Dear Internet Dating…


Hey Internet Dating, what’s up?




Yeah, that’s – Well, maybe – No, you’re right… she’s probably a bitch. Probably nothing to do with you.

Listen: that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.

I don’t think we should be friends anymore.

No, dude, I… Can you please stop screaming? We’re in a Starbucks.

Why? THIS. This is why! You’ve become an asshole. You think you’re God’s Gift To Humanity. But you’re this toxic thing that makes people hate each other, and then you act like, “Oh! Well that’s just the way it is.”

You and I have known each other for 13 years, Internet Dating. I’m sure that’s nothing to brag about, but it’s a fact of my life. When we started hanging out, we needed each other. I didn’t know how to talk or relate to women of my age. And you needed a friend because you kept starting fires in the middle school parking lot.

That’s our origin story. That’s what we based 13 years of friendship off of.

I was lonely. You needed a clean police record.

And for a long time: it worked. Through algorithms and personality questions, you kept introducing me to a lot of other cool, lonely people. When those people would ghost on me, you’d help me find someone else. Plenty of times I would get cynical, or bored, or straight-up apathetic. And you were always like, “Come back when you need to, dude. I’ll always be here for you.”

And that was nice. It was nice to know that if things ever got stale, you were there for me.

You matched me with women that – through a lot of my twenties – it would’ve been really hard for me to talk to without you.

But, right around the time I turned 30 and I moved to L.A. … something changed.

I mean: maybe you always were this way, and I just missed it. Maybe I kept you around because moving to L.A., and starting all over again, was weird and really uneven for a while.

But… I don’t know: something changed.

You lost a lot of weight. And instead of personality questions, you just asked for 5 of my hottest pictures. And instead of putting all this effort into matching me with other like-minded people, you just told me: swipe right or swipe left.

So all of a sudden: I’m meeting a lot people that I have nothing in common with.

And on top of that: you’re encouraging us to put in the least amount of effort into talking… before we inevitably fuck, because that’s the only thing we can think to do with these limited resources.

AND: if someone suddenly doesn’t feel like fucking (or actually: just talking) you would tell the person to sidestep me like a piece of roadkill. “Don’t worry, miss: I’ve got 20 hotter options than him.”

Now, I’ll be fair. Maybe, Internet Dating: you had nothing to do with this. Let’s say: you did change, but you changed in the name of trying to be better. You were trying to be a good friend, so you gave me – and millions of other single people – a lot of options. With very little bullshit. And you said, “Here! I’m just trying to help!”

So maybe the failure of this friendship is my fault. I certainly got selfish with the multiple hook-ups with women who reminded me of high school and college friends I never had a shot with.  There were PLENTY of people where I was just like: “Thank you for the good time.  Let me call you an Uber.” And, a choice few times, I would lie to myself about how I really felt, so that the whole pursuit didn’t feel so pointless.

But if we’re being honest: you’re still kind of a shitty friend.

Because, as one person was rejecting me, you were putting another person in front of me with no criteria required. And you were telling me: “Just keep at it. I got tons of ‘em.”

And options are great. But I feel like the whole system is now broken. And you’re okay with that. You’re okay with making people feel disposable, so there’s no real point to wanting anything more than a hook-up.

I don’t know, man.

The more I think about it, the more I see places where we’re both at fault.

So I probably am to blame as well. I’m sorry. This isn’t all your fault. It was me, too.

But what I do know is: I don’t like myself when we hang out now. I don’t like that you make me feel paranoid, or insecure, or even more lonely now as a grown-ass man who has no problem meeting women versus that self-serious twentysomething.

I don’t like that I’m now part of a culture where everyone is dating with one foot out the door, with no real respect or decency if there’s no interest or chemistry.

I miss the days when both of us made a bit more effort. Even if it was fleeting, it still felt better than what you and I have now become.

So, yeah… I don’t think we should be friends anymore. I think I need to go on my own again.

If anything changes in your mind, give me a call. CALL ME. Please don’t text. Call me, like a friend would.

But until then: best of luck. Thanks for the fun decade and change. It was good. It really was.

I’ll see you around.

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