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Article
Introduction
Love and intimate relationships have emerged as important
ideals of (late) modern societies, despite the fact that the
association of love with long-term relationships and sexual-
ity is not universal but socially constructed (Giddens, 1992)
and rooted in modern capitalism (Illouz, 2007). In late
modernity, as argued by Bauman (2005), meaningful work-
based identities are undermined by job insecurity and the
uncertainties of the labor market. As a consequence, as noted
by Bauman and also Schulze (1992), most people seek to
accomplish their individual project of a meaningful life in
the private sphere, more specifically, by building consump-
tion-driven identities. Others, in turn, have emphasized the
role of intimate relationships in the personal quest for happi-
ness (Giddens, 1992) and personal well-being (Rövid et al.,
2021). The third point of view combines the previous two by
stating that the individual quest for happiness in intimate
relations is intertwined with the logic of consumerism.
According to Illouz (2007), in the era of “emotional capital-
ism,” emotions and intimate relationships have been com-
modified and obey the logic of consumerism. With the rise of
the romantic ethic (Campbell, 1987) and the modern concept
of romantic love as a product of capitalism and consumerism
(Illouz, 1997), love has increasingly come to be seen as a
means to finding happiness in the modern age.
Late modernity has seen the emergence of novel forms of
dating. Online dating platforms expose the new ambiguities
and difficulties of intimate relationships. Illouz (2007,
Chapter 3) interprets online dating as leading to a transfor-
mation of romantic encounters into economic transactions.
According to this view, people have to promote themselves
as products, by creating a personal brand to make themselves
desirable to and “consumable” by others to be able to “con-
sume” them in turn. These are signs of the instrumentaliza-
tion of partner selection and of “cold intimacies.” According
to the theory of cold intimacies, users of online dating ser-
vices, who are confronted with an almost unlimited pool of
potential partners on the dating market, develop a preference
for casual relationships at the expense of committed bonds,
because they cannot free themselves from the belief that
1216922SMSXXX10.1177/20563051231216922Social Media <span class="symbol" cstyle="Mathematical">+</span> SocietyBerger
research-article20232023
University of Pécs, Hungary
Corresponding Author:
Viktor Berger, Department of Sociology, Faculty of Humanities and Social
Sciences, University of Pécs, Ifjúság útja 6, 7624 Pécs, Hungary.
Email: berger.viktor@pte.hu
Mediatized Love: A Materialist
Phenomenology of Tinder
Viktor Berger
Abstract
The article scrutinizes the mediatization of dating and love as part of a broader mediatization process of the life-world,
with a focus on the experience of using the popular dating app Tinder. Central to the analysis is how interfacial features,
algorithmic structuration, and user perceptions create the affordances of the application and, in the process, shape the
experience of using it. The experience of using Tinder is characterized by a “swipe logic,” marked by speediness, visuality,
and (self-)objectification, but also by the prevalence of cynicism and boredom on the platform. Under these circumstances,
users of Tinder are confronted with new challenges, and to tackle these, they make use of their life-world knowledge as
well as creating novel forms of knowledge. While using Tinder, they apply and modify their life-world stock of knowledge.
Tinder as a tool of online dating is marked by the duality of reflectivity versus impulsive affectivity, superficiality versus depth,
and instrumentality versus striving for relations thought of as authentic. All in all, the mediatization of partner selection is
interpreted as a special form of the colonization of the life-world.
Keywords
online dating, Tinder, phenomenology, life-world, visual regime, late modernity
2 Social Media + Society
there is always someone better, a better “product” to be “con-
sumed.” They often aim for people “out of their league”
without any inclination to make compromises, which makes
it even harder for them to find a partner with whom they
would be willing to settle down (Fáber, 2019; Illouz, 2007, p.
104; van Hooff, 2020, p. 123). This consumerist tendency in
partner selection, a persistent feature since the onset of online
dating websites, is even more heightened in dating apps such
as Tinder, Grindr, Happn, or Bumble, which reinforce the
role of visuality in “scopic capitalism” (Illouz, 2019). As
Illouz (2019, p. 23) puts it, services like these “turn the sub-
ject into a consumer of sex and emotions, entitled to the right
to use or dispose of the commodity at will.” Nevertheless, as
Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (1990) have argued, the growing
contingency of intimate relationships does not lead to the
rejection of love but to its even heightened significance for
individuals and a shift in how it is conceptualized and prac-
ticed. Similarly, Giddens (1992, Chapter 4) highlighted a
transformation away from the traditional ideal of romantic
love (supposed to last “until death do us part”) to that of the
“pure relationship,” which ought to rely on mutual commit-
ment and emotional engagement, lasting only as long as
these emotions are maintained (whether in marriages, domes-
tic partnerships, relations among people living apart together,
or in any other form).
This article focuses on Tinder, the most popular dating
application worldwide.1 Drawing on a critical and theoretical
analysis of previous scholarship on the app, it examines how
specific objective and material structures solicit certain
experiences on the part of Tinder users. The main goal of the
article is to interpret how online daters’ processes of sense-
making emerge in a dynamic relation between everyday
actors, app features, algorithms, and affordances, as well as
corporate strategies. Due to Beck and Beck-Gernsheim’s and
Giddens’s comments on the still-continuing importance of
long-term relationships, the article gives special attention to
the conditions and possibilities of finding a long-term love
relationship under the circumstances of online dating (with-
out denying the legitimacy of other motivations per se). The
article claims that online daters’ typical motivations, atti-
tudes, and behavioral patterns—as well as their strategies of
self-representation and attempts to interpret those of oth-
ers—do not simply arise from their own reasoning, but are
embedded in a broader sociotechnical context. This calls for
a theoretical framework capable of interpreting actors’
behavior, attitudes, and sense-making in light of their situat-
edness within broader material structures. The materialist
phenomenological approach, proposed by Couldry and Hepp
(2017), is suitable for this task. Materialist phenomenology,
as understood here, draws on classical phenomenological
theory, but, in contrast with these classical approaches, gives
more prominence to social and material structures and the
conditions in which actors are dynamically embedded. This
is not to say that the role of objective circumstances is
entirely missing from classical accounts. According to Alfred
Schutz (1962), founder of phenomenological sociology, the
social sciences ought to interpret social action by construct-
ing abstract scientific models of actors embedded in a spe-
cific social world (see also Havrancsik, 2018). A
phenomenological interpretation, therefore, includes the
construction of models of actors driven by typical motives,
carrying out typical actions in typical social settings. While
this article’s approach is loosely based on the Schutzian
method—in that it aims to identify typical structural circum-
stances and users’ typical attitudes, motivations, and
actions—it also departs from Schutz in two ways. First, it
gives greater prominence to material and social structures
and to their influence on actors’ experiences than Schutz’s
approach. Second, this article preserves these typical aspects
in their multiplicity, rather than tying them together to con-
struct a single ideal-typical figure of “the” Tinder user (as
Schutz, 1964a, did for the stranger).
This article draws on previous scholarship on Tinder, but
not on any genuine empirical study. While a (materialist)
phenomenological inquiry certainly can involve empirical
work, it does not necessarily have to, since its aim is to con-
struct actors’ typical motives and actions in typical configu-
rations (Schutz, 1962). As far as previous studies provide
clues (albeit decontextualized ones) for discerning Tinder
users’ typical external circumstances, motivations, and
actions, they may inform a phenomenologically oriented
interpretation, despite having different research questions,
conceptualizations, and theoretical backgrounds.2 On the
upside, drawing on a wide selection of research means being
able to cover a broader range of findings than any sole study
could provide.
