Your future is human: Decoding the next decade of dating

If you’re anything like me, you’ll remember this time with bemused nostalgia—an era when technologically-assisted dating still felt vaguely new, and meeting a stranger online held a sort of forbidden thrill. These days, everyone we know is on dating apps—and rather than becoming one channel among many, it’s now the dominant way people meet. But the way we use them—and the climate that creates—is changing. That’s why, for Feeld’s 10th anniversary—and their third collab with my newsletter, Pleasure-Seeking—they’ve asked me to look back at the last decade of dating culture: sharing 5 takeaways on what’s changed, and 5 predictions for what’s coming next.

1. Heteropessimism entered the frame.

In 2016, writer and academic Asa Seresin coined the term heteropessimism in a viral essay. In it, he wrote about how women’s performative disaffiliation with heterosexuality—the regret, embarrassment, and hopelessness often expressed about dating men, by people who continue to do it—had become increasingly fashionable, with chants that “heterosexuality is a prison” and “men are trash” serving as cope to protect oneself from romantic disappointment.

In the years since, this language of disaffiliation has only become more visible: as sexual culture critic Magdalene Taylor argued in 2024, men are not only complaining about women not sleeping with them, but divesting entirely from their desires and the need to forge relationships with the opposite sex. The reverse is also true for women—though it manifests differently—with the 4B movement and other forms of voluntary celibacy becoming increasingly common. For some, celibacy is a political statement; for others, it’s a way of expressing the belief that men simply aren’t worth the time (or worse, that being in a relationship with a man is “embarrassing.”)

Then there’s the other side of the aisle: the popularization of the “Sprinkle Sprinkle” method of hypergamy and tutorials for how to bag a “high-value man,” reflecting a blurred line between heterosexual dating and the norms commonly associated with sex work or sugar relationships. They may seem like polar opposites, but it makes sense that if you view relationships with men as largely unsatisfying and structurally unstable you’d turn to what they can provide—perceived financial stability—to compensate for the emotional lack.

But at the same time, we are witnessing a major shift in the economic conditions that underpin heterosexual dating. Women have dramatically outpaced men in college completion, the gender pay gap has narrowed among younger workers, and women are increasingly likely to be equal or primary earners in their relationships. Some argue—as Taylor did for the New York Times—that there’s never been a better time to be straight, citing factors like a decreasing pay gap, more parity in domestic labor, and more men than ever identifying as feminists. So what comes next?

I predict…

Economics will shift the power dynamics of heterosexual dating—but not necessarily in the straightforward way we might expect.

As women become more financially independent, we’ve been forced to confront the economic bargain embedded in heterosexuality. Women now have less of a material incentive to engage in heterosexual relationships, as men are less likely to automatically occupy the “provider” role. The question isn’t whether men are obsolete, as heteropessimist thinking might suggest—it’s what happens to heterosexual relationships when the old dynamics no longer function, and we’re forced to make room for new ways of relating and thinking about relationships?

I’m also curious about how this influences our sexual scripts—in particular, how satisfied heterosexual women are with the physical and emotional intimacy in their relationships. If men are no longer structurally expected to hold the economic power, will they be more likely to provide value in other ways, like doing housework, providing emotional support, or being good in bed? And if women have less economic reason to tolerate unsatisfying relationships, will they become more likely to advocate for what they want sexually, or to leave when they don’t get it?

This could go in multiple directions: the next generation of “girlbosses” could invest in pricey matchmaking services to find their life partners, or use their financial freedom to pursue less traditional arrangements, such as having children unpartnered or cohabitating with friends. Some women may feel more capable of advocating for themselves sexually because they have greater economic power, while others who still crave a more conventional provider dynamic will find its absence to be a turn-off. The question under the question is: What happens when the material reality changes faster than our sexual scripts?

2. Dating apps introduced a sense of abundance—and disposability.

By widening the pool of potential candidates while lowering the social cost of rejection, dating apps fundamentally changed the landscape of courtship. First, we were treated to a buffet of near-limitless options: so many profiles that we experienced a collective choice fatigue. This gave rise to a sense of disposability in dating: words like “ghosting” and “breadcrumbing” were minted to describe the array of none-too-flattering behaviors that accompanied it.

Amidst the resulting disillusionment, some are now turning to AI matchmakers. But I think the solution is more human intervention, not less. Technology cut out the middleman to “optimize” dating, but without the normal levels of social accountability—the friend who introduced you, the workplace you share—some people wind up devaluing their relationships. We’re also, in many cases, meeting out of context: two people sitting across from one another at a dinner table, with little variety in the actions that led them there.

In a Pioneer Works panel discussion I attended earlier this year, titled “Mating in the Metacrisis,” author and relationship therapist Esther Perel spoke about how dating now often happens outside of daily life, in a sterilized space that leaves little room for adventure. She suggested that, instead of waiting to introduce your prospective partner to your friends or community, you might bring them along on a night out—throwing them into the environment of your life, and seeing what happens.

Technology has made life largely frictionless, but as Perel points out, friction is an important part of connection.

I predict…

People will turn toward analog meet-cutes, mutual friends, shared tastes, and unconventional channels to restore a sense of interpersonal stakes to dating.

Fed up with a sense of disposability born of limitless options, people will be seeking new ways to restore intimacy and mutual investment. This could mean shelling out thousands for an upscale matchmaking service, or turning to platforms which manufacture scarcity by allowing you to chat with only one person at a time. Others will embrace apps like Feeld, where members share more openly about their sexual desires—making a connection feel more individualized, personal, and perhaps more likely to end in you actually getting laid. Some will go analog, reintroducing a sense of whimsy through old-school personal ads—or start reaching out to people through channels that aren’t strictly intended for dating, such as LinkedIn or Substack.

