Why Is Dating So Terrible Right Now?

The Age of Leverage

“Why is dating so terrible right now?” someone asked online. The answers came fast — too fast. “Because everyone’s playing games.” “Because nobody wants to commit.” “Because it’s all about money.” But the one that stuck was this:

“Because nobody wants love anymore. They want leverage.”

That’s it. That’s the truth everyone keeps circling but never wants to name.
Modern dating isn’t about connection — it’s about control. It’s about who texts first, who waits longest, who cares less, who wins. We’ve turned love into a chess game, not a sanctuary.

People swipe through humans like inventory, chasing validation instead of value. Every interaction is filtered through fear: “What if I’m too available?” “What if they lose interest?” “What if they want something from me?” The irony is that by protecting ourselves from heartbreak, we’ve killed intimacy itself.

We don’t date to know someone anymore; we date to negotiate with them.
We don’t fall in love; we trade emotional currency.
It’s not, “I care about you.” It’s, “What do I get for caring about you?”

And that’s the thing about leverage — it feels powerful but hollow. It wins arguments but loses hearts. The more we try to control love, the less love remains to control.

Because real love — the kind that changes you — can’t survive in an economy of manipulation. It thrives in vulnerability, not strategy. And right now, most people are too busy calculating to feel anything at all.

The Transactional Trap

Let’s talk about men for a second — not as villains or victims, but as human beings caught in this exhausting game.

Most men today are tired. Not of women, but of transactions disguised as relationships. They’re tired of affection that has to be bought. Of dates that feel like invoices. Of being told that love is conditional upon performance — how much they earn, where they take her, what they can provide.

It’s not that men don’t want to give — many are natural providers. But provision without connection is emptiness dressed as purpose. They’re tired of being disrespected by women who show no genuine care or emotional investment, only entitlement masked as empowerment.

You can feel it in conversations everywhere: men withdrawing, women complaining about emotional unavailability — both sides bleeding from the same wound. Because underneath all the bravado and resentment, there’s the same quiet ache — I just want to be loved for who I am.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: we built this. Society trained men to measure worth by their wallets and women to measure love by benefits. So when everyone enters dating expecting an exchange, nobody leaves with connection.

And what’s left? Two people pretending to care, both waiting for the other to prove they’re worth the risk. Two people playing safe until the relationship dies of emotional starvation.

Love doesn’t work like that. You can’t buy loyalty with dinners. You can’t build trust on conditions. You can’t call something mutual if everyone’s keeping score.

Validation Over Value

The attention economy destroyed romance.

It used to be that love was about finding one person who made you feel seen. Now it’s about how many people see you.
Likes replaced longing. DMs replaced devotion.
We curate our desirability, post our best angles, and sell our identities for digital applause — but when the screens go dark, we’re lonelier than ever.

People swipe through humans like shopping carts, searching for the next dopamine hit.
He’s chasing clout.
She’s chasing attention.
Nobody’s chasing truth.

In this world, love has to compete with distraction. Vulnerability has to fight for engagement. You can’t trend for being kind, and you don’t go viral for being loyal. The system rewards spectacle, not sincerity.

That’s why real connection feels so rare — because it demands something that algorithms can’t replicate: presence.

We’ve mistaken exposure for intimacy. We think knowing someone’s favorite song or seeing their morning coffee online means closeness. But it’s surface-level connection — the illusion of knowing someone while remaining strangers underneath.

This is the generation that knows everything about everyone yet understands no one.
We crave affection but fear depth.
We share everything and reveal nothing.

And so love, the most human thing of all, has become another consumable product — a fleeting high in a market of endless distraction.

The Fear of Caring More

Somebody once said, “The power in relationships lies with whoever cares less.”
And it’s true — in this era, detachment is currency. Caring is seen as weakness.

So people act “unbothered,” “cold,” and “independent” — not because they don’t want love, but because they’re terrified of losing it.
They’ve been hurt, ghosted, cheated, left on read. So they armor up. They talk about “vibes” and “boundaries” and “not forcing anything,” but beneath that language is fear — the fear of being the one who cares more.

The feminine plays games to test worth.
The masculine plays games to hide weakness.
Both sides are lying. Both sides are hurting.

Everyone wants safety, but no one wants to be the first to give it.
Everyone wants honesty, but no one wants to risk it.

And in that silence between pride and vulnerability, relationships die quietly — not from lack of love, but from lack of courage.

Because here’s the truth:
You can’t build loyalty on lust.
You can’t build trust on trauma.
You can’t build peace with people addicted to chaos.

Real love doesn’t come when you master indifference. It comes when you surrender control. When you say, “I care, even if you don’t.” When you show up even when it’s uncomfortable. When you risk being the one who cares more.

That’s not weakness. That’s bravery.

Relearning How to Love

The truth is, relationships aren’t broken. People are.
And broken people build walls instead of bridges, demand perfection instead of grace, perform instead of communicate.

But it doesn’t have to stay that way.
Because love — real, mature love — still exists. It’s just quieter now. It doesn’t live on apps or filters. It lives in people who are willing to show up.

Relationships should be 60/40 — with both people trying to be the 60.
Sometimes, all you need to do is listen.
Sometimes, all you need to do is talk.
You can’t do both at once and expect things to work.

No sensible, mature human being destroys a good relationship for no reason.
You offend? You apologize.
You don’t like something? You talk.
You’re angry? You talk.
You need something? You talk.

You’re not in a mind-reading competition.
You don’t understand? You ask.
You feel tension? You listen.
You mess up, even slightly? Bring it up. Own it. Make it right.

Trust as much as you can.
And within yourself, make sure you’re not dishing what you wouldn’t want served to you.

That’s the foundation — not games, not leverage, but simple human decency.

Love doesn’t require perfection. It requires presence. It’s about giving effort even when you’re tired, listening even when you disagree, choosing peace even when your pride is louder.

The End of Games

At the heart of it all, we’re not craving control — we’re craving connection. We’re just too afraid to admit it.

Every meme about “staying toxic” or “being unbothered” hides a person who once cared too much and got burned. Every “I don’t need anyone” hides a history of disappointment.

But the answer isn’t more detachment — it’s more humanity.

The modern world sells us independence as the highest virtue. And yes, independence is beautiful — but not when it isolates. The real power is interdependence: two people choosing each other freely, not out of need, but out of mutual care.

We keep saying “dating is dead.” But love isn’t dead — it’s just buried under fear, pride, and performance.
It’s waiting for people brave enough to be honest again.

Because at the end of the day, leverage doesn’t hold you at night.
Pride doesn’t listen when you’re breaking.
And control never made anyone feel safe.

Love did.
Love still does.
And love — real, unfiltered, vulnerable love — is still the only revolution that matters.