To offer a materialist phenomenological assessment of the
Tinder experience, this article will thus first delineate the
social context, including the relevant and typical aspects for
Tinder users. The broader context affecting their experiences
includes the mediatization of everyday life (Couldry & Hepp,
2017), the transformation of online dating in the 2010s, the
interfacial features of the Tinder app, and the growing power
of algorithms working behind the visual interface. The next
chapter will analyze how these objective and material struc-
tures feed into user experiences, and argues that this can be
accomplished by unearthing the (imagined) affordances of
the platform. This is due to the fact that structural mecha-
nisms, interfacial features, and algorithms do not have a
structuring power on their own, but rely on users’ percep-
tions to unfold. The imagined affordances of the application,
as user-generated responses to external circumstances,
include the dominance of visuality (the “swipe logic;” David
& Cambre, 2016), ghosting (Narr & Luong, 2023), perceiv-
ing the app’s algorithm as manipulatory, and the fostering of
addictive behavior (Narr, 2022b). The subsequent chapter
will examine if, how, and to what extent users are able to
reflect on or resist certain negative tendencies inherent on
Tinder. By relying on Habermas’s (1984, 1987) conception
of the life-world, special attention will be given to the
Berger 3
specific life-world resources that are available to actors for
these purposes. The subsequent section will argue that
research findings point toward inherent and fundamental
dualisms in the experience of users: superficiality and depth,
reflectivity and visceral affectivity, as well as instrumental
attitudes and striving for committed relations perceived as
genuine. The final chapter draws a number of conclusions in
the context of the mediatization and colonization of the life-
world and interprets the mediatization of dating as a complex
and ambivalence process.
Mediatization of the Life-World and
the Power of Algorithms on Tinder
If online daters, and Tinder users specifically, are to be inter-
preted typically, the first necessary step is to outline the
sociotechnical and material context of online dating. In this
regard, the mediatization of everyday life is highly relevant.
However, to include these novel processes into phenomeno-
logical investigation, a materialist phenomenological
approach must be taken. The primary question from a phe-
nomenological viewpoint is how actors construct knowl-
edge that enables them to ascribe meaning and order to
social actions and, more generally, to social reality. Classic
phenomenological theories—even when they take some ele-
ments of the social environment into consideration—attri-
bute the meaningful construction of reality essentially to the
activities of pragmatic individuals and their face-to-face
interactions (Schutz & Luckmann, 1973). In light of media’s
growing importance in human actors’ processes of sense-
making, such a view is rather reductive. The significance of
media highlights the need to move from conventional phe-
nomenological theory to a materialist phenomenology that
allows for a joint analysis of human sense-making, as well
as media technologies and infrastructure (Couldry & Hepp,
2017, pp. 5–7; Hepp, 2019, p. 10). The concept of mediati-
zation refers to the role of media and Information and
Communication Technologies (ICTs) in processes of socio-
cultural change, and to their growing importance for various
social spheres and everyday life structures and interactions
(Couldry & Hepp, 2013, p. 197). There are far-reaching
implications of the mediatization of the life-world. Media
are not neutral, and the growing reliance of communication
on media, ICT, and various tools and apps has an effect on
actors’ knowledge, interactional styles, structures, and
content.
Mediatization in the present,3 broadly speaking, refers to
the growing significance of online dating sites and applica-
tions in partner selection, as highlighted by various studies
(Newett et al., 2018, p. 353; Rosenfeld, 2018; Rosenfeld
et al., 2019; Rosenfeld & Thomas, 2012). The internet has
gradually become the most important factor in establishing
intimate relationships in the United States, displacing tradi-
tional matchmaking institutions and mediators such as
friends, educational institutions, workplace, church, and
family (Rosenfeld et al., 2019, pp. 13, 15; Rosenfeld &
Thomas, 2012, p. 530). However, the recent mediatization of
dating is more than that, since online dating today is embed-
ded in what Zuboff (2019) has called surveillance capitalism.
According to this view, corporate providers of online plat-
forms and solutions aim to exploit users to maximize their
profits by collecting and analyzing as much user data as pos-
sible (cf. Narr, 2022b, p. 5343). The rise of surveillance capi-
talism in the context of online dating signals a shift: While in
the 2000s, the landscape of online dating was dominated by
websites such as OkCupid or match.com accessible through
PCs, the 2010s saw the rise of dating apps primarily used on
touchscreen phones. This shift has had profound conse-
quences. As they can be used in various locations, smart-
phones and their applications cultivate different data (passive,
ubiquitous, and habitual) than websites (deliberate and cir-
cumscribed in terms of time and space), which leads to dif-
ferent data cultures (Albury et al., 2017, pp. 3–4). In this new
environment, users are enticed to become habituated to their
apps to generate an abundance of various types of data for
companies to collect and analyze. With the advent of geo-
located applications on touchscreen phones, the possibilities
of gathering data have multiplied (Albury et al., 2017; Narr,
2022b).
By, first, creating pleasant, stimulating, exciting, immer-
sive, or “fun” interfaces, and, second, employing specific
algorithms, the profit-oriented providers of online platforms
and services lure users into regular app use to extract data
from them. As for Tinder, its usage and interfacial features
are well known: After registering, signing in, creating their
profile, and uploading their pictures, users can view each
other’s profile cards and swipe left or right. A left swipe
implies dislike and a right swipe indicates interest. Having
mutually liked each other’s profiles, users get connected and
can start to chat. Profile cards are dominated by pictures
rather than textual information, and there is no possibility to
apply fine-grained filters, only age, geographical distance,
and preferred gender. The sequence of profile cards and sim-
ple yes or no questions is designed to make Tindering a
seamless and gamified experience (Grigoriadis, 2014).
However, there is secrecy regarding what actually happens
beneath the user interface, since contemporary dating com-
panies only give hints, but do not reveal how their algorithms
actually work.
Algorithms—understood as formalized models of a series
of computational operations—are an integral part of this pro-
cess. They are at work wherever digital data generated by
users need to be processed, sorted, and analyzed to make
automated decisions, to aid human decision-making (Ságvári,
2017, p. 64), and, finally, to make a profit (Narr, 2022b). In
fact, algorithms are everywhere: from medicine to crime pre-
vention, risk assessment, traffic control, governance, the
economy, and online search suggestions (Peeters &
Schuilenburg, 2021), to generating playlists and recommen-
dations on music streaming platforms (cf. Barna, 2017) or
4 Social Media + Society
curating social media feeds (Hogan, 2010). Algorithms
structure what information is available (and in what order)
for users to perceive and interpret. In this way, they structure
social interactions, but without human actors being (fully)
aware of this.
One of the most important questions regarding the prin-
ciples of Tinder’s algorithm is how and in what order the app
displays profile propositions to its users. The algorithms of
dating apps such as Tinder work in a different way than those
of dating websites in the 2000s and early 2010s. As Narr
(2022b, p. 5341) has highlighted, “Popular dating web-
sites—such as OkCupid.com, Match.com, and eHarmony—
recommend users according to algorithms ostensibly
designed to make good matches from questions users delib-
erately answer for that purpose.” In the case of OkCupid, it
was a “match percentage algorithm” that helped users to
select promising profiles and to overcome information over-
load. The working principles and intentions of Tinder’s algo-
rithm are, however, much more opaque. While users may
specify their preferences regarding age, gender, and geo-
graphical distance, the free version of the application does
not display the profiles of all potential partners correspond-
ing to these criteria. David and Cambre (2016, p. 5) have
demonstrated experimentally that the app proposes only a
limited number of profiles to non-paying users, which are
selected and ordered according to the platform’s algorithm. It
is fair to assume that the algorithm determines whose pro-
files users see, at what time, in what order and, consequently,
who gets to match with whom (Courtois & Timmermans,
2018, p. 7), but how exactly is unclear. By way of the experi-
ence sampling method, Courtois and Timmermans (2018)
have been able to infer some basic properties of Tinder’s
algorithm. While dating websites’ algorithms were designed
to provide good matches for online daters (Narr, 2022b, p.
