i don’t remember the exact moment it started feeling this way. there wasn’t a single bad date or some dramatic fallout. it was more like a slow realization that crept in between notifications. the app would light up my phone constantly, and yet somehow, i felt more disconnected than before i joined.
when i first signed up for Seeking, it was almost overwhelming. messages everywhere. likes, winks, introductions. my inbox filled up faster than i could read through it. part of me felt validated in a way i hadn’t in a long time. like, oh, okay, so i’m not invisible. there were options. lots of them. men with polished profiles, professional photos, carefully chosen words. it felt efficient. streamlined. like dating with the mess removed.
except… the mess wasn’t removed. it was just quieter.
most conversations followed the same arc. a greeting. a compliment. maybe a question about my profile