{"id":17273,"date":"2026-05-16T17:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-05-16T15:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/holistic.news\/en\/?p=17273"},"modified":"2026-05-15T11:29:07","modified_gmt":"2026-05-15T09:29:07","slug":"finding-love-online-why-it-feels-so-hard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/holistic.news\/en\/finding-love-online-why-it-feels-so-hard\/","title":{"rendered":"The Algorithm Does Not Want You to Stay"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Finding Love Online and the Paradox of Choice<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

For centuries, we tried to tame randomness with the language of destiny: \u201cit was meant to be,\u201d \u201cthe one person must be out there somewhere.\u201d In the digital age, another order has taken over that role. Instead of saying \u201cfate wanted it this way,\u201d we say, \u201cthe algorithm matched us.\u201d Instead of trusting a happy accident, we place our desires in the hands of algorithms that are supposed to \u201cknow better.\u201d<\/strong> And yet, the more people date through apps, the more often their stories contain not calm, but emotional chaos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Research shows that the larger the catalogue of potential partners, the greater the fear of missing out on \u201csomeone better,\u201d and the stronger the decision fatigue. This is the paradox of choice<\/strong>: when there are too many options, we do not feel free. We feel paralyzed. In dating apps, this mechanism operates at full force. Instead of focusing on one person, the brain begins to compare, analyze, and look for \u201csomething better.\u201d The result? Anxiety grows, the fear that something may slip away intensifies, and constant decision-making becomes exhausting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Do Algorithms Even Want Us to Find Love?<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Faced with this overload, many people begin to trust the algorithm even more. They hand responsibility for selection over to it and treat it as a filter that will \u201cdo the dirty work\u201d for them. The problem is that the algorithm<\/a> inside a dating app has different goals from ours<\/strong>. The system is not designed to help us find love online as quickly as possible and leave the platform. What matters more is that we return, click, and pay for additional features.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this sense, this is not a flaw in the algorithms, but their function. They are designed to maximize time spent in the app<\/strong>, not the depth of connection. The deeper cause lies in the users themselves. Technology merely strengthens what already existed in them: fear of commitment in a world that rewards flexibility and individualism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Online Love Is Treated Like a Product<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Real love has always required risk: surrendering part of one\u2019s freedom for the sake of another person. When we look for love online, we reduce that risk almost to zero. We can look without leaving the house. Rejection no longer has to happen face to face. Even ending a conversation properly becomes optional. It is enough to close the app.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ease weakens commitment.<\/strong> The more options we have, the weaker the will to stay with one of them. Today\u2019s apps create an endless list of potential people, each of whom may always turn out to be slightly better than the current one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Online love introduces a new ontology of relationships. The other person is no longer \u201csomeone standing before me,\u201d but \u201csomeone from the pool.\u201d A human being becomes an option<\/strong> to test, put aside, and replace with another. In such a world, commitment no longer means deciding to stay with a specific person. It becomes, rather, a resignation from an unlimited space of alternatives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Liquid Love: Relationships Become Like Shopping at the Mall<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Even before Tinder dominated the market, Zygmunt Bauman described in Liquid Love<\/em> how relationships in consumer culture become \u201cliquid\u201d<\/strong>: light, temporary, easy to break off. Users can date with the confidence that they can always return to the market for \u201canother shopping session.\u201d That is exactly how the algorithm works today. It keeps offering new profiles, as if love were a product that could be exchanged for a better model.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This arrangement creates a very specific habit in many people. Instead of learning to endure the phase of uncertainty and gradually becoming familiar with another person, they learn to withdraw at the first sign of friction. Instead of building intimacy, they learn rapid rejection<\/strong>. One awkward joke, one small disappointment, and the gesture of dismissal comes almost mechanically: swipe left, delete, next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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