5341), Courtois and Timmermans stress that, for Tinder, user
matches and interesting profiles are valuable assets to be pro-
tected—and the algorithm does exactly that by regulating
how many “interesting” profiles (non-paying) users see in
specific intervals, and thus also the number of matches. All
this to keep users satisfied but not too satisfied, as both offer-
ing these valuable assets too fast and being too parsimonious
with them would lead to decreased user satisfaction4 and,
consequently, to declining revenues (Courtois &
Timmermans, 2018, p. 13).5 The algorithm of Tinder encour-
ages a certain swiping behavior, both restricting and enticing
users, while aiming to create a balanced use.
All these objective and material structures—being sub-
jected to data collection in surveillance capitalism, shifts in
data cultures, the features of Tinder’s interface, and the
workings of the app’s algorithm—affect and shape the expe-
rience of using Tinder. However, these external circum-
stances do not govern actions directly and automatically.
How Tinderers actually act is dependent on how they per-
ceive and interpret the application’s affordances. Having
examined the typical situational aspects of Tindering, the
next chapter will turn to the emergence of affordances, and
how they typically influence users.
Imagined Affordances and Tinder’s
Logic
So far, this analysis has outlined, from an external perspec-
tive, the specific sociotechnical and material environment in
which online dating apps such as Tinder are embedded, as
well as the relevant properties of the app interface and its
algorithm. The fact that Tinder’s online daters are subjected
to data gathering in surveillance capitalism, that the app’s
interface has specific features, and that interactions are to a
great extent organized by algorithms, influences users’ atti-
tudes, behavior, and typical swiping strategies. The purpose
of the present chapter is to interpret how the interfacial fea-
tures and algorithms of the app (themselves mediators of the
intentions of profit-oriented corporations) shape user experi-
ence, and what role actors play in this. After considering the
theory of (imagined) affordances, the discussion turns to the
imagined affordances of, first, Tinder’s user interface, and,
second, to those of the app’s algorithm.
The theory of affordances, as put forward in recent social
media scholarship, is a suitable theoretical tool for explain-
ing how algorithms and interfacial features feed into actors’
experience. However, the concept itself originated rather far
away from technology and social media studies. It was
developed by James J. Gibson to interpret how animals (and,
among them, humans) relate to their surroundings. He argues
that the “affordances of the environment are what it offers
the animal, what it provides or furnishes, either for good or
ill” (Gibson, 2014, p. 119). For animals and humans, ele-
ments of the environment, by virtue of their properties, offer
the possibility of certain actions relevant for them. And the
same object may afford other actions to different species
(Gibson, 2014). Affordances are not simply the objective
possibilities and restrictions that material objects offer or
impose, because they only emerge through a dynamic inter-
action between perceivers and the environment. They are,
therefore, neither solely material qualities or objective prop-
erties, nor simply subjective imaginations or mental states:
Affordances emerge somewhere between these poles
(Gibson, 2014, p. 121). Although the theory of affordances is
not an explicitly phenomenological approach, it aligns well
with it, as there are obvious parallels. For example, for
Maurice Merleau-Ponty (2005, pp. 53, 115, 222), perception
is a “living communication with the world,” where both
poles are active, and the perception of objects is co-con-
structed by material qualities of things and bodily actors’
“intentional arc.”
Interestingly, in the context of communication theories,
the concept of affordances has, for several years, been used
in a rather reductive way. As Nagy and Neff (2015, pp. 2–3)
have pointed out, in communication studies, the concept of
affordances came to mean the possibilities a technology
Berger 5
offers to its users, with an emphasis on how conscious users
utilize technologies, but ignore effects that they are unaware
of. Instead, Nagy and Neff have proposed the alternative of
“imagined affordances.” This reconfiguration of affordance
theory—more in line with Gibsonian (2014) thought—situ-
ates the emergence of affordances in the dynamic interplay
between users’ perceptions, attitudes, and expectations, the
materiality and functionality of technologies, and designers’
intentions and perceptions of users (Nagy & Neff, 2015, p.
5). It draws attention to what many previous approaches
could not account for: that affordances are to a great deal
shaped by perceiving actors, who are not only rational and
conscious about the technologies they use, but also have atti-
tudes, expectations, and affects that influence how they
engage with media. Whether they are true or not, sentiments
and perceptions play a key role in the construction of affor-
dances: Misinterpretations and misperceptions also condi-
tion how a technology is seen and thus influence how people
act upon it (Nagy & Neff, 2015, pp. 3, 5).
This article takes this concept of imagined affordances as
a point of departure to interpret how Tinder influences the
experience of its users. Mediatized interactions constitute
their own forms of sociality, as previous research has shown
(Ekdahl & Osler, 2023; Osler & Zahavi, 2023; Zhao, 2015).
As a dating app, Tinder marks a clear shift when compared to
classic dating websites in terms of how and for what ends it
can be used, what mentality this engenders, and how users
relate to the platform and its algorithms. As Narr and Luong
(2023, p. 2) have remarked, dating websites promoted a more
rational approach to dating because they allow for more fine-
tuned and detailed partner search parameters, while dating
apps, and especially Tinder, only offer limited possibilities
for partner selection (preferred age, gender, distance), which
restricts (but not eliminates) user rationality and puts greater
emphasis on the affective aspect of the experience. Dating
websites, in their heyday, were mediatized dating markets
promoting a market mentality, a consumerist stance toward
possible partners.
The imagined affordances of Tinder are perceived and
shaped by users in relation to the app’s interface features and
algorithm. The simplicity of the interface (visuality and plain
likes and dislikes, as described in the previous chapter)
enables users to pursue various ends. Numerous studies have
explored the motivations of Tinder users, and despite the dif-
ferent terms describing these, the results obtained for young
people in the United States, the United Kingdom, Belgium,
and the Netherlands are remarkably similar: The main moti-
vations of Tinder users are finding a romantic relationship,
self-validation, hooking up, meeting new people, curiosity,
ease of use, excitement, and fun (Gatter & Hodkinson, 2016,
pp. 6−7; LeFebvre, 2018; Newett et al., 2018, p. 352; Palmer,
2020; Ranzini & Lutz, 2017; Sumter et al., 2017, pp. 71−73;
Timmermans & Courtois, 2018; Tyson et al., 2016, pp. 6−7;
van Hooff, 2020; Ward, 2017, pp. 1649−1650). There may be
differences between genders (a relative preference of men
for casual sexual encounters), countries, and age groups
(younger users typically prefer hook-ups over finding a
romantic relationship, while adults are more likely to look
for committed relations; Christensen, 2021, p. 3). As Illouz
(2019, p. 78) has noted, “Tinder can offer just quick, dispos-
able sex or the possibility to meet a ‘dream woman,’ thus
suggesting a multiform and undefined range of possibilities
between these two extremes.”
A significant further affordance of Tinder’s interface is
that it visualizes the “pool” of potential partners. Whether it
visualizes the whole pool is debatable (David & Cambre,
2016, p. 5), but it unquestionably displays a larger proportion
of possible partners than everyday face-to-face interactions.
This is not a completely novel feature, as it was also offered
by dating websites. But while they visualized a relationship
market for relatively conscious daters who set out to increase
their romantic benefits (Illouz, 2007; Narr & Luong, 2023, p.
2), it is much less obvious what pool dating apps such as
Tinder display. Precisely because of the multiplicity of user
motives, Tinder’s pool should not be considered purely as a
dating market, but a mixture of persons looking to find a
romantic relation, to date, to hook up, to get self-validation,
and so on. As a result, users may not be sure what the pool
represents. Illouz (2019, pp. 74–86) calls this phenomenon
“frame confusion” or “frame uncertainty,” where actors are
uncertain which script they should follow. Because of this,
Tinderers have to allocate additional cognitive resources to
find out whether their own and their (possible) matches’
intentions converge to a satisfactory degree—negotiating
these may be imbued with a variety of affects, from cheerful-
ness and playfulness to cynicism, anxiety, insecurity, or
hostility.
