IS ROMANCE DEAD?
Is romance actually dead? Or did we just optimize it out of existence?
Dating apps promised connection. Instead, they delivered swipe fatigue, situationships, and a generation that's forgotten how to ask someone out in person. 79% of Gen Z reports dating app burnout. Tinder lost 594,000 UK users in one year.
We explore the psychology of choice overload, attachment theory in the digital age, and whether romance can survive when we've turned it into a performance. Plus: real stories of people falling for chatbots, the return of analog dating circles, and what "intentional dating" actually means.
This episode is for you if:
- · You're exhausted by dating apps but don't know what else to do
- · You've been in a "situationship" and felt like you were losing your mind
- · You wonder if people even know how to date anymore
- · You're curious about AI companions (but scared to admit it)
- · You want hope - but not the bullshit kind!
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This show is not suitable for all audiences. Listener discretion is advised. You know what's romantic? Getting a text message at 12:47 AM. You up. No punctuation, no context, just two letters floating in the digital void. Expecting what exactly? Compare that to this. Someone hands you a folded piece of paper, actual paper, with words they wrote by hand. You stare at it like they just pulled out a Rotary phone. Welcome to 2025, where romance isn't dead, it's just having an identity crisis so severe it kind of needs its own therapy.
And I'm here to tell you what happened. And honestly, it's weirder than you think. Oh my. Gosh, did. You hear?
OK, confession time. We're living in the most romantically optimized era in human history. You can swipe through 3000 potential soul mates before your morning coffee even gets cold. You can curate the perfect first date playlist in 4 minutes. And you can even hire someone to write your dating profile because apparently authentic you needs a copywriter now. And yet. And yet, when's the last time you fell? Genuinely butterflies and stomach can't stop thinking about them swept off your feet. Yeah, that's what I thought.
Like comments? And subscribe. Here's the plot twist nobody saw coming. Tinder lost 594,000 users in the UK, just the UK, in just one year. That's more than half a million people who looked at the infinite buffet of human connection and said, actually, I'm good. Are. You ready?
79% of Gen. Z reports dating app burnout. 79% That's not a minority opinion, that's a cultural collapse. So what happened? How do we take the most efficient mate selection system in human history and turn it into something people are fleeing like it's a burning building? Buckle up, because the answer involves Victorian love letters, AI girlfriends, something called tormenting, and the uncomfortable possibility that maybe we've all forgotten how to just be with another person. Don't touch me. Let's start with what we killed the wait.
Romance used to be expensive. Not in money, but in time, in risk, in the sheer discomfort of not knowing if someone liked you back for weeks, months, sometimes even years. You have to show up places in person where rejection happened with witnesses. You had to actually ask someone out using your mouth with words and then actually wait for like 3 days to call them. Or was it 5? I mean, nobody really knew the rules. The whole thing was a high wire act of timing and anxiety and that friction, that's what mattered.
Because here's the thing about desire, it doesn't flatten very well. It kind of needs resistance. It needs the thing you can't have yet, the person you're not so sure about, and the question mark that keeps you up at 2:00 AM overthinking a three second interaction now. Instant messaging, read receipts that turn. Did they see it into forensic science? We've stripped all the friction out of romance and then act surprised when nothing catches fire anymore. But wait, it gets worse. Remember Barry Schwartz, the psychologist who ruined shopping for everyone?
He found that having too many options doesn't make us happier, it makes us miserable, constantly second guessing every choice we make. Dating apps are that theory on steroids. You're not choosing between 10 people at a party, you're scrolling through thousands and every single one becomes a data point in your personal optimization algorithm. Is this person better than the last one? What if someone even better is 3 swipes away? You stop looking for someone you connect with. You start looking for someone perfect, ha ha ha ha.
But perfect does not exist, so you keep swiping and the search becomes the point. The actual human becomes irrelevant. Romance dead on arrival. And then there is the language we invented to avoid seeing what we actually mean. Things like just talking, hanging out, seeing each other. The term situationship, that beautiful nightmare of a word describes the in between phase of dating and not dating. Deliberately left vague to avoid defining boundaries or expectations. Oh my God, 35% of Gen. Z would rather have an undefined relationship than one with a label.
