong, blissful marriage is something strongly coveted in our world. It is a pursuit as wild as it is attainable. If Hinge had actual statistics that demonstrated their app produced these happy marriages, would they not market them? Would they not recognize the monetary value of such a powerful device and then charge a handsome fee for it? Not surprisingly, the hard data and evidence we’re looking for is difficult if not impossible to find, and purposely so.
Hinge and every other dating app has no incentive to be fully transparent with their data. And why would they be? They operate in a financial sweet spot where profitability need not rely on results. A Goldilocks zone where proof of concept is not required before charging a fee. Match Group is all too aware of this. They understand that “romantic connection is a fundamental human need” almost akin to water, shelter or clothing. Monetizing an escape from loneliness is stomachable, but Hinge and other apps fall woefully short of that. Their algorithms, data relied upon and monetary thresholds are no better than looking for love at your local bar. And even those offer half-price wings on Tuesdays.
The Danger When We Date Ourselves
Niche markets for relationship pairing make for a fun game of dating app bingo. For those looking for a Jewish partner, see JDate or JSwipe. The Islamic crowd has Muzz and their 7 million users. Christian Mingle is well known but on its way is a new rival, Dominion. You may not find any of those hedonist celebrities there, but you can always catch them on Raya, where Ben Affleck was once found. Perhaps he’s Luma now, a luxury matchmaking service. Tinder occupies the free space, naturally.
Assortative mating - the proclivity of people to engage in a relationship with those similar to them - doesn’t stop there. Hinge allows you to filter out which ethnicity you do or do not want to match with. Bumble offers a myriad number of ways to weed out the undesirables. For a fee you can strain out anyone who doesn’t share your politics, exercise habits, education level or religion. I don’t have the requisite pepto bismol to start the eugenics discussion, so I’ll stick to pseudoscience. Yes, Bumble permits sifting out anyone whose astrological sign may not align with yours.
The conservative American Enterprise Institute set out to determine just how porous the American dating colander really is. Lasering in on how political views filter out potential matches, the AEI uncovered that on the single issue of climate change, a combined 56 percent of those polled admitted it would be impossible or difficult to date someone who didn’t share their opinion. That removes “Have you ever seen An Inconvenient Truth” from acceptable first date questions. Or perhaps it moves it to the front of the line, depending on the strength of your conviction.
The poll numbers are similar for issues like LGBTQ rights, gun control, affirmative action or immigration, otherwise known as the forbidden Thanksgiving dinner topics as seen below:
Still, there are many Americans who don’t prioritize political views when finding a mate. Amber Lucas seems to be one of them, although she still keeps a steadfast deal breaker in her love life. The popular publication Insider provided Lucas the writing space necessary to share a particular story; a dramatic retelling about the plight of being a successful fish in a pond stocked with degenerate bottom feeders. You’d just never know it by the title of her essay: “I used a dating app to meet millionaires. I got to travel the world, get fancy gifts, and learn a lot from my relationships.”
According to Lucas, the fellas she used to go with were “emotionally immature and financially irresponsible.” She claimed one ex-fling couldn’t pay his rent because he spent “his whole salary on weed.” And while that ex was dropping presumably over a grand a month on marijuana, the other was condemned for simply being poor - he couldn’t afford to repair his car, therefore aggravating Lucas by having no choice but to leave it outside of her apartment for a few weeks.
She wanted to meet “better men” and by that she obviously meant wealthy ones. Because if an interminable collection of fables, myths and proverbs dating back since the dawn of recorded history has taught us one thing, it is that money is directly associated with inner peace and lacks even one pitfall. Digression aside, Lucas’ story rambles on about how she spent her late thirties with incredible men “mostly in their 50s,” jet setting around the globe and having “great sex” in French chateaus. How was all of this possible?
Lucas paid for Seeking, a site that services those looking to “date up.” Before a rebrand, Seeking was formerly known as, well, I’ll let take a guess and fill in the blank. Seeking ___________
Harmony
Love
Companionship
Arrangement
Ding Ding Ding! You guessed it! Once notorious as the marketplace where rich men would do everything but legally admit they’re paying women for sex, Seeking dropped the “Arrangement” from their name, hoping the site’s negative, dangerous reputation would fall with it. Protocols and verification has made them a safer site for women, but their coded language on transactional relationships is prodigious enough to make any propagandist blush.
To date, Seeking and its 40 million members rely upon the service’s mantra of “honesty and open communication” so “established and attractive singles” can “share their expectations for a relationship upfront.” For those who don’t speak my native tongue, Millennialese, this translates to “I want nothing more than a noncommittal, sexual relationship and in exchange you will receive hand towels during first class flights to Bali and significant Instagram growth.”