Above all, Tinder’s interface is also closely intertwined
with and affords a visual logic. The app—by displaying
“swipeable” profile cards dominated by visual appear-
ances—affords a strong visual logic. This has led David and
Cambre (2016, pp. 5–9) to coin the term “swipe logic,”
which is characterized by the centrality of visuality (appear-
ances matter) and by speediness (ability of users to rapidly
swipe left or right, thereby immersing themselves in a virtu-
ally infinite stream of potential matches). Acceleration
reduces the field of perception to easily decodable visual
cues of attractiveness (David & Cambre, 2016, p. 5).
However, the specific significance of the dominance of visu-
ality is more complex than previous scholarship would sug-
gest. A range of critical scholars have stressed, in relation to
a multitude of topics, that the dominance of visuality in
modernity is not socially neutral: An exposure to the surveil-
ling gaze of others is said to imply subordination, while the
dominant position supposedly belongs to the holder of the
gaze (de Certeau, 1984; Foucault, 1980; Jay, 1994; Lefebvre,
1991; Mulvey, 1975). With respect to Tinder, this would
mean that acceleration and excessive visuality push users of
Tinder to objectify others, where objectification refers to
treating people as quasi-objects to be viewed and evaluated
6 Social Media + Society
based upon bodily appearances (Rollero & de Piccoli, 2017).
However, this view proves to be problematic in two ways.
First, on Tinder, there are certain groups (for example, minor-
ity racial groups or nonbinary people) who are largely
avoided by mainstream Caucasians because of consciously
or unconsciously held stereotypes, resulting in much fewer
“likes” and, consequently, matches for members of these
groups. People belonging to minority races or having non-
mainstream sexual orientations are thus made virtually invis-
ible on Tinder (Narr, 2022a). Therefore, it is not those who
are subjected to the objectifying gaze of others, but those
who are made invisible in this sense who occupy the most
disadvantaged position on the platform—they are not even
objectified, meaning they are effectively not “part of the
game” (Narr, 2022a).
Second, and regarding those users who are “part of the
game,” who are gazed upon, the power relations are not as
clear-cut as previous scholarship suggests. There are, of
course, aspects that seem to confirm the equation of visuality
and dominance. The objectification of others is perfectly in
line with developers’ intentions—former chief executive
officer (CEO) Sean Rad compared using Tinder to a casting
process where users are the directors saying “yes” or “no” to
potential partners (Grigoriadis, 2014)—and many users are
attracted by this possibility. As one of Illouz’s (2019, p. 124)
interviewees stated: “[T]here is something exhilarating about
swiping right and left. It gives a feeling of power. I think the
designers of Tinder work on this feeling. You have a feeling
of omnipotence on your romantic destiny.” However, the
affordance of the swipe logic, as mediated by users’ percep-
tions, also has a typical unintentional effect. Users who feel
part of the game not only tend to objectify others but also
themselves, meaning they judge themselves according to
their physical appearance. The reason for this is that they are
aware that others perceive them in this way. The objectifying
gaze directed at others and self-objectification are mutually
reinforcing. This is true for both men and women, because
Tinder and other online dating apps expose men to the objec-
tifying gaze of others. As a result, men also tend to objectify
their bodies (Strubel & Petrie, 2017).
There are other features of the app interface with para-
doxical consequences. Tinder makes “ghosting” relatively
simple, meaning that users can easily end communication
and contact with their matches, without any warning or justi-
fication. On one side, ghosting may be a convenient solution
to certain problems: If users ghost others, they can avoid
conflicts, which they would not be able to do if they had to
explain why they do not want to continue interacting with or
dating the other (Narr & Luong, 2023). However, ghosting
others is a different case than the experience of being ghosted,
and most users have such experiences. No matter how much
energy or creativity users have put into their messages, there
is a risk that seemingly promising interactions can end at any
time (Narr & Luong, 2023, p. 10). Having experienced this
multiple times, disheartened users will become disillusioned,
contact each other out of boredom, and send each other
generic messages, which leads to boring conversations and
to more and more boredom and ghosting. Tinder, according
to Narr and Luong (2023), is saturated with the affective
mood of boredom and disillusion—especially on the part of
people who are looking for a committed romantic relation-
ship and have not succeeded for a while. The affordance of
ghosting in its dynamic relation to actors leads to the prevail-
ing atmosphere of boredom on Tinder.
The affordances of the interfacial features of Tinder are
apparent to online daters, and so it is no surprise that they
are relatively aware of them. In contrast, Tinder’s algorith-
mic workings are much more opaque—most users are not
even aware of them (Narr, 2022b, p. 5344), and it is much
harder to reflect upon or influence them. Nevertheless, algo-
rithms have a significant effect on Tinder’s affordances. To
assess how they feed into the app’s imagined affordances, it
is necessary, again, to differentiate between traditional web-
sites and dating apps such as Tinder. As mentioned in the
previous chapter, dating websites’ algorithms were designed
to provide valuable matches, and they were more transpar-
ent to users (by and large, users understood how, for exam-
ple, OkCupid’s matching score algorithm worked). Users
valued this and were trusting of the algorithm (Narr, 2022b,
pp. 5344–5345). Conversely, Tinder’s (and other dating
apps’) algorithms are of a proprietary nature. As shown in
the previous chapter, Tinder’s proprietary algorithm is sup-
posed to stimulate a certain degree of activity by luring
users out of potential states of passivity and discouraging
them to overuse the app, to keep them relatively but not
wholly satisfied (Courtois & Timmermans, 2018). The aim
is for users to generate data to be collected and analyzed,
and to create incentives for buying a subscription.
Consequently, the imagined affordances of Tinder’s algo-
rithm are markedly different from those of OkCupid in the
2000s, for instance. Tinder’s algorithm is perceived mainly
negatively. Based on interviews and a close analysis of
Reddit forums, Narr (2022b) has concluded that Tinder’s
algorithm is imagined as being manipulative and fostering
addictive swiping patterns. Users believe that the very pur-
pose of the app’s algorithm is to manipulate them into buy-
ing a subscription, and that it is designed to get people
addicted (Narr, 2022b, pp. 5347–5348). While these percep-
tions are not completely unfounded—one purpose of the
algorithm, as can be inferred indirectly, is to keep users
active—such algorithmic imaginaries do not take into con-
sideration that the Tinder algorithm not only entices activity,
but also aims to prevent excessive swiping behavior
(Courtois & Timmermans, 2018). Moreover, subscriptions
are just one way the company monetizes on its users, the
other being the gathering, analysis, and exploitation of user
data. These blind spots in the imagined affordances of the
Tinder algorithm are most likely due to the mistrust gener-
ated by the secrecy surrounding it. Nevertheless, the fact
that this algorithm is imagined as addictive and
Berger 7
manipulatory shapes user attitudes, moods, and behavior, as
evidenced in widespread cynicism, resignation, or irritation
among users (Narr, 2022b). All in all, these algorithmic
workings are much less apparent to online daters than the
interfacial features. And it is even less clear to them how the
imagined affordances of the Tinder algorithm (envisioned as
being manipulatory and addictive) contribute to their own
sentiments of cynicism, resignation, and irritation—and to
enticing them to keep using the platform precisely through
dissatisfaction (Narr, 2022b). The next chapter will turn to
the question whether users are able to mitigate these nega-
tively perceived tendencies.
Everyday Practices for Mitigating the
Negative Effects of Using Tinder
The previous chapters have highlighted several negative ten-
dencies on Tinder: rendering certain groups invisible, users
objectifying others and themselves, the prevailing atmo-
sphere of boredom and cynicism on the platform, the ten-
dency of ghosting, and users’ frustration-infused imaginations
of the Tinder algorithm. Users are, at least partly, aware of
these problems, and often try to mitigate their effects with
the means in their possession. The following chapter aims to
interpret these strategies.
