Have We Fallen Out of Falling in Love?

It’s that time of the year again—the silent-killer of daylight savings has fallen upon us, and intense urges to temptingly bed-rot all day have shot through the glass ceiling of sanity. SZA’s “cuffing season” soundbite from her SNL skit is trending on TikTok again. With the sun going down as early as 3pm, the bleak wave of loneliness and yearning feels like a gut-punch to the stomach. 

In September 2024, a survey conducted by FetishFinder turned a satirical, underlying joke into an unfortunate reality: New York was ranked the #1 worst U.S. city to find love in. What may also contribute to this statement is NYC’s notoriously high cost of living and low quality of life, yet it got me thinking—aside from the more substantial aspects of dating and relationships, what else has changed in the landscape of romance? I’ve seen my fair share of TikTok commentaries and memes (#womeninmalefields!), read countless articles on modern dating culture, and listened to podcast discussions surrounding relationships and love. 

At the end of the day, no matter how many times you call yourself independent, we all crave some form of companionship. Relationships with our friends and family nestle themselves at the core of our lives—social interaction, whether it’s with a significant other or not, is integral to living a healthy and fulfilling life. It is inherently human nature to crave companionship—since the dawn of time, we have sought out others as a means of survival. Of course, what was once adaptation can become maladaptation, but our ancestors laid the foundation for a crucial aspect of our lives. Suffice to say, there has most definitely been a shift in attitude towards the idea of a significant other. But how did we dig ourselves into such a deep hole over the span of just one generation—is chivalry actually dead?

The irony in New York being the worst city for love is overwhelmingly satirical yet anticlimactic; it feels like a comical “better-luck-next-time” slap on the shoulder, reaffirming sentiments we already knew. It’s especially scrutinizing when you think about the portrayal of romance in the media—many films and TV shows happen to take place in the Big Apple, using the cinema-worthy and picturesque streets of New York as its backdrop. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, When Harry Met Sally, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, 13 Going on 30… the list goes on.

A TV show that comes to mind, obviously, is Sex and the City; thanks to social media platforms like TikTok and its addition to Netflix earlier this year, the show has reinserted itself into modern pop culture and resonated with a new generation. Thanks to the timeless theme of navigating love in the chaos of life (and universal disappointment of men), Carrie Bradshaw’s editorial column still rings true today. Sex and the City’s widespread popularity credits itself to not only its take on romantic relationships, but also on platonic ones as well. In late-90s and early 2000s New York City, Carrie Bradshaw maneuvers her way in life alongside her three closest friends: Miranda Hobbes, Charlotte York, and Samantha Jones. As viewers, we get a glimpse into how their lives intertwine and clash, but also flourish and grow immensely throughout the series’ 6-season run. 

Another possible reason for the show’s success might be due to its striking relatability; dissected and psycho-analyzed by the Internet and psychologists alike, the core four’s personalities can be derived from psychoanalyst Carl Jung’s personality archetypes. Jung posited that “the interaction between the conscious and unconscious mind constitutes the self, and understanding the self requires examining this interaction.” This interaction, comprising someone’s personality, is broken into four parts: the persona, shadow, anima, and animus. The persona represents the mask worn in society, maintaining a socially acceptable appearance even if it does not reflect their true self. As the chirpy protagonist with (slightly-over-the-top) genuine tendencies and a vibrant display of self-expression through fashion, Carrie is the persona. The anima is perceived as the feminine while the animus the masculine— insert Charlotte and Miranda, respectively. The shadow represents suppressed desires that we often push into the back of our minds, reminiscent of Samantha’s liberating attitude towards her dating life and unbothered personality. It’s why we all find ourselves relating to the show; there’s a little bit of Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha in all of us. It’s why therapist Jeff Guenther says that the whole structure and premise of the story cannot function without all four characters in it. “They sort of fall apart into their own exaggerated miseries. But when they come back and have cocktails together, they’re operating and like perfect symmetry,” says Guenther. 

Sex and the City first aired in 1998. With its last season ending in 2004, many things seem to still ring true two decades later. With the highest population of singles in the country, the age-old phrase “there’s plenty of fish in the sea” doesn’t stand a chance in New York City—something clearly isn’t adding up. In a world of social media and dating apps that offer the affordability of easy access, the illusion of choice has never felt more… illusory. 

Speaking of the illusion of choice, let’s talk about the epidemic of dating apps. Back in 1995, Match.com was the pioneer for the online dating industry, becoming the first modern matchmaking service of its time. Today, there are now dozens of apps aiming to fulfill this purpose. Hinge, in particular, has caused quite the uproar over the past few years. Officially launching in 2013 and now the fourth most downloaded dating app in the world, Hinge brands itself as “the dating app designed to be deleted.” Where apps like Tinder seem to cater to hookups and one-night stands, Hinge strives to work directly against that model.

“How We Do Things,” a book written on the principles and key ideas that Hinge adheres to. The book is displayed on their website and is available to the public for viewing.