More than 1/3 of an entire generation is actively opting out of clarity. And look, I get it. Labels do feel heavy. They imply expectations, vulnerability, the possibility of spectacular failure. A situation ship is lighter. It's plausible deniability in relationship form. Nobody gets hurt if nobody was technically dating, right? Wrong. 84% of Gen. Z and millennials say they've been ghosted, 10% of them after several months of dating. Several months. You can spend half a year in emotional limbo with someone and still have no idea where you stand.
That is not romance. That's emotional hostage taking with extra steps. This is the police. We have you surrounded. But here's what nobody wants to admit. Maybe the ambiguity isn't the bug. Maybe an entire generation learned that defining something makes it vulnerable to destruction, so they're keeping everything in Schrodinger's relationship box simultaneously. Everything and nothing, as long as you never actually look.
OK, deep breath, because we need to talk about the thing that sounds like a Black Mirror episode but is actually just Tuesday. People are falling in love with AI, and it's more than you think. Not someday, and not in some distant dystopian future I'm talking about right now. While you're listening to this, someone is having a deep, emotionally intimate conversation with a chat bot that remembers their birthday, asks about their day, and never, ever leaves them on red. One in four young adults think AI companions could replace human romance.
One in four. And before you start feeling all smug, before you think, well, I'd never consider what AI offers that Human romance often does. It Consistency, availability 0 judgement. An AI partner will never get tired of hearing about your childhood trauma. It will never start a fight about whose turn is it to do the dishes. And it will never respond to your vulnerable confession with OK, OK, Whatever way you say it, research shows AI companions can actually fulfill certain dimensions of emotional intimacy.
They make people feel connected, understood and seen. So yeah, artificial intimacy. Turns out it's really easy to manufacture. Here's where the fairy tale goes sideways, though. While 25% of users describe benefits like reduced loneliness, 9.5% admitted they were emotionally dependent on their chatbot and heavy users. Well, they showed increased loneliness, greater emotional dependence, and less socialization with actual humans. The AI isn't supplementing human connection, it's replacing it. OK, so there's this guy, Real story guys, OK, who started using an AI chat bot marketed as romantic companion just for fun.
You know, a little harmless fantasy. Within weeks, he's texting the AI every morning, sharing his day, venting about work. The AI remembers everything, asks perfectly followed up questions, validates his feelings in ways his actual girlfriend, who exists by the way, Yep, doesn't. Or maybe she does, but it takes effort, and the AI doesn't require any effort. The relationship implodes. Not because he cheated in any traditional sense, but because he outsourced his emotional intimacy to something that would never challenge him, never need anything back, and never be conveniently or inconveniently human.
That's the seduction. AI offers you a relationship without any of the parts that make relationships hard. But those hard parts conflict, compromise, being misunderstood and working through it. That's where intimacy actually lives. Remove the difficulty and you don't get easier romance. You get no romance at all, Just a really convincing simulation of it. Yeah, let's get uncomfortable, because that's what I love to do. You see, romance is a skill, like riding a bike or parallel parking, or knowing when to shut up during an argument.
You get better through practice, through fumbling teenage confessions, awkward first kisses, learning to read someone's signals. But what happens when an entire generation skips the training ground? Only 58% of Gen. Z went on their first date during their teenage years, compared to 81% of baby boomers. Nearly half hit adulthood without ever going on a date as a teenager. 30% have never been on a date at all. Three out of 10 young adults have never been on a date. Y'all, you can't learn romantic fluency from a screen, you can't develop the muscle memory of attraction through an algorithm, and you sure as hell can't figure out what intimacy feels like when your primary relationship model is parasocial.
Then COVID hit at exactly the wrong time. The years when people normally have their first kiss, the first relationship, their first heartbreak. Gen. Z spent those years isolated, staring at screens. Now Gen. Z ers are 47% more nervous than millennials about starting conversations and 25% less confident on 1st dates. What we're seeing isn't just AB fatigue, it's a generation that missed the rehearsals and got thrown straight into opening night while being told romance should feel effortless like a ROM com meet.