In everyday life, actors rely on their sedimented knowl-
edge, accumulated by participating in pragmatic situations of
action and interaction with others over the years (Schutz,
1962). While Schutz certainly admits that interactions create
intersubjective knowledge, he does not draw all the possible
conclusions. Contrarily, Jürgen Habermas’s (1987, pp. 140–
144) concept of the life-world (itself influenced by Schutz)
provides a suitable tool to understand how the life-world, as
the intersubjective social world, can provide various kinds of
resources for actors aiming to act in various situations. As
Habermas stresses, the myriad life-world interactions6 can be
divided into three different types of reproduction processes.
Cultural reproduction ensures the continuity of the knowl-
edge needed for everyday actions; social reproduction
ensures that the norms necessary for organizing social rela-
tions in a legitimate way are reproduced; and, finally, social-
ization ensures that the interactive capabilities necessary for
a competent and responsible actor are passed on from one
generation to the next (Habermas, 1987, pp. 140–141).
Without stretching the Habermasian theory too far, the third
dimension can be interpreted to include processes of self-
socialization as well, namely self-reflection. This article
argues that knowledge (typifications, categorizations,
schemes for action, and so on), social norms, and the capac-
ity for self-reflection are resources not only for the conduct
of ordinary, routine-like actions, but also to interpret and,
possibly, overcome problems in various contexts, including
online dating.
Life-world knowledge, despite processes of mediatiza-
tion, shows signs of continuity. This is evident in users
applying life-world typification when using Tinder (Ward,
2017, pp. 1653−1654) as they are unconsciously seeking
homophily.7 Certain attributes such as age are self-evident,
while typifications are used to discern traits such as person-
ality type, education level, style, or socioeconomic status
(Ward, 2017, pp. 1653−1654). Moreover, users of Tinder are
presumed to have preliminary knowledge about different
types of women/men and their typical attributes: what char-
acterizes their actions, motivations, and to what extent they
find a certain type attractive. Accordingly, van Hooff (2020,
p. 117) notes that the men in her study were always looking
for cues and signs to draw more holistic conclusions about
women—more specifically, whether they were suitable for
long-term committed relations or casual sex. All this points
to the continuity of the life-world knowledge necessary for
orientation in everyday life. However, online dating also
necessitates the creation of new knowledge (based on exist-
ing knowledge) to interpret the self-representations of oth-
ers, and, possibly, to identify personal types to which actors
feel attracted to (or not). These latter typifications are cer-
tainly mobilized when users reflect upon others who violate
everyday norms of decency.
Let us now turn to the question of whether and how users
can mitigate—by applying their life-world resources—cer-
tain negative aspects of Tinder’s affordances. A key affor-
dance of Tinder is the swipe logic. As noted by David and
Cambre (2016), the swipe logic promotes the instrumental-
ization and commodification of potential partners on the part
of self-objectifying users. However, a large proportion of
users and non-users are (at least to some extent) aware of the
workings of the swipe logic and are critical of it. For exam-
ple, Narr (2022a) has observed that many Redditors discuss-
ing the algorithms of various apps were frustrated because
they had a desire to be seen on dating applications, but were,
according to their interpretation, rendered invisible by the
algorithms. Consequently, they were trying hard to “discern
what algorithms want in order to become more visible”
(Narr, 2022a, p. 78). Furthermore, many non-users or former
users reject the visual regime of Tinder, that is, the primacy
of superfluous traits, while active users often criticize the
app’s one-dimensionality. Even those who felt themselves
visible on the platform were critical of it. For example,
according to an interviewee (female) of Newett et al. (2018,
p. 357), the visual logic of Tinder prioritizes an instrumental
orientation above emotions. Another interviewee (male)
noted that he looks for the same physical traits both online
and in “real” life, but nonetheless bemoaned the absence of a
certain “vibe” created by physical copresence that can alter
judgments of individuals deemed unattractive when com-
pared to one’s explicit preferences (Newett et al., 2018, p.
356). Some of Palmer’s (2020, p. 135) interviewees lamented
Tinder’s provision of too large a pool of potential partners
and too many choices. There are also users who perceive
Tinder as something of a “meat market” with a dominant
hook-up culture in which they participate, while secretly
8 Social Media + Society
hoping to find a romantic partner (Christensen, 2021, p. 11).
A female interviewee of Palmer (2020, pp. 136–137, 140)
complained that using Tinder led her to be disillusioned with
love, and two male subjects stated that while they use Tinder
to initiate casual sexual encounters, they do not like that this
makes sex more and more meaningless for them. Moreover,
Olivera-La Rosa et al. (2019) note that swiping decisions are
not only based on perceptions of physical attractiveness,
since users looking at photos with discernible faces also
make judgments based on perceptions of moral character. As
such, first impressions extracted from faces are linked to
judgments about physical attractivity and, beyond that, judg-
ments on moral character. All this suggests that while invis-
ibility, (self-)objectification and superficiality are real and
immanent problems of Tinder, many users are reflexively
aware of the visual regime and the swipe logic and how it
negatively affects them.
These criticisms reveal that Tinderers reflecting on the
app draw on their knowledge about themselves and the life-
world norms of reciprocity, which prescribes treating people
as individuals, rather than as objects, and, on a more funda-
mental level, to acknowledge their existence. This is a sign of
the continuity and legitimacy of these life-world norms. But
it could be argued that the scope of these critical reflections
is limited, since they may just be kept to oneself, or discussed
among friends, acquaintances, family, and perhaps on online
forums. While being aware of the swipe logic (and discuss-
ing it with others) may or may not mitigate its negative
effects on the individual, these criticisms almost never trans-
late to changes in the app.8
The affordance of ghosting is a double-edged sword, as it
can conveniently serve one’s own needs, while also causing
much harm if one is ghosted. The norms of common courtesy
and mutual respect are important for the stability of everyday
life (Giddens, 1984, p. 64; Goffman, 1956; Jacobsen &
Kristiansen, 2014), and ghosting is a breach of them.
Paradoxically, most users have experienced the negative
consequences of ghosting, but nevertheless report having
ghosted others before. Reasons for doing so include bore-
dom, cynicism, or experiences of negative reactions (mostly
by men) to honest explanations of why they did not wish to
move forward (Narr & Luong, 2023). It is clear that users’
(self-)reflectivity is limited here. On one hand, many of them
bemoan instances where they were ghosted by others—this
itself is a sign that they consider reciprocal life-world norms
to be legitimate. On the other hand, since the app makes it
compellingly easy to ghost others, this reflectivity most
likely will not lead to changes in users’ behavior, and there-
fore the norms of decency are, effectively, not generalized.
As a further negative tendency, Tinder as a platform is
infamous for unwanted sexual solicitations, as well as sex-
ist and hostile messages (Narr & Luong, 2023, p. 2;
Thompson, 2018). While such breaches of civility are also
present in “offline” encounters, they are easier to carry out
through the app due to its affordances. Countermeasures on
the part of affected individuals include blocking the other
or ridiculing them on other platforms (Brightwell, 2019;
Hess & Flores, 2018). Regarding the latter, the alarming
frequency of toxic masculine performances on Tinder
(Thompson, 2018) has led to the creation of Instagram
pages dedicated to the subversion of the power relations
between the genders (such as “Tinder Nightmares” or
“Feminist Tinder”) by ridiculing such practices (Brightwell,
2019; Hess & Flores, 2018). Inherent in these posts are,
again, norms of reciprocity and typification knowledge of
how to identify misogynistic males. One declared purpose
of these pages is “education,” since they aim to show, by
the power of ridicule, how not to behave. Certainly, the
scope of these pages is larger than in the case of reflection
in private circles, but whether they can attain their educa-
tional goal of changing the behavior of males who are
showing signs of toxic masculinity is debatable.
