The Tinder dilemma: Love in the age of the algorithm

Photo by NPR - Courtesy of HBO

In our pursuit of infinite options, dating apps promised to democratize romance, to give everyone a chance at love. But somewhere along the way, the technology that was meant to connect us may have accelerated our loneliness.

This is the modern “matching problem”: not that there aren’t people out there, but that the very structure of app-based dating reshapes human connection into a numbers game—one that quietly distorts our expectations, our desires, and ultimately, our capacity for enduring companionship.

At its core, the rise of app-dating collides with two larger societal shifts: the sexual revolution and economic independence. Both empowered women and men alike to untether intimacy from marriage. As noble and necessary as those gains were, they also eroded the interdependence that once made partnership essential. No longer do we need to marry for sex. No longer do we need to marry to survive. So why do we marry at all?

You see, before dating apps, your options were more naturally curated: the office, the university campus, your cousin’s wedding. But with apps, the dating pool has exploded from dozens to millions. And when faced with overwhelming choice, human beings default to simple heuristics. Swipe for the tall, the tanned, the tantalising.

In this universe, 90% of female swipes go to men over six feet tall—despite only 14% of men meeting that height. It’s not because women have suddenly become more shallow. It’s because digital love—fast, gamified, and transactional—does not reward depth.

Behind the glossy profiles lies a stark asymmetry. The top 20% of men receive the lion’s share of attention. The bottom 80% of men struggle to be seen. Women, more selective by nature and biology, aim upward—economically, socially, and intellectually. And in a society where women now outnumber men in universities and increasingly in income, we find ourselves in a peculiar moment: there are more women looking for high-quality men than there are men who meet that definition.

Credit: Courtney Ryan

The result? A glut of disconnection. Twenty-eight percent of men under 30 report no intimacy in the past year. Meanwhile, women are increasingly opting out of the dating market entirely. By 2030, Morgan Stanley forecasts that 45% of working women will be single and childless.

It’s tempting to say this is simply a modern malaise. But history whispers warnings. When surplus men lack purpose and intimacy, societies have often turned to war or distraction. In medieval times, they became monks—or cannon fodder. Today, they disappear into gaming chairs and quiet despair.

What was once a personal problem has become a civilizational one.

There are, of course, solutions—though none particularly elegant. Perhaps women begin dating “down” economically. Perhaps men begin rising, reclaiming a sense of purpose, dignity, and competence. Perhaps society revisits the institution of monogamy not as a romantic relic, but as a stabilizing social technology. Or perhaps we continue drifting toward an atomized future of artificial intimacy, polyamory, and transactional affection.

And yet, the most haunting possibility may not be revolution or AI love. It is emotional extinction. The quiet resignation that love, partnership, and shared meaning are simply too hard, too inconvenient, too analog for our hyper-digital lives.

Romantic love, let us remember, is a recent invention. For most of human history, marriage was about legacy, land, and lineage. Even in early Malay royal culture, as I observed, the emphasis wasn’t on fiery passion but on sound judgment. Daughters of blue-blood were not merely given husbands—they were taught the art of discerning choice, often selecting from noble bloodlines equal to their own.

No one longs to return to the days when marriage was an economic cage. But in chasing freedom, we may have lost the plot entirely. What remains, if not a return, then perhaps a revision—a rekindling of intention, tradition, and real intimacy beyond the screen.

Whatever the outcome, one truth remains: love, real love, was never meant to be optimized. It was meant to be chosen—and cultivated—with care.

For in the end, gentlemanliness is not just about tailored suits or table manners. It is about commitment. Presence. Honour. And the courage to choose one person, in a world that endlessly tempts you not to.