Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. It’s mechanical. No real thought, no real engagement. Profiles pass by like a never-ending conveyor belt of faces, all of them blending together. It’s 2024, and dating feels more like shopping. Not for love, not even for lust, but for something to fill the gaps in the day.
Everyone’s profile is curated to the point of absurdity—pictures of them doing yoga at sunrise, hiking somewhere remote, or posing with a perfectly framed cocktail in some bar that looks cool but probably isn’t. Captions? Always a version of the same thing: “Here for a good time, not a long time,” “Adventurous soul, sarcastic humor,” “Swipe left if you can’t handle a strong woman.” None of it’s real, though. You know that. They know that.
After a few minutes, a match lights up the screen. A burst of dopamine. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t last long. You message, something casual, something that sounds like you’re interested but not too interested. You play it cool because that’s what everyone does. It’s a game, and if you show your cards too early, you lose. That’s the rule.
The conversation is nothing. It’s all surface-level, little quips and emojis to keep things moving, to fill the silence. No one asks real questions. It’s not about getting to know each other; it’s about keeping the chat alive long enough to meet up and make sure they look like their photos. If you’re lucky, the banter’s quick, witty. If not, you leave it on “read” and move on. There’s always someone else.
The meet-up is arranged with a sense of detachment, like scheduling a dentist appointment. A bar, a drink, a few minutes of conversation before you both realize this is what it always is: two people playing a part, hoping for just enough chemistry to justify the rest of the night.
Hookup culture is about instant gratification without the mess of emotional investment. You get what you need, physically, and you walk away. The next morning, there’s no follow-up, no texts asking how your day is going. If they do text, it’s unexpected and feels invasive. The silence afterward is more comfortable. Both sides know it’s not going anywhere.
There’s no room for vulnerability, no time for connection. In a world where everyone’s competing for attention, the idea of being honest, open, is terrifying. Why let someone in when they’ll just swipe left on you tomorrow? So you stay guarded. You keep things casual, light. Feelings are for fools, and in 2024, being a fool is worse than being alone.
And so it goes, swiping, chatting, meeting, repeating. The cycle feels endless, like you’re trapped in a loop of shallow interactions, each one more forgettable than the last. But you keep going because… what else is there? Every once in a while, someone talks about quitting the apps, deleting them for good. They never do.