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| Olivia says she chose to attend this dating event because she has “app fatigue” |
Checking in at a dating event in a Guildford bar, Olivia Miller-Davis, 28, feels the familiar flutter of nerves. Even with a friend by her side, the opening moments carry an awkward charge common to any room full of strangers hoping for connection. “It’s always nerve-wracking when you’re meeting new people,” she admits. Soon she downloads an app that matches attendees based on star signs—an icebreaker more than a serious cosmic claim. This is speed dating, 2026 edition: structured, social, and deliberately offline.
Olivia is here because she is tired of “endlessly swiping.” Like a growing number of singles, she describes classic “app fatigue.” Judging people from a handful of photos and a short bio feels incomplete. “I don’t feel I can really fully commit with so little to go on,” she says. Her first match of the evening, Edward, shares the frustration.
“I’m fed up with apps,” he explains. “They’re designed so that you don’t find ‘the one,’ because they want you to come back and use the app forever. They don’t want you to get married from the app.”
That suspicion is widespread. Dating apps generate revenue by keeping users engaged—swiping, messaging, subscribing—rather than by successfully matching them into lasting relationships that take them off the platforms. The result, for many, is a cycle of matches that fizzle into “chat graveyards,” ghosting, and emotional exhaustion.
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| Edward believes apps are designed so you don’t actually find the one |
The Data Behind the Fatigue
UK regulator Ofcom’s figures show that around one in ten adults use dating services, yet time spent on them has declined. Peak monthly usage approached four hours in 2023 before falling toward three hours more recently. Tinder, Bumble and others have shed users in the UK, with younger cohorts especially restless. Across the Atlantic and beyond, surveys paint a consistent picture: Forbes Health polling found roughly 78–80% of dating-app users report burnout sometimes, often or always, with millennials and Gen Z at the higher end and women slightly more affected than men. The top drivers include inability to form genuine connections, disappointment and rejection, repetitive conversations, and the sheer time sunk into swiping.
Industry numbers reinforce the trend. Major platforms have seen paying-user declines, revenue pressure and, in Bumble’s case, a dramatic drop in valuation leading to a take-private deal. Match Group (owner of Tinder and Hinge) has faced similar headwinds, even as Hinge has sometimes bucked the pattern.
Meanwhile, Eventbrite data shows singles and dating events roughly doubling between 2022 and 2025 in some markets, with sharp rises in attendance for speed dating, hobby-based mixers, game nights and athletic events. “Meet-cute” themed gatherings have surged. In short, the offline alternative is no longer niche.
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| Dating events provide a better on investment than apps, says Candice Gallagher |
Why In-Person Feels Different
The shift is not pure nostalgia. Hybrid work and remote routines after Covid reduced the everyday “meet-cutes” that once happened in offices, on trains or in local bars. Lissy Cleminson, director of events at Love at First Sign—the company running the Guildford night—puts it bluntly: “The little meet-cutes don’t happen so much when you’re at home with your shirt up top and your pyjamas down bottom.”
At these events the social contract is clearer.
Everyone present has chosen to be single and open to meeting people. Conversations start with less suspicion about motives or authenticity.
Body language, tone, humour and presence become available immediately—information that text and curated profiles strip away. Research on communication consistently shows that nonverbal cues carry the bulk of emotional meaning; profiles deliver almost none of that.
Candice Gallagher, who runs the social account @Candilicious and recently attended ten different dating events in ten weeks, frames it in entrepreneurial terms. Online dating often yields low “return on investment.” “At a dating event, everyone is single, everyone’s ready to mingle, and your chances of having a good conversation are much greater.” Many attendees echo the value-for-money point: a ticket comparable to the cost of one app-generated date can yield multiple face-to-face interactions in a single evening.
Love at First Sign uses astrology-based matching via an app as a light-hearted prompt rather than a rigid filter. Most people treat the star-sign angle as conversation fuel. The format mixes optional short rounds with free mingling, lowering the pressure of pure speed-dating while still guaranteeing structure. Similar events—running clubs for singles, pottery nights, supper clubs, comedy dating shows—have proliferated, often documented and reviewed on TikTok and Instagram under hashtags like #SingleTok and #Singlelife.
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| Many people are at the event in Guildford agreed dating event were better value for money |
Broader Cultural and Psychological Context
App fatigue sits inside a larger conversation about loneliness, attention economies and the quality of modern connection. Paradox of choice is real: endless options can reduce satisfaction and increase second-guessing. Algorithms optimised for engagement rather than compatibility amplify the problem. Users report feeling objectified, performing for likes, or cycling through the same shallow openers. Some delete apps only to reinstall them weeks later, caught in a loop of hope and disappointment.
Yet the offline revival is not frictionless.
Approaching strangers requires social skills that years of mediated interaction can dull. Safety concerns remain, though many organisers emphasise vetted venues, clear codes of conduct and the transparency of a public setting.
Not every event produces romance; some simply expand social circles or rebuild confidence. Success stories exist—couples who met at these nights, including at least one reported engagement from Love at First Sign events—but they are not guaranteed.
Dating apps themselves are adapting. Tinder and others have added or expanded IRL events tabs, partnerships with local organisers, and features meant to bridge digital discovery with physical meetings. Matchmaking services that rely more heavily on human judgment have also reported growth. The market is evolving toward hybrid models rather than pure digital or pure offline.
A More Intentional Era?
What is emerging looks less like a total rejection of technology and more like a recalibration. People still value the reach and convenience of apps, especially in large cities or for specific demographics. But the emotional and temporal cost has become clearer, and many are willing to pay—with time, a ticket price, and a degree of vulnerability—for higher-quality first impressions.
Olivia’s evening in Guildford illustrates the appeal: real people in a real room, shared purpose, and the chance to decide quickly whether chemistry exists. Edward’s critique of the business model resonates because it names a structural tension many users feel. Candice’s “return on investment” language captures the practical calculus. And organisers like Cleminson are responding to structural changes in how adults work and socialise.
Whether this trend deepens into a lasting preference or settles into a healthy complement to apps remains open. For now, a noticeable cohort of singles is voting with their feet—leaving the endless scroll for bars, community halls and themed nights where the only algorithm that matters is human intuition. In an age of optimised attention, that choice itself feels radical.
Samuel O. Sulaimon is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of Naijapiz. He covers Global, News, Sports, Finance, Faiths, Education, Politics and Technology.
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