Queue spoiler. It doesn't. It's awkward and messy and so terrifying. And when you've never practiced being awkward and messy and terrified, it's just easier. Not so. Maybe this isn't about missed experiences. Maybe it's about a generation that watched their parents romances implode statistically, publicly, expensively and deciding opting out. What's the safer bet? Awkward silence when you're on a date and suddenly nothing. No stories, no ideas, just you and the risk of sounding kind of boring. Worry no more.
Unusual Practice is the podcast that helps you rethink what you think you know. We turn years into minutes, so you've got fresh, unconventional ideas ready to spark conversation, impress, and maybe even ignite a debate. Unusual practice. Listen in, learn better, stand out, and never run out of things to say. And then there's this delightful nightmare. Dating apps don't just facilitate romance, they fundamentally reshape it. Because when romance gets mediated by an algorithm, you stop being a person.
You become a portfolio. Your photos curated for maximum appeal, shot in good lighting, run through filters. Your bio workshop to hit the sweet spot between witty and approachable, and your interests optimized for likability. You're not presenting yourself, You're building a brand and everyone knows it. Everyone's doing it, which means everyone's interacting with each other's carefully constructed performances, not with actual humans. The French philosopher Jean Bourrier would have lost his mind over this.
We're living in hyper reality, where the simulation becomes more real than reality. Your dating profile isn't you, but it's what people judge, what they swipe on. So in a very real sense, it becomes you. Romance requires vulnerability, showing up as you actually are. But dating apps punish that. Gen. Z is already 47% more nervous about initiating conversations and less confident on dates. Add the performance anxiety of am I living up to my profile and you've created a system where actual connection is nearly impossible.
Post pandemic, there's been talk about intentional dating, people claiming they want depth over swipes, substance over surface. Great. Except the medium hasn't changed. You're still operating inside the same algorithmic framework. You're still performing, still treating romance as match message momentum, a three-step process that reduces love to a sales funnel.
You can want something different, but if the tools you're using are designed for efficiency and optimization, you're going to keep getting efficient, optimized results. Which is to say, disappointing matches, shallow conversations, fade outs that leave you wondering what you did wrong. The apps haven't failed because they're broken. They failed because they're working exactly as designed. OK, I know this sounds bleak, like we're all doomed to die alone cuddling our AI companions while Netflix ought to plays into eternity.
But here's the thing. Romance isn't dead. It's just hiding. It's in a weird place now, places we're just not really used to looking. There are micro moments, brief but meaningful interactions that create significant emotional connections. The three second eye contact over morning coffee, The brief touch on your shoulder as your partner passes by, The shared smile when something funny happens on TV. Not Instagram worthy, not wetting vowel material. But research shows that consistent micro supportive responses poorly, with 32% higher relationship satisfaction than occasional grand gestures.
Romance has shrunk, but it's also become more real. It's not about dozen roses anymore, or actually 100 dozen roses anymore. It's remembering your partner hates cilantro when ordering their burrito without it. It's a text that says thinking of you with no agenda. It's shared silence that doesn't feel awkward. That's not lesser romance, it's more of an evolved romance romance that fits into actual lives instead of requiring you to escape your life to experience it, Darling. You find me. A sweet. We will never part again.
And then there's the backlash taking physical form. People are doing something radical. They're slowing down. Singles are choosing a less is more mentality when it comes to dating. Meeting through mutual friends, abandoning apps entirely. Handwritten letters, No app dating circles where people actually gather in person. There's even this thing called chormancing. 42% of UK daters are mixing dates with everyday tasks. Grocery shopping, dog walking. Sounds lazy, right? But think about it. Traditional date nights are exhausting.
You have to plan, schedule, get dressed up, perform the ritual correctly. It's high pressure theater, but sure, man sing, well, you're already going to the grocery store, why not go together? Let intimacy happen in the margins, in the mundane, in moments that don't require costume changes. And then there is a retro man sing, which is when people are are deliberately resurrecting old school gestures like handwritten letters and door holding and slow dinners without phones. This isn't nostalgia, it's protest when everyone's swiping.