The interfacial features of Tinder, such as the swipe logic
or the ease of ghosting, are relatively apparent to users, and
it is no wonder that many have vocal opinions on them, or try
to resist them with the means at their disposal. The algorith-
mic workings of the app are, however, much harder to com-
prehend. If users intend to reflect on Tinder’s algorithm, they
need to create new knowledge—however, the strategies of
resistance generated by this novel knowledge may often be
problematic. This is exemplified in the case of certain tech-
savvy users of Tinder, who try to interpret and counter its
algorithm. Because the Tinder algorithm is proprietary,
Redditors have to imagine how it works and what its effects
on user behavior are. A central element of their interpretation
is that the algorithm is exploitative, manipulatory, and addic-
tive, and because of that they try to outsmart it. How to
“game” the algorithm is, as Narr (2022b) explains, one of the
most important questions of subreddits dedicated to Tinder.
One strategy often mentioned by Redditors is to swipe left
excessively (also on people users find attractive to increase
their purported attractivity score), because they believe that
they will see more attractive profiles this way (Narr, 2022b,
p. 5350). This strategy is somewhat counterproductive, as it
shows signs of an instrumental attitude toward others and to
oneself: Swiping left on others just to increase the attractivity
score of oneself is to treat others simply as means to an end
(whether this strategy is successful or not) and to suppress
one’s own inclinations. The instrumental tendencies inherent
in strategies of outsmarting the app do not contribute to
changes in its logic; they only reinforce the culture of instru-
mental mentality also present in pick-up lines, generic mes-
sages, and misogynist tendencies.
Paradoxically, research has shown that distrust in online
dating algorithms (displayed, for example, by Redditors
striving to outsmart the Tinder algorithm) may be associated
with a lower probability of success on the app. Based on a
quantitative study, Sharabi has pointed out that online daters
who were more trusting of the respective app’s algorithm
were more likely to find a partner (Sharabi, 2021, p. 942).
Berger 9
The reason for this was that “believing in algorithms was
associated with communication behaviors and perceptions
that are known to function as catalysts for successful rela-
tionship development in person” (Sharabi, 2021, p. 942).
Research participants inclined to self-disclosure trusted the
algorithm more and had a larger chance to find a partner on
the app they used. This signals the power of trust, (self-per-
ceived) honest interactions, and communicative action
(Habermas, 1984), rather than the instrumental attitudes put
forward in strategies of gaming Tinder. However, the wide
spread of instrumental attitudes and strategies signals distur-
bances in the reproduction of interactive skills.
To sum up, users of Tinder are often aware of its rather
gloomy tendencies, and try to reflect upon and resist them.
However, their criticisms and strategies to counter Tinder are
limited in terms of their resources, scope, and effect. Other
strategies may, by their very nature, be misguided, as they
display instrumental attitudes. The present and previous
chapters have highlighted several paradoxes and types of
ambivalence in the Tinder experience. The next chapter turns
to the question of how to interpret these.
Dualisms in the Tinder Experience
So far, this examination has uncovered the typical external
circumstances of using Tinder (mediatization and the algo-
rithmic governance of dating), the typical imagined affor-
dances of the app, users’ typical attitudes and moods, as well
as the possibilities and limitations of reflection and criti-
cism. These findings also highlight the ambivalence of the
Tinder experience, as expressed in a number of dualisms.
The dualisms include the opposition between the algo-
rithm’s aim to restrict users and keep them active and their
own needs, the dualism between trust and distrust, the desire
for quality matches and counterproductive instrumental
strategies, alongside the need for courtesy and the frequent
lack thereof. This chapter will thus seek to explore the inher-
ent ambivalence of the Tinder experience by unearthing not
the thematic oppositions mentioned above but the more fun-
damental contradictions.
All the affordances of the application—whether restric-
tions or possibilities, interfacial features or algorithms, or the
way they are perceived, interpreted, conceived, and felt by
users—point toward three fundamental dualisms in user
experience. Users oscillate between the opposing extreme
poles of three dichotomous pairs: superficiality versus depth,
reflectivity and rationality versus emotions and affectivity,
and instrumental mentality versus striving for long-term rela-
tions felt as genuine. Swiping is characterized by the duality
of superficiality and depth. Superficiality stems from the
visual logic of Tinder’s interface, which prompts users to
swipe left or right, mostly on the basis of profile photos
(David & Cambre, 2016). People’s worth on the app is, to a
large extent, simply a matter of looks. However, the ability of
users to infer a number of other attributes from profile images
makes the process less superficial, since it both supposes and
mobilizes complex, albeit often tacit and unreflected life-
world knowledge (Ward, 2017). Users not only look for phys-
ical attractiveness, but also make judgments based on
perceptions of moral character (Olivera-La Rosa et al., 2019).
Moreover, users of Tinder are presumed to have preliminary
ideas about different types of women/men and their typical
attributes: what characterizes their actions, motivations, and
to what extent they find a certain type attractive. Accordingly,
van Hooff (2020, p. 117) notes that the men in her study were
always looking for cues and signs to draw more holistic con-
clusions about women—more specifically, whether they were
suitable for long-term committed relations or casual sex.
Because they make holistic assessments of other people pos-
sible (Krüger & Spilde, 2020, p. 1407), dating apps reinvigo-
rate the “gut feeling.” In other words, Tinder is a curious
amalgam of superficiality and (latent) depth.
A second fundamental dualism in the experience of Tinder
is that users constantly oscillate between states of reflectivity
and rationality on one hand, and their visceral emotions on
the other. Rationality here is understood merely as a reflec-
tive assessment or setting of criteria, while emotions refer to
unreflected affects and impulses. On one hand, Tinder users
are expected to be reflexive, aware of their own preferences,
and capable of responding to questions such as “What gender
am I interested in?,” “What is the maximum geographical
distance that I find acceptable?,” “What is the preferable age
of my partner?,” “What kind of person am I seeking and for
what reason?,” “What kind of people am I attracted to/
repulsed by?,” “What traits (as depicted by photos and self-
presentations) characterize the former/latter?,” “What kind
of images should I upload?,” What kind of “information
should I provide in order to make a favorable impression on
people that I find attractive?.” Whereas in “offline” everyday
life, we are less reflective of our preferences and our ideas of
effective self-presentation, using Tinder proficiently sup-
poses new competencies (Hess & Flores, 2018, p. 1089;
Ranzini & Lutz, 2017, p. 82). However, unlike several dating
websites, Tinder does not allow users to filter searches by
more fine-grained criteria (e.g., education level, occupation,
skin color, religion, and so on)—so the algorithm offers
matches solely based on geographical distance, age, and gen-
der (Ward, 2017, p. 1648), and possibly on the attractivity
score unknown to the user (Courtois & Timmermans, 2018,
p. 6; Narr & Luong, 2023, p. 12). This, in comparison with
the dating websites of the 2000s, reduces the role of reflec-
tivity and compels users to make more “intuitive” and vis-
ceral decisions when evaluating profile images and short
introductory texts. To some extent, the much-criticized swipe
logic also counteracts rationality, as Tinder requires simple
yes or no choices (swipe right or left) from users, and leaves
no room for in-between options, shifting the emphasis to
impulsivity and affectivity in decision-making.9 While
Tinder puts greater emphasis on visceral and affect-driven
decisions, it does not rule out reflectivity. The degree of
10 Social Media + Society
users’ rationality may differ according to their goals; if some-
one seeks a long-term love relationship, for example, they
may prioritize “smart” decisions, while others only looking
for a hook-up may just go with the first willing person they
find attractive. However, even a higher degree of rationality
needs affectivity (i.e., a smart dating decision will require
one to consider one’s own and the other’s emotions), and
even visceral decisions require some degree of reflectivity
(conscious strategies for hooking up). Tinder users are con-
stantly torn between rationality and affects, and these con-
flicting motives shape the unique experience of the app.
