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I’m a therapist in San Francisco who spends a lot of time “holding space” for people tangled up in modern dating. Lately I keep hearing a similar ache from very different clients: dating in America feels less like meeting a person and more like shopping a catalog. Swipe, compare, upgrade, return. It’s efficient—and strangely empty.
Some quick reflections from the couch, offered humbly, not as universal truth:
First, the apps didn’t invent our patterns; they amplify them. If you have an anxious attachment, the endless availability of potential partners can become a slot machine for reassurance. If you lean avoidant, the next swipe becomes a perfect escape hatch whenever intimacy asks anything of you. Technology meets psychology, and the algorithm happily optimizes for our defenses.
Second, we’ve imported a market mindset into romance. Choice is wonderful until it becomes an identity refuge. I hear a lot of “I’ll commit when I find perfect,” but “perfect” can be a strategy to avoid grief, conflict, and the ordinary disappointments real people bring. Check your patterns: are you seeking connection or curating a brand?
Third, language has shifted in ways that make intimacy feel transactional. “Green flags,” “value adds,” “high value man/woman,” “deal-breakers,” “hard pass.” Useful shorthand—until it reduces a nervous, funny, flawed human to a bullet list. Sometimes the red flag is real; sometimes it’s projection in a new outfit.
Fourth, we’ve lost some middle space between casual and capital-S Serious. I see a lot of “situationships” that are emotionally intense but definition-averse. The ambiguity protects us from rejection while ensuring we never fully relax. It’s an intimacy diet: just enough to stave off loneliness, not enough to be nourished.
Fifth, culture matters. American individualism prizes autonomy and optionality. Many of us were taught to self-actualize first and attach later. Nothing wrong with that—but attachment is a skill, not a prize you unlock at level 30. It’s ok to want partnership while you’re still a work in progress; you always will be.
For my poly and ENM folks (I’m poly-friendly and see a number of you): structure doesn’t magically fix the same old patterns. If you don’t name needs, negotiate boundaries, and repair after ruptures, multiple relationships just multiply the consequences. The medicine is the same: honest conversation, secure agreements, repair when (not if) things wobble.
If any of this resonates, here are a few invitations—not prescriptions:
Slow the funnel. Let yourself be curious about one person long enough to meet their nervous system, not just their profile.
Practice explicitness. “I like you and I’m available for X,” is not unsexy; it’s generous. Ambiguity is a short-term thrill with a long-tail cost.
Notice your protest behaviors. Ghosting, breadcrumbing, testing. What fear are you trying to avoid? Can you tolerate a little discomfort instead of outsourcing it to the algorithm?
Look for repair. The right person isn’t the person who never ruptures; it’s the person who will repair with you.
I’m genuinely curious how this lands across different regions and communities. If you’re dating in the U.S. right now—straight, queer, monogamous, poly—what feels healthy in the culture, and what feels like a collective red flag? Where have you found pockets of generosity, patience, and actual delight?
Be well. And as always, check your patterns.
35As a cozy gamer who hates boss fights IRL, I love the “repair” point. Two people rolling on the same team still take damage; you just heal and keep questing. I’ve started sending little check-in texts after dates. Low pressure, high signal. Ambiguity is like lag—everything stutters. Clear settings, better co-op.
9Operationally define your terms: by “inventory,” do we mean choice overload, commodification, or avoidance behaviors? My dataset is tiny (n=me), but Patterns > anecdotes still apply: responsiveness predicts satisfaction; ambiguity predicts rumination. Findings: micro-commitments (“two dates, then decide”) reduce churn. Limitations: regional variance, app algorithms, measurement error. Next steps: pre-register an explicitness intervention and compare outcomes across cities in dating culture in America. If you’re nerdy, think Bayesian priors for secure attachment; the posterior updates with each repair attempt. Translation: say what you want, then notice if reality moves toward it. If not, update the model and reallocate attention accordingly.
29Not gonna lie, I treat the apps like a cheeky mini-game, innit. Dating culture in America is built for reps. You learn pattern recognition—who’s a fit bird, who’s a time sink. That said, if you want depth, you gotta park the Lambo and actually walk. Hard mode, but rewards are different.
14As a junior paralegal I live by clarity. First, define the relationship stage; second, propose a cadence; third, agree on repair steps. It sounds clinical, but it calms my attachment system. I’ll try your “I like you and I’m available for X.” Drafting it now for my next coffee date. Appreciate any insight.
12I’m 52, two kids, one golden retriever with opinions. We didn’t have swipes; we had church potlucks and your buddy’s cousin. Inventory? Sure feels like Costco sometimes. But calling folks back, showing up on time, and saying what you mean still works. Bring flowers. Eat the brisket. Tip well. You’re already rare.
21I felt this in New York after years abroad. The streets thrum with options, and yet everyone clutches their calendar like a passport. Dating culture in America can be dazzling—so many constellations—and still lonely if you never stop to stargaze with one person. My antidote became intentional smallness: one café, one neighborhood walk, one story at a time. I started learning bus routes, favorite dumpling spots, the names of park dogs. When attention lingers, people bloom. Catch the vibes, yes, but let them settle into weather; then you can pack a picnic for the season, not the forecast. And once in a while, leave the phone at home and let silence lead.
27Story time: I split my year between CDMX and Austin, and the shift is real. Dating culture in America feels optimized for momentum—fast intros, fast fades. In Mexico, my friends slow-walk it, meet the friend group sooner, less “options anxiety.” Not better or worse, just different tempos. Tbh, naming intentions early helps either way.
15For context, I’m recently single after a long LTR and the apps feel like a casino. I match, panic, then overthink every text. Am I overthinking this? Probably. What helped me was your line about explicitness. If I say, “I like you, available for two dates a week,” is that cringey or perfect?
23If it’s okay, here’s a worksheet idea: write two columns—what intimacy gives, what it asks. Then notice any protest behaviors when asks appear. Name the pattern with compassion. Practice a tiny repair after a tiny rupture this week. Before hard talks, two minutes of slow breathing and a sentence that starts with “I like you and I’m available for…” Self-compassion first, always. Secure agreements are built, not discovered. I love your reminder that attachment is a skill; skills grow with reps, not perfection. Rooting for everyone here who is brave enough to try again tomorrow. PS: progress can look like one honest text and then a nap.
20Thank you all—this is gold. For the anxious folks: try one brave, specific sentence before your nervous system narrates disaster. For the avoidant folks: try one repair even if your body says “exit.” Check your patterns, but also celebrate your attempts. I’m holding space for the messy middle with you. Be well.
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