Romantic dating has become a ritual of humiliation

The scene everyone knows

We talk as if in a job interview: career, status, travel, “what I’m looking for.” We smile. We score. We silently compare the person to yesterday’s and tomorrow’s. At the end: “let’s stay in touch.” Spoiler: we don’t.

It is not always a cruel rejection. Often it is worse: a half-successful audition where nobody was really there — and each person leaves feeling they lost face for daring to be present.

The uncomfortable truth: many “failed dates” are not incompatibilities. They are soft rituals of humiliation — and we have normalized them.

If you have ever thought — “are you talking to me, or to my CV?” — you are not paranoid. You spotted the script.

Modern dating imported three screen logics into real life: the catalogue (the other is a profile before being a presence), permanent evaluation, and optionality — if someone “better” is always two swipes away, why invest in this imperfect moment?

It is not you — it is the script

Pew Research (2019 data): nearly half of U.S. adults (47%) say dating has gotten harder than ten years ago — and women even more so (55%). That is not bar talk. It is a collective diagnosis. See https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2020/08/20/nearly-half-of-u-s-adults-say-dating-has-gotten-harder-for-most-people-in-the-last-10-years/

In 2022, among recent app users, Pew finds a massive emotion: disappointment with people encountered online — more frequent, day to day, than excitement. Dating did not only expand access. It industrialized dissatisfaction. See https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2023/02/02/the-experiences-of-u-s-online-daters/

Barry Schwartz (The Paradox of Choice) already said it about consumption: too many options do not improve happiness — they increase regret. Dating applied the same logic to people.

Pronk and Denissen (2020) show a “rejection mind-set”: after browsing potential partners, people become more pessimistic and reject more. On average, the chance of accepting a profile drops by about 27% from the first to the last in a sequence. See https://doi.org/10.1177/1948550619866189

Thomas, Binder and Matthes (2021): high partner availability increases fear of being single, lowers momentary self-esteem, and creates choice overload. See https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2021.106977

The illusion of having the best

Here is the truth we avoid because it flatters… until it eats you. You are sold abundance: “plenty of fish in the sea.” Abundance does not “free” you. It closes you.

D’Angelo and Toma (2017): people who choose from a large set of profiles are, one week later, less satisfied with their choice — and more likely to switch.

Brutal human translation: you are not “more selective” because you evolved. You are often trained into dissatisfaction. The other person is not “disappointing”: they are continuously compared to a fiction of the absolute.

“Keeping my options open” is not wisdom. It is often fear dressed as strategy. And the worst part: this illusion of the best follows you to the café. You no longer listen. You score and compare. Meanwhile the only real person in front of you disappears.

Finkel and colleagues (2012) already reminded us: expanding access to profiles is not the same as building a relationship. Eastwick et al. (2014): gender gaps in preferences are clear on abstract ideals… and much weaker after real interaction. See https://doi.org/10.1177/1529100612436522

Saying hello has become suspicious

There was a time — imperfect, far from idyllic — when awkwardness was a rite of passage. We failed. We laughed. We tried again. Today awkwardness is often read as a performance fail.

Coldness, meanwhile, is valued. Do not show too much. Do not hope too much. Do not “overdo it.” As if lukewarmness were proof of maturity — and warmth proof of neediness.

Uncomfortable truth #1: many people are not “cool.” They are armored. Detachment is not always discernment. It is often a shield against anticipated humiliation.

Uncomfortable truth #2: we have pathologized simplicity. Asking a simple question, showing interest, suggesting a second date without games — can pass for neediness, a “red flag,” naïveté. So we start talking like personal brands: calibrated tone, optimized anecdotes, controlled humor.

Uncomfortable truth #3: the romantic job interview suits everyone… except the bond. It gives the illusion of control. It avoids vulnerability. It produces fluent, empty conversations — and people who leave saying “nice, but no spark,” when they never lit a fire: they ran an audit.

Humiliation is not an accident — it is a byproduct

When you invest the courage to arrive on time, care about how you look, open a conversation — and leave with silence, ghosting, or a “we’ll see” that means no — it hurts. This is not “just dating.” It is a form of social ostracism.

Ghosting research documents it: lower self-esteem, threatened belonging, prolonged confusion without closure (Timmermans et al., 2021; Leckfor et al., 2023). See https://doi.org/10.1177/0265407520970287 and https://doi.org/10.1177/02654075221149955

A Belgian study (Konings et al., 2023) finds ghosting on apps linked to lower self-esteem via disillusionment with one’s own “romantic appeal” — especially when the event feels unexpected and impactful. See https://doi.org/10.1007/s12119-023-10065-3

And ghosting is only the extreme version. There is also benching, phone-gazing while you speak, “no spark” thrown like a cosmic verdict after twenty-two minutes, loud comparisons, silence after a moment when you truly opened up. Together these gestures form a humiliating rite of passage: to earn the right to love, you must first survive being evaluated like a product.

Uncomfortable truth #4: both sides often play the same game. Whoever humiliates today was often humiliated yesterday. It is not “women” or “men.” It is an avoidance culture where hurting without explaining became more acceptable than saying a clear no. A clear no is respectful. Ambiguity is socially authorized cowardice. Truth #5: seeking “the best” while refusing vulnerability is incoherent.

So what can you do — in practice?

No miracle promise, no naïve nostalgia: name the script before the coffee (“I am not taking an interview; I am meeting someone”). Leave the chat earlier — the more you script online, the more face-to-face becomes a fiction shock.

Voluntarily limit the catalogue: fewer profiles seen often means less rejection mind-set. Prefer a pretext to an audition: a walk, an activity, a challenge. You do something together; conversation no longer carries the whole weight of performance.

Say no clearly — and expect the same. Respect begins with closure. Ghosting “to avoid awkwardness” transfers the awkwardness to the other person. Relearn the right to be awkward: a laugh that is too loud, a naïve question, an uneasy silence are not red flags. They are signs of life.

Final paradox: the more we try to avoid humiliation, the more we multiply it — because we refuse the only behaviors that create a bond: risk, warmth, awkwardness, “I choose you, now.”

That is exactly where Daremeet makes sense — not as romantic magic, but as a change of frame: less screen, more life; a challenge, a map, a presence. When you meet to do something together, the other person stops being a card to score. They become someone to share a moment with — including an awkward, human one.

Conclusion

Romantic dating did not “get harder” by accident. It became an evaluation ritual: interview, comparison, optionality, valued coldness.

Available science — choice overload, rejection mind-set, ghosting, ideal preferences versus real interaction — does not say love is dead. It says the format damages the beginning.

The way out is not becoming harder. It is finding frames where presence beats performance — and where awkwardness still has a right to exist.