Dating again
A few years ago, I quit dating apps. I was spending so much time on them that I stopped enjoying it. I convinced myself that people never looked like their photos, and there was no point trying to meet someone online because it would ruin the magic of those early stages of getting to know someone. Instead, Instagram became my dating app. Not any better. The response rate was lower, and the superficiality was the same. But for a long time, I convinced myself I had made a great decision. Spoiler alert: I hadn’t.
I feel like I spent too much time blaming tools like social media or dating apps, sometimes avoiding them altogether, instead of learning how to use them. You can get addicted to anything—some people even get addicted to work. So, is it really work’s fault, or is it your relationship with work? (That’s a rhetorical question.) I believe it’s often our relationship to things that we need to work on. There’s no point in blaming the tool. Work is there to help you achieve your goals. Dating apps exist to help you meet people. Social media connects you with people all over the world. Sure, these tools aren’t perfect. Instagram, Tinder, TikTok—you name it—they’re all designed to keep you on the platform as long as possible. Obviously, the more attention they have, the more money they make.
But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to resist. Trust me, I still come home late sometimes, with zero self-control, and the next thing I know, I’m swiping left and right at a concerning speed.
That’s why I quit dating apps. Three years later, I landed in Milan. It was my first time in the city, for work. I’d signed with Indastria Model Management, and for the first time, I was going to live in a model apartment and see what it was really like. I’d dreamed of this ever since I got into modeling. Alexandra Lützenkirchen reached out, asking if I was down for a studio shoot in Weinheim. Soon after, I started doing professional photoshoots with photographers across German. That’s when I thought I was made for this. I loved it right away. Gymnastics had been my sport, and modeling in front of a camera felt like performing. I wanted to amaze, to push myself further. The only competition in modeling is with yourself. I did that for years, posting most of my shoots on Instagram, and I built a community out of it. But I never had the chance to live in a model apartment.
I was so excited I shared everything. I documented my days endlessly through TikTok and Instagram vlogs. I took my camera everywhere, taking photos of myself, others, and doing impromptu photoshoots. I didn’t even mind sharing a flat with 20 guys. It felt cool. I’d sleep in my bunk bed with 12 others in the same room, already looking forward to the next day.
I spent a lot of time with the other guys. We became both a friend group and close one-on-one friends. A few weeks in, Mayrison and I went to grab a drink at an average Italian café that also sold pastries, with comfy plastic chairs outside. I ordered a beer—something I picked up from living in Germany—and Mayrison got a cappuccino. We were sitting outside, enjoying the warm Milanese evening. I took a sip of beer when Mayrison asked, “How’s your dating life here?”
“What do you mean?” I replied, a bit confused.
“Have you gone on any dates yet?” he asked, casually.
“No. I’m not on dating apps, so that doesn’t help.”
“Why not?”
“Well, first, I don’t want people to find me on there. Second, I was mostly unsatisfied with the people I met. And third, it wasn’t a healthy habit, so I just quit years ago and never really went back.”
“You’re in Milan—who cares? Try it again.”
I didn’t need much more to be convinced. I’ve always had double standards for how I act in Paris versus when I’m abroad. Being in another country is my way of letting myself experiment. The context helps, but I choose to adopt a different mindset as well.
The next day, I showed him my profile. I avoided using too many professional photos from shoots. I’ve found that people tend to think I’m a fake profile, or they feel intimidated. Which is unhelpful in both cases. So, I picked selfies and casual pictures my friends took.
Mayrison grabbed my phone. “Let me see.” He checked out my profile and offered some suggestions. “Put this shirtless selfie as your first picture.” I went along with it.
It’s been four months now, and I’m back on dating apps. But this time, I’m not 19—I’m 24. The time away helped me figure out what I actually wanted and what I didn’t. Before, I’d often approach people, but things wouldn’t work out because they were already taken or not interested. Dating apps offer a bit more clarity. Sure, the first impression from photos is still different from meeting someone in person, but I’ve surprised myself by saying no right away when things were out of bounds. It’s happened three times already, and I shared the experience once on Threads.
What I’ve learned is that once I was comfortable with myself and mature enough to handle addictive tools like dating apps or social media, I believe I could develop a healthy relationship with them. If that’s not the case, stepping away and returning with more wisdom has helped me multiple times. For a tool to be useful, it needs to remain just that—a tool. That’s how I draw the line between a helpful tool and a worrying obsession.