Our friend Ms Lucas paid up to $275 a month for Seeking’s services, putting a new twist on the old adage “it takes money to make money.” Her essay was intended to read like a polemic on male schluppery but only divulges her own intolerant, snobby elitism. What’s more, the ability for an essay like this to get published is just as concerning, especially after learning that it was only a year ago when Insider produced a negative piece about the site. So, what is alarming me?
By sifting out potential match qualities, dating services are doing more than funneling likes towards other likes. On the surface, there is nothing wrong if someone with a love of archaeology wants to meet another archeologist. But giving singles the option to literally remove those of a different religious, ethnic or cultural background from their dating pool is an atrocity. It is akin to saying:
“I won’t fall in love with you because you are Jewish.”
“You’re Black? Not marriage material, sorry.”
“Too poor for my love.”
“You support Trans people? Then I can’t support you.”
The herding of dating apps has done more than turn hearts into close-minded persnickets, it has murdered the euphoria of meeting someone for the first time. Approaching someone at a cafe or park can only highlight whatever natural beauty or charm you originally became attracted to. I’ve yet to meet the girl who upon rebuffing my opening line has continued with a: “By the way, I am a 5’8 Sunni Muslim making $86 grand a year, before bonus, mind you, and while I’m ambivalent on Citizens United I literally will snap your tibia if you don’t support the Trans community.”
Wrap It Up, Espo
I’d be both a coward and hypocrite to ignore my own dating app status. Yes, I use them and will likely continue to do so. Despite this hopefully searing takedown, I suffer from a combination of Romanticism and loneliness. I have friends who found their spouse through these apps, giving me hope that one day I will too. With any luck, I’ve portrayed my frustration at these apps and how their features can elicit the scarier aspects of human nature, of which I am surely not immune from. Apologies if you felt like this essay was being critical of you, the reader.
Personally, I have always found myself physically attracted to the way a smile can peer into me, or how a single glance can speak so loudly. To my knowledge, there is no religion, ethnicity, social class or political view associated with wide eyes or dimples. Additionally, my mushy insides gravitate towards women who tip generously and are confident in whatever wacky passions they possess. These folks can be found anywhere from the Western Wall to Wall Street, from the public house to a house of worship.
From my own experience, inquiring about a person’s religious or political affiliation is typically reserved until after the pair has grown comfortable with each other. If not, perhaps it should be. Some may retort, “Well, I ask those questions right away because I don’t want to waste my time!” If that is you then kindly, screw off. If sharing a gin and tonic with someone you may not end up dating is a complete waste of time, I feel sorry for you. Trust me, that episode of Industry you were going to stream isn’t going anywhere. Take the time to be a human and show some grace; a lesson I’m still learning as well.
Because like you, I too have stopped swiping on profiles that present a very specific, single-issue political opinion. It may surprise you, but I’m not perfect either, which is why I held off being judgmental until that Lucas character forced my hand (and until the paragraph above.) It is difficult, however, to stay open-minded and let Love make frivolous such things like what god you pray to, income and heritage, especially when one spends adolescence daydreaming about that perfect someone.
Unfortunately, dating apps now present the mirage that the characteristics of that perfect someone, a stark difference from the love calling you to them, may actually exist. Such a selective mating process is going to only exacerbate the divisiveness seen in America. These apps augmented and normalized a racial discrimination of love. I’m not sure how it hasn’t been one of the biggest scandals of our time. Same goes for the schism it will likely expand between religious and ethnic groups as well as socioeconomic classes.
Love so often defies counteracting interests, drawing polar opposites together in spite of their differences. Indeed, nothing can better denote its raw power. Algorithms don’t know this force. They can’t. Moreover, dating services don’t care for it. They want you to remain looking yet single, lonely yet hopeful. It was a business decision to deploy dating preferences on their apps, and if anything that should testify to just how futile those preferences are when searching for true love.
I wonder if Match Group and its subsidiaries are aware of the emotional toll their companies impose. The peer-reviewed BMC Psychology journal studied these effects, specifically with swipe-based apps. They concluded that users reported “higher levels of depression, anxiety and distress compared to those who do not use the applications.” Other studies noted that dating apps can lead to “decreased face and body satisfaction” in addition to body dysmorphia or shame, and lower self-esteem.
The report also suggested that there is a lack of scholarship on this subject, but more will come in the future. Would it shock anyone to learn that these apps have also contributed to a sense of emptiness or lack of fulfillment in one’s life? When will ProPublica get their mitts on internal emails showing just how single these apps want you to be? Will there ever be a cultural pushback that beckons for singles to actually meet people in-person, organically?
If you’d like to discuss further, I’ll be at my local watering hole, doing my best to resist the urge to open Hinge. I’ll be the guy with the puzzled grimace, wondering if he should be more frustrated at himself or at the dating system he participates in. Depending on what time it is, I may even be the one on the barstool shouting “LADIES, I REALLY AM 6-FEET AND I DO NOT POST FISH PICS!” Because after all and in the words of Tupac…