'I'd been in a relationship with dating apps longer than anyone I met on them. So I did something drastic.'

When I tell people I had to quit the dating apps, they expect there was a final, bad story or awkward date that pushed me over the edge.

For years, I've been entertaining friends and even strangers on the internet about my dating escapades, writing down my learnings and sporadically taking small breaks before throwing myself back into the soul-sucking whirlpool of dating apps with an almost worrying belief that every time I re-downloaded an app "this time it'd be different". 

Watch: Mamamia's 'Out Loud' podcast on dating apps. Post continues below.

But there wasn't one big, jarring moment that made me quit for good.

It wasn't the Irish man with the Jordan Peterson tattoo that made me rage-quit (though to be fair, it should've been). It wasn't the man who showed up 30 minutes late because he got distracted having dinner with his friends, only to down two wines and tell me about the time his ex tried to "baby trap" him.

It wasn't even the numerous men disclosing before the first date that they were after something "consistent but casual" while claiming on their profiles they wanted a long-term relationship. 

It was more a slow, but painful, burn accumulated after years of failed situationships, boring dates, mediocre banter, painful fake smiles, patiently listening to men dump their trauma on me before splitting the cost of two wines, and carefully crafted "it was SO lovely to meet you, but I don't think our values are aligned" messages.

Suddenly, I needed everything to come to a crashing halt.

The stats weren't lying to me: in eight years of being single, I had experienced one significant crush, one three-month situationship, a lot of first dates, a series of second dates, and only a handful of thirds. Oh, and way too many unsolicited d**k pics.

I had been in a sustained relationship with the dating apps — Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, and sometimes Feeld — longer than anyone I had ever met on them. From being a broken-hearted 27-year-old downloading the apps again with naive hope, all the way through to staring down the barrel of 34 and realising with a sudden clarity that I was exhausted.

"I needed everything to come to a crashing halt". Image: Instagram/@tahliaapritchard.

I was having a much better life when I was not actively trying to date. I was burnt out by the apps. 

I needed to go cold turkey on what I began to understand was an addiction. I was stuck in a repetitive cycle of deleting and downloading, getting my hopes up only for them to come crashing down, giving way too much free therapy to men who hadn't processed their last breakups, regretting money I had spent on coffee or drinks, regretting energy I had put into concocting elaborate excuses to leave a date halfway through, and dealing with the mental fatigue of trying to politely break up with people I had only known for a number of hours.

So for six months, I went cold turkey on the apps, fighting the sporadic urges to download them again when I was feeling lonely or wrestling with the feeling of "not putting myself out there." At the time, I had just turned 34, and I was making peace with the fact that maybe my future wasn't going to be one that involved that romantic kind of love.

Listen: Dating apps have lost their shine — in this episode of Mamamia Out Loud, the hosts unpack why more women are logging off for good.

I was lucky to have good friends, family, a career I enjoyed, and numerous hobbies to keep me busy. Would that be enough? I wasn't sure, but I felt a lot of anxiety dissipate when I took the pressure off and kept the apps gone.

The worrying addiction of dating apps: "It's like gambling".

It didn't take long to feel like I had kicked — once the first couple of weeks of quiet Friday nights came and went, I didn't find myself missing the apps at all. 

Dr Lisa Portolan, an author and academic who published her PhD on dating apps and intimacy in 2024, as well as authoring the book Love, Intimacy and Online Dating, told Mamamia dating apps facilitate dopamine hits that users do get addicted to. 

"Basically, it's like gambling," Lisa said.

"You're swiping, someone likes you, you're getting that little hit from the connecting messages… the dopamine spikes go up, and then you have those big drops around the ghostings or the unmatching or a vulgar comment. And that's what people get addicted to."

Lisa spent years researching the chokehold dating apps have on modern singles, observing the "cyclical" way people used the apps to foster romantic connections. 

"What my research would suggest is that people operate in a cyclical way on dating apps. So they'll go on, they'll do a lot of messaging, swiping, all that sort of stuff, engaging with people," she said.

"They'll become really disenfranchised and disappointed and upset, to the point where people would cry and feel really s**t about themselves, delete all the apps and go back 'into the wild', and then, after a period of time, they would cycle back on to the dating apps, because people are just not meeting face to face anymore." 

Sound familiar? You're definitely not alone. 

Meeting in the wild: can it be done?

Part of my own journey when deleting the apps was trying to meet people "in the wild" again, remembering what it's like to have conversations face-to-face without the protection of a screen.

And for me, my dating life still actually stayed alive, with the caveat that I was admittedly going out a lot more, and was more open to meeting people at bars, gigs, and whatever else I enjoyed. While conversations would strike up IRL, the legwork of dating then switched to another technological platform: Instagram. It appeared that even if you did meet people out and about, we still relied on technology to keep building those connections.

Tahlia needed to remember how to meet people "in the wild". Image: Instagram/@tahliaapritchard.

Lisa says there's been a loss of social skills conditioned by social media and the apps. 

"There's a big call at the moment for meeting people in the wild. And I mean, just the fact that we're using that terminology within itself is fascinating, right? We're basically saying that the environment that we're used to meeting people in is online. And if you're meeting someone face to face, you're in the jungle," she laughed.

"That within itself, is something that we need to pause on and think about. That's the impact of a decade of dating apps." 

While it's still absolutely possible, of course, to lock eyes with a stranger across a bar and scrawl your number on a napkin and hope for the best, as a society there's no denying we're still heavily reliant on apps to facilitate romantic connection. And, well, look, we're all a bit rejection sensitive. 

"People have no longer exercised those skills to actually strike up those conversations in person. We haven't flexed that muscle in such a long time that people just reverberate back into the dating apps after a period of time," Lisa explained. 

"And the other big thing is that people haven't exercised being rejected face to face. Back 15 years ago, you got rejected face to face. You walked up to someone, and they would not be interested or give you a fake phone number, or whatever it was.

"But these days, the rejection online is a lot more subtle, so people haven't exercised that muscle either." 

The apps aren't going anywhere, but people's habits are changing. 

Look, let's be real. Dating apps aren't going anywhere, but there's no denying users are becoming fatigued.

"People are still very conscious that they can't meet anyone face-to-face at the moment, so they go on the apps," Lisa said.

"I think it will continue for a period of time, but I think people are becoming more and more disenfranchised and there will come a point where they will need to integrate some sort of face-to-face component within the mix."

Even in the last year or so, there's been a noticeable shift in dating: the boom of run clubs, apps like Thursday becoming events-focused so single people can meet IRL, and local pubs advertising speed dating nights. 

As for me, my big hiatus from the apps was undeniably important to take myself out of the vicious cycle and spend some time figuring out what the hell I wanted, because I knew what I didn't want — and that was another 37-year-old man telling me he "wanted kids soon" but was "after something casual".

As it turns out, dating and love isn't a numbers game based on how many matches and dates you can go through before you find "the one". While it can work for some people, for a lot of us it's just a big distraction. And it's a distraction I'm glad to be rid of. 

Sydney Swans games are already a great day out — they're also the perfect place to meet a mate or maybe even spark a date! Join us on Saturday, May 31, for a Match Day Mingle presented by Jim Beam at The Beresford, your all-in pre-game social sesh before heading over to the stands of the SCG to see the Swans take on the Adelaide Crows. Whether you're wing manning your bestie or vibing solo, start your game day with the Mingle at The Beresford. To get your tickets, click here.

Tahlia Pritchard is a freelance writer and editor, author of newsletter Shit Straight Men Say, and co-host of Confessions Of A Reality Star podcast.

Feature: Instagram/@tahliaapritchard.