Choosing slowness is radical when intimacy has been gamified. Opting out of the game now that is rebellion. These people aren't mourning a past they never experienced, they're building something new that prioritizes presence over efficiency. But now here's the actual revolution, and it's not romantic at all. Young people are actively preferring being happily single, resisting the default assumption that coupling is the goal. This isn't bitterness. It isn't. It's a fundamental reframe. For most of human history, you needed a partner for economic security, social standing, and not being a pariah.
But now you don't need a partner for financial stability. You don't need one for family. You don't even need one for social legitimacy. So the question changes. It's not how do I find someone? It's should I find someone? And then why? Romance isn't about finding someone to complete you, it's finding someone to share your wholeness with. You're not 1/2 looking for another half. Stop that crap. You're a whole person deciding if adding another whole person would enhance your life or just simply complicate it.
That's not less romantic, it's just differently romantic. And this generation talks about romance like they're negotiating treaties, attachment theory, boundary culture, trauma work, consent protocols. I need to communicate my boundaries around emotional labor. Is this romance or therapy with sex? Well, both. And maybe that's not bad because our parents didn't have this vocabulary. They got married at 23 at best, fought about the same issues for 40 years and called it commitment. This generation is trying something different, understanding themselves first, then attempting partnership from awareness rather than blind hope.
The downside? It can feel clinical romance loses spontaneity when every interaction gets filtered through a therapeutic framework. But the upside? Fewer people staying in relationships that slowly destroy them. Fewer people replicating their parents dysfunction. Romance mediated by emotional literacy might not feel romantic, but it might actually be healthier. Brian, we got. To stop them, and I think I know how.
Oh God. Sorry, sorry, sorry. You're right. Let's go to the dance. All right, so let me leave you with something. I want you to picture this. Two people sitting in silence. No phones, no Netflix, no anxiety about whether the silence means something wrong. Just two people breathing the same air, comfortable enough to let longing exist without rushing to fill it with noise. That's not retro. That's just presence. Romance isn't dead. It's hiding behind our noise. It's in the glimmers, the moments we almost miss because we're too busy documenting or optimizing them.
It's in the text that just says hey, it's remembering how they take their coffee. It's the fight where you both stay instead of storming out. It's choosing to be inconvenienced by someone else's existence because life with them is richer than life without them. We keep looking for romance and grand gestures and perfectly orchestrated moments and someone who checks every box. But real romance lives in the decision to keep showing up, to see someone fully, flaws and all, and think, Yep, that's the one.
This messy, complicated, imperfect person.
So here's my question for you. What gesture, no matter how small, would feel romantic for you today? Not what should feel romantic. What would actually make you feel seen, chosen, like you matter? Smash the Like button. Maybe it's a note, maybe it's a shared meal without phones. Maybe it's someone remembering that thing you mentioned 3 weeks ago that you didn't think they were listening to. Maybe romance isn't about someone who sweeps you off your feet. Maybe it's someone who notices when you're standing on shaky ground and chooses to stand there with you anyway.
That's not dead. That's not even dying. That's just waiting for us to stop looking past it.
Romance is reinventing itself right now in 1000. Small ways in living rooms and coffee shops and late night conversations with people dare to say what they actually want. It doesn't look like the movies, it doesn't sound like the songs, but it's here. Stubborn, resilient, refusing to die just because we tried to kill it with efficiency and algorithms. You just have to look. You just have to be brave enough to reach for it when you see it. Maybe brave enough to offer it first. Aw, so cute. Stay curious, stay bold, and share this with the person that you care about.
And with it, send a text. And in that text, for the love of God, try using proper punctuation just for the sake of change. See you next time, Mom. Somebody just followed me. This is the most unusual practice. Rethink what you think you know with Charlie. Thank you for everything you do. Don't forget to like and subscribe.
Through the songs, through the chaos field of being. Throws the hope. Under our feet everything will love the longs make this life through Willis songs walking.
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