The third fundamental dualism concerns how people relate
to others (and by implication to themselves): Whether they
consider them to be mere means to achieve their selfish ends, or
as genuine individuals with their own needs who deserve to be
engaged with in an honest way. This duality is by no means a
novel phenomenon initiated by dating apps, and adherents of
critical theory have referred to the primacy of instrumental
thinking in modernity under various labels (Habermas, 1984;
Horkheimer, 2014). Habermas (1984, pp. 285–286), for exam-
ple, draws a distinction between strategic and communicative
action. The former considers other actors simply as means (or
as obstacles) to egoistically set ends. Strategic action only
regards other people’s feelings and needs if they are relevant to
reaching the goal at hand. Therefore, strategic action is not only
bound up with deception and Machiavellianism, but also with
the objectification and, possibly, the dehumanization of others,
as well as with various forms of oppression. During communi-
cative action, however, actors cooperate with each other to
mutually define and interpret the situation at hand (in terms of
truth, moral rightness, and authenticity). While communicative
action in itself does not guarantee more humane relations, it at
least renders them possible. If people treat each other merely as
instruments for satisfying their own needs, they will not be able
to establish relationships they perceive as committed and genu-
ine, even if this is a self-declared goal. A life-word permeated
by strategic action—which in the least-worst case would be
restricted to the spheres of politics and the economy—would
thus be a pathological one indeed (Habermas, 1987).
The instrumental attitude central to (late) modern societ-
ies is clearly present and further enhanced on Tinder (and
other dating apps), as evidenced by the predominance of
visuality and the swiping logic. Strategic tendencies on
Tinder are apparent in efforts to outsmart the app algorithm,
in generic hook-up and conversational lines, in rendering
certain groups invisible, in tendencies of (self-)objectifica-
tion, and in the treatment of others simply as flesh. Tinder’s
very logic enables users to perceive others simply as (pos-
sible) means to satisfy their goals (for example, sexual
needs, the need for positive feedback, or the need to find a
“trophy” partner who will function as a status symbol), even
if these needs are quite often left unfulfilled (as evidenced in
not getting matches, not reaching out to the other after a
match, dates not going the way one expects, being ghosted,
and so on). The application’s visual logic reinforces
this attitude in everyone, regardless of gender, age, or sexual
orientation, and reduces other individuals to bodies or sim-
ply body parts to be consumed (Illouz, 2019). Since the
instrumental mentality leads to systematically distorted
communication (Habermas, 1984, pp. 332–333), its preva-
lence not only thwarts the possibility of committed relations
to others, but also that of genuine knowledge of oneself and
the realization and articulation of one’s real needs. While
Tinder is imbued with an instrumental attitude toward oth-
ers—which also creeps into users’ relations to themselves—
many users also clearly have a need to find long-term
intimate relationships. This is manifested in the previously
cited critiques of Tinder’s visual logic and users’ attempts to
resist it. Strategic action may be counterproductive here.
The fact that users willing to engage in self-disclosure are
more likely to have dates evaluated as successful and to find
a partner serves as evidence of the power of communicative
action in online dating (Sharabi, 2021). Communicative
action and acts of self-disclosure perceived as authentic
draw on life-world resources (norms of reciprocity, knowl-
edge of others and oneself, self-reflection, interactive skills,
and so on). However, the spread of strategic attitudes and
behavior—or, as Habermas (1987) puts it, the colonization
of the life-world by system spheres such as the economy—
in contemporary life-worlds may be a threat to these cogni-
tive, moral, emotional, and self-reflective resources. Tinder
and dating apps are no exception: While they do not make
communicative action impossible, many of their affordances
foster rather instrumental attitudes and actions.
Although related, the dualisms of superficiality and depth,
reflexivity and intuitive affectuality, and instrumentality and
communicative action are fundamental in that none of these
pairs can be reduced to any of the others. For instance, prac-
ticing depth in the perception and evaluation of others while
swiping does not necessarily translate into the ability to form
committed relations, since the typifications used in percep-
tion may be indebted to instrumentality (classifying women
in misogynist terms, stereotypical categories of certain racial
groups, and so on). In addition, rationalism, conceived here
purely as reflexivity and deliberate thought, may either stem
from an instrumental/strategic rationality imbued with a ten-
dency to (self)objectification, or from a communicative
rationality paired with the ability to reflect on one’s needs
and connect to others. The counterpart of reflexivity, namely
affectual impulses, is also variegated. This pole may include
a variety of emotions, from excitement, sexual desire, roman-
tic affection, boredom, frustration, and hostility to cyni-
cism—which is why affectivity in itself does not lead to
perceived authenticity in intimate relations. Furthermore, an
instrumental attitude toward others may be rational or not: It
may be intertwined with a reflected, rationalized strategy or
be simply applied in a habitually and unreflected manner to
satisfy unreflected needs.
Tinderers may oscillate between the extremes of superfici-
ality and depth, rationality and emotions, and instrumentality
Berger 11
and the need for long-term relations perceived as mutually
genuine and committed. For users of Tinder, being subjected
to these oppositions may be demanding, even more so as
there is no single dichotomy but three sets of extreme poles.
Further research is needed to shed light on and interpret how
actors cope with this ambivalence. However, from a theoreti-
cal point of view, several strategies are conceivable. For
example, some may try to establish a balance between the
various poles: paying attention to looks, but also trying to
evaluate the profile, being rational and emotional at the same
time, and not giving up their selfish goals while still trying to
find “true love.” Alternatively, users may try to settle perma-
nently on one or the other poles: making constantly “smart”
or affect-driven decisions, or only aiming to satisfy sexual
needs and treating others as mere bodies, and so on. Whether
these constant states (balancing in between or sticking to one
or more extremes) are possible is an open question, as all the
affordances of Tinder work against them. Others may try to
construct the poles as temporal differences—for instance, a
hook-up indebted to instrumental logic may lead, after a cer-
tain time, to a committed relationship. Still others may just
give in to the flow and oscillate constantly, according to their
moods and drives, between the extremes of the three funda-
mental dualisms. These contradictions and the underlying
uncertainties lead to the final question, namely whether dat-
ing apps enable people to establish meaningful and engaged
romantic relations.
Conclusion
This article, as a novel contribution, interpreted the experi-
ence of Tinder from a materialist phenomenological point
of view, against the background of the mediatization of the
life-world and shifts in how online platforms cultivate data
and monetize on their users. It questioned how the applica-
tion’s affordances are created in the dynamic relation
between developers/owners, interfacial features, algo-
rithms, and users, and how the imagined affordances influ-
ence actors’ typical attitudes and actions. The article also
scrutinized users’ ability to reflect upon the app’s affor-
dances and their strategies of resisting certain problems
associated with it. The analysis has shown that many
Tinderers are aware of the negative tendencies of the appli-
cation, and that by reflecting on them, they use the cogni-
tive, normative, and self-reflective life-world resources
available to them, or create new knowledge. An additional
novel contribution of the article is that it further elaborated
on the inherent dualisms (superficiality versus depth, ratio-
nality versus affectivity, instrumental versus communica-
tive orientation) of the Tinder experience.
As the chapters of this article have shown, owners’ and
developers’ intentions feed into users’ attitudes and behavior
through the mediation of the application’s imagined affor-
dances. It is the interest of the platform’s owners to keep
users relatively active, and for them not to settle down with
one match, but to keep looking. Thus, the generation of ana-
lyzable and monetizable data does not come to a halt. The
Tinder interface with its captivating flow serves the purpose
of attracting users’ attention and to habituate them to using
the app. The swipe logic (David & Cambre, 2016) as an
imagined affordance of the app is shaped by objective prop-
erties of the interface (itself being a mediator of corporate
interests). The swipe logic manifests in Tinderers’ tendency
to objectify others and themselves,10 and to treat others as
goods to be consumed. Similarly, the affordance of ghosting
is certainly not in opposition to the platform owners’/devel-
opers’ interests, as ghosting likely results in more swiping
and (for the lucky ones) matching. Along with the swipe
logic, the affordance of ghosting leads to multiple conversa-
tion threads, clichéd interactions, and a sense of blasé and
boredom (Narr & Luong, 2023). In a similar manner, surveil-
lance capitalism makes it essential for platform owners aim-
ing to capitalize on users’ data to maintain secrecy regarding
the workings of their app (Zuboff, 2019). For many users,
this secrecy translates into resignation or ignorance, while
others who actively try to grasp the algorithm’s logic believe
it to be manipulatory and prone to generating addictive usage
patterns—these imagined algorithmic affordances not only
lead to irritation, but also produce instrumentally minded
strategies of outsmarting the app (Narr, 2022b).