The premise of the app is relatively simple. Create and customize a detailed profile with pictures and prompts, send and receive likes to and from other people, message your matches in search for a meaningful connection. What exactly that entails—short-term or long-term—is at the discretion of the user. One thing that Hinge succeeds greatly at is its variety in prompt choices, including their voice prompt feature added in 2021; it offers multiple opportunities to spark a conversation and allows people to really let their personality shine through the screen. Hinge utilizes a “Nobel-Prize-winning algorithm” to understand your type and refine their matchmaking abilities to introduce you to the “right” people. In 2019, they launched Hinge Labs, a research team that “studies the dating journeys of Hinge daters from download to date to deletion, so they can fine-tune all of the elements that make a difference.” 

Founder and CEO Justin McLeod is clearly passionate and genuine about wanting to make a difference in the online dating world. But how well does the research and award-winning algorithms translate into reality? Is a difference really being made—amongst younger generations, at least? 

From personal experience and conversations with peers, the short answer: yes, but not quite. Many of us treat dating apps like a game, swiping for fun to seek validation. The off-chance that you do happen to see someone you fancy, the odds that those feelings are reciprocated are…slim. Or maybe not. We’ll never know—it’s not like we have time to ponder. We just click the “X” button and move on, because we think there is always someone better out there. 

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what the success rates are for dating apps, and how many people have actually found themselves in a serious relationship with someone they truly love. In 2023, the Pew Research Center collected key findings about online dating in the U.S. The statistics are interesting to take note of; the study received responses from 6,034 adults ranging from gender, sexual identity, age, and race, so although it’s not entirely representative of the entire U.S. population, it’s quite comprehensive. 

One statistic revealed the divided experience on whether or not dating apps have had a positive or negative impact on them. Men were more likely to report positive experiences at 57%, while women took a much more divided stance with 48% positive and 51% negative. This disparity comes to nobody’s surprise, with concerns of safety and unwanted harassment remaining at the forefront of many women’s minds.

Another statistic revealed people’s reason for being on dating sites. 44% of users sought out long-term relationships while a staggering 64% sought to date casually or have casual sex. Note the difference in gender, with 31% and 43% of men compared to 13% and 37% of women seeking casual relationships. 

But these statistics don’t necessarily account for generational differences. All of us approach dating apps with different intentions, bringing our own preconceived notions and knowledge along with us. As a digitally native generation, Gen Z snagged front-row tickets in witnessing the exponential growth and rapid change of technology, social media, and culture. A survey conducted by Forbes Health asked people how often they experienced dating fatigue—feeling emotionally, mentally, or physically exhausted by using dating apps. 79% of Gen Z respondents answered sometimes, often, or always. Millennials came out on top by just one point at 80%. It’s a sad revelation, considering the fact that Gen Z daters on Hinge are 30% more likely than millennials to believe there’s one soulmate for each person and 39% more likely to consider themselves as romantically idealistic.  

A survey from Forbes Health asking people how often they feel burnt out on dating apps. 23% of Gen Z respondents answered “always,” in comparison to 17% of millennials, 22% of Gen X, and 9% of Baby Boomers.

So, yes: love triumphs all. But in this day and age, 2024 just doesn’t seem like the right time to be a lover girl. Even though we romanticize depictions of love portrayed in the media, it feels like that is all it will be—just a depiction. Situationships, now officially a coined term on Dictionary.com, mark the beginning of the end for Gen Z. The official definition is as follows: “A situationship is a romantic or sexual relationship that is undefined and noncommittal. People in a situationship are more than friends but less than committed romantic partners.” Towing a delicate line between lovers-but-not-quite, the core of situationships lie at the heart of its undefined nature. The refusal to slap a label on our relationships seems liberating and therefore appealing, but I think it’s more of just a weird defense mechanism. I don’t know how we got to the point where being vulnerable about your emotions was considered lame. But in a world where we are virtually connected to an overabundance of options at just the touch of our fingertips, it makes sense for the reluctance to commit ourselves to one person. The unprecedented phenomenon of digital social media and dating apps are arguably the ones to blame for this sudden shift in attitude toward romantic relationships. We were never supposed to be exposed to this many people over the course of our lifespan—the aid of digital communication technology has propelled us into a future of uncertainty.

In the end, the question “Have we fallen out of falling in love?” doesn’t have a straightforward answer—it’s tangled in the intricate web of modernity, technology, and human nature. Our generation finds itself in a paradox: yearning for deep, meaningful connections while grappling with an overwhelming sense of choice and a fear of vulnerability. The dating landscape has undoubtedly evolved, driven by apps, algorithms, and societal shifts that emphasize independence and ambiguity over tradition and commitment. Yet, at its core, love remains as fundamental as it has always been—a universal desire rooted in connection and understanding.

A woman named Asia summarizes all of this beautifully. From the TikTok account A View From A Bridge, she points out the commodification of dating apps, the paradox of accessibility, and the danger of dopamine hits received from matches or likes. “I think that impacts and has this drip theory into how we end up dating people, which is this new creation of ‘situationships,’ and exclusivity as this sort of pre-relationship starter phase, which in reality before just used to be…dating.” Perhaps the real question is not whether we’ve fallen out of falling in love, but whether we’ve lost sight of what it means to truly connect. In our saturated world of fleeting moments and seemingly endless options, the answer might just lie in rediscovering the courage to be vulnerable and embrace authenticity. New York City might not make love easy, but maybe that’s the point—it challenges us to redefine and reclaim what love means in our ever-changing lives. Falling in love might look different today, but perhaps that’s a reflection of how we, too, are growing, questioning, and redefining ourselves.