Just as online shopping stamped out brick-and-mortar retail, apps transformed the entire dating ecosystem, making us more reliant on digital platforms to find a prospective match. At first, what they offered was utopic, easier and more effective than meeting people in the wild. Now, many report feeling a sense of app fatigue. People want to release themselves back into said wild, but feel their social skills and community networks have atrophied from lack of use, making the prospect of “getting off the apps” feel as radical as quitting social media or disabling your Wi-Fi. We become reliant on new technologies—from Amazon to AI—before we fully recognize their effects; physical infrastructure shrinks from lack of use; and by the time our desires shift away from such tech, it feels harder than ever to quit.

In the coming years, I think that going analog will become a new status symbol, and “slow” dating, “human” dating, and IRL meet-cutes will become a badge of honor. In-person dating events are also on the rise, bridging the gap between organic connections and organized ones.  

The desire to restore humanity in dating points toward another change: technology is no longer just a tool for people to meet—it’s becoming increasingly central to the interaction itself...

3. Technology cut out the middleman—then it became the middleman, with AI increasingly mediating our relationships.

10 years ago, AI was in a fledgling phase: we were just seeing the popularization of voice assistants like Siri and Alexa, and the launch of VR technologies like the Oculus. Now, it’s unquestionably embedded in our love lives—not just as a tool to connect us in-person, but at every stage of the courtship process, from helping draft a DM slide to proofreading your breakup text. I’m not saying it’s right—in fact, I’d advise against it—but I can’t tell you how many people feed their communications with their situationship through ChatGPT before sending, to ensure they were being reasonable and clearly communicating their needs.

But sometimes, the opposite is much more endearing. For instance, the other day, I received a text from someone that was so neurotic—well-intentioned but clearly completely unnecessary in its scope and content—that, upon reading it, my friend laughed and said, “It’s good to know that not everyone has ChatGPT editing their messages, because AI would never tell them to send this.”

I predict…

In an era of AI, we’ll celebrate idiosyncrasies as proof of humanity—whether that’s a typo in an article, or the under-eye bags that differentiate a real person from the AI-generated model. I also think the value of in-person interactions will go up, with more emphasis placed on ways of relating that can’t be faked. 

AI isn’t the only technology changing the way we experience desire. The technologies we use to alter our bodies are changing the relationship between being desired and actually feeling desire…

4. The rise of GLP-1s has shifted the beauty standard—and our relationship to our own desires.

By this point, you probably know that Ozempic doesn’t just impact your appearance; it may also impact your sex drive, fundamentally shifting how you experience desire internally. I know the drug is useful for countless people, but this side effect illuminates something dystopian about the choice between desire as a felt, lived experience and being seen as desirable by others—a sort of Faustian bargain that begs the question: Is it better to desire or be desired?

I also think this will have a direct effect on people’s connections. A swift change in physical appearance could force a re-evaluation of your current relationship and the attractiveness of your partner. Paired with an altered drive toward sex, it seems more than likely that we’ll see people rethinking their romantic and sexual dynamics.

I predict…

A rise in Ozempic-related breakups, and an increasingly politicized relationship to pleasure. With so many options to regulate our appetites, our communications, and our love lives, openly embracing your desire—for food, for sex, for other people—becomes a radical statement.

5. As Dan Savage put it during Perel’s Pioneer Works discussion, “The straights are getting gayer, and the gays are getting straighter.”

Feeld has been building new infrastructure to support this, from the Constellations feature—designed to represent different models of partnership—to Reflections, which leads the member on a self-directed journey to discover their own desires.

As kink, polyamory, and more diverse forms of erotic expression are increasingly recognized by the mainstream, there’s an interesting interplay between what was once subcultural and what is now more accepted. At the same time, we are—in a broad sense—reevaluating what we’re being prescribed. In the era of AI and Ozempic, we’re suspicious of optimized communication and optimized desirability. As technology injects artificiality into more aspects of intimacy, it makes sense that people might become more interested in forms of desire and relationships that actually fit the human individual rather than conforming to a one-size-fits-all prescribed script.

After a decade of rapid technological change—of optimization that, in some cases, delivered us worse outcomes—we’re more skeptical than ever of the ways we’re encouraged to manage, express, and categorize our desires. When presented with something irresistible—like a Rolodex of hot singles in our area, or a chatbot with the entirety of human knowledge at its fingertips—it’s understandable that people would become accustomed to ease, eschewing the kind of positive friction that forces discomfort (and therefore, growth) in favor of smooth, tech-centric sailing. It’s human nature to go toward pleasure and avoid pain. But faced with the aftermath of optimization, I think we’ll see a renewed emphasis on authenticity and personal choice.

I predict…

Relationships will become more self-defined, with less focus on convention, optimization, and following prescribed norms.

The dating apps of 2016 promised instant validation: a gamified interface where you could vet potential candidates, without the sting of romantic rejection. But a decade later, technology is no longer just helping us meet each other—it’s mediating how we communicate, desire, and relate. 

History reveals that, once a technology goes mainstream, it’s hard to walk it back. But in this brave new world, we still have choices—including how, and when, we utilize these tools. “Think of technology as a lubricant,” says Feeld's digital intimacy historian Noelle Perdue. “Maybe it introduces you to someone you might not have met otherwise, or creates the safety net needed to vocalize desires with honesty.” What we should not do is use technology as a replacement for human connection. Because if over-optimization has taught us anything, it’s that the risk inherent to love is what makes it rewarding, and our efforts to streamline the process of courtship often disturb the delicate ecosystem of how humans relate to one another. So go forth, find your connection, and shoot your shot. We’re all imperfect, and no one really wants ChatGPT in the bedroom anyway. 

Curious about exploring honest, hot, human connections? Find your future on Feeld.