In all cases, it is apparent that Tinder increases user
engagement through dissatisfaction by enticing counterpro-
ductive swiping and interactional strategies (Narr, 2022b, p.
5349). The app’s interface and algorithm work in tandem to
ensure that users do not quit swiping—even though, from a
common-sense point of view, it would be in the best interest
of users looking for a long-term relationship to simply stop
using the app if a promising new person comes along, rather
than becoming entangled in multiple interactional (or dating)
threads. Such self-limitations would surely run counter to the
interests of platform owners, but this option is rarely real-
ized, as all the affordances work against it.
These tendencies highlight that the mediatization of dat-
ing is entangled with the colonization of the life-world, albeit
in a novel way. Habermas (1987, Chapter VIII), in his diag-
nosis of (late) modernity, has highlighted that the life-world,
being the home of communicative action, is endangered by
the system spheres of the economy and politics. According to
him, systemic processes invade the life-world by infusing
everyday interactions with the steering media of system
spheres. Money and power permeate the life-world and
threaten its reproduction by structuring social relations,
norms, and roles according to their logic, rather than through
communicative action. That said, this article highlighted a
more subtle and less apparent mode of colonizing the life-
world. In the context of dating apps such as Tinder, this colo-
nization does not take the form of steering media invading
the life-world directly; instead, it is about shaping user
behavior, mentalities, and attitudes through perceived affor-
dances created by users in response to app properties serving
12 Social Media + Society
corporate interests. This colonization of partner selection has
similar effects to the “direct” colonization by money and
power: a distortion of communicative action and the promo-
tion of strategic/instrumental attitudes that are counterpro-
ductive for everyday actors but monetizable for corporations.
What we witness here is how the interests of profit-oriented
corporations feed into users’ perceptions, their creation of
imagined affordances, their emotions, attitudes, and, ulti-
mately, behavior on the platform, with the result that users’
behavior and strategies often do not serve their own best
interests but those of platform owners.
Mediatization, however, is a complex and ambivalent
process, far from being reducible to the tendency of coloni-
zation. This because many online daters, as pragmatic life-
world actors, are aware of the problems surrounding Tinder
or other dating apps. As the article has shown, the interfacial
features and affordances of Tinder, although often producing
arguably harmful effects, may also lead users to become
reflexive and to strive for long-term relations thought of as
committed and authentic. By trying to reflect on the logic of
the app and to alleviate its negative effects, users rely on the
life-world resources available to them. The very dualisms of
Tinder (superficiality and depth, reflectivity and affectivity,
instrumental and communicative attitudes) make this possi-
ble—whether intended by developers and owners or not. To
resist the colonization of dating, actors can take advantage of
these dualisms. Those looking for long-time romantic rela-
tionships should evaluate others’ profiles not just based on
their looks but more holistically (leaving objectification
behind as much as possible). They should strike a balance
between rationality and affectivity, making “smart” deci-
sions while considering their emotions, a balance between
“sense and sensibility” in times of mediatization. Most
importantly, even if users have had experiences of disap-
pointment (for example, being ghosted), they ought not be
afraid to disclose themselves and engage in honest interac-
tions with others without much of the instrumental mind-set,
and simply stop swiping if someone they consider special
comes along.
The analysis, however, has also shown that the scope,
resources, and effects of critical engagements of everyday
actors are limited. This also constrains the possibilities for
taking advantage of the inherent dualisms of Tinder. Any
criticism aimed at initiating change or simply to mitigate the
negative effects of online dating apps should shun instru-
mental attitudes and be firmly based on the logic of commu-
nicative action. To gain traction, these voices uttering
critiques in the spirit of communicative action ought to be
strengthened. How this can be achieved is beyond the scope
of this article, but it is surely not possible without scholarly
education of wider audiences. Whether such initiatives can
have a lasting impact is an open question, given the wide
spread of instrumental attitudes. Nevertheless, by linking
reflexivity and the need for (long-term) emotional bonds per-
ceived as mutual and genuine with a non-instrumental
attitude, it may yet be possible to secure a role for emotions
in a mediatized world.
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to express his gratitude to Dániel Havrancsik,
Ádám Havas, Ágoston Fáber, and the two anonymous reviewers for
their insightful comments and suggestions.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect
to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for
the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work
was supported by the János Bolyai Research Scholarship of the
Hungarian Academy of Sciences. It was also supported by the project
titled “EFOP-3.6.3-VEKOP-16-2017-00007: Young researchers
from talented students—Fostering scientific careers in higher educa-
tion,” co-financed by the European Union (European Social Fund)
within the framework of Programme Széchenyi 2020; also supported
by the ÚNKP-22-5-PTE-1453 New National Excellence Program of
the Ministry for Culture and Innovation from the source of the
National Research, Development and Innovation Fund.
ORCID iD
Viktor Berger https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1263-6722
Notes
1. The market for dating apps is highly segmented. But as it
claims the widest user base globally, Tinder provides an ideal
platform for studying online dating.
2. It is noteworthy that Schutz himself did not conduct any
empirical studies, for example, when outlining the figure of
the stranger and constructing the model of the “well informed
citizen” (Schutz, 1964a, 1964b). For an explicitly phenom-
enological inquiry building also on previous findings, see Sik
(2021; cf. Havrancsik, 2023).
3. Media, since the invention of writing, have always been impor-
tant in the constitution of life-worlds (Ayaß, 2014), and espe-
cially since the rise of modernity (Couldry & Hepp, 2017);
however, this article limits itself to the mediatization processes
of the present.
4. Although Tinder’s algorithm aims to restrict (non-paying)
users’ swiping and limits the possible number of likes per day,
it also has built-in incentives to keep users active: by prompt-
ing them to not settle for one match, but to keep swiping and
getting new matches (Courtois & Timmermans, 2018).
5. This is evidenced by the curvilinear (inverted U form) rela-
tionship between swiping activity and profile interestingness,
as well as swiping activity and matches, meaning that inter-
esting profiles and matches are at their maximum if users are
relatively active on the platform but not excessively active
(Courtois & Timmermans, 2018, p. 13).
6. Communicative actions, to be precise; see the next chapter.
7. On the relation between social mobility, homophily, and part-
ner selection, see Erát et al. (2022).
Berger 13
8. And even if they seemingly do, the original intentions of these
critiques are hijacked by corporate interests. As Krüger and
Spilde have noted, Tinder has implemented some features
aimed at repairing the damage done by the swipe logic to the
ideas of love and romance, for example, the rewind function,
the “super like” option, or the ability to see who liked the user.
Interestingly, all these features are only available to paying
members who are thus able, to some extent, to buy themselves
out of the swipe logic. Consequently, Tinder cynically mon-
etizes the persistence of traditional lifeworld norms on dating
and romance (Krüger & Spilde, 2020, pp. 1404–1407).
9. This only applies to the free version of the app, since subscrib-
ers may revisit profiles on which they previously swiped left
and modify their decisions.
10. This tendency of self-objectification is evidenced in the results
of Strubel and Petrie (2017), who highlight that users of Tinder
(women and men alike) have a higher tendency of self-objec-
tification than non-users of online dating services. They were,
to a significant degree, less satisfied with their face and body,
more inclined to compare their physical appearance with oth-
ers, and more prone to being ashamed of their body.
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Author Biography
Viktor Berger (PhD, Eötvös Loránd University, Hungary) is an
Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of Pécs. His
research interests include phenomenology of the online world, soci-
ological theories of space, and history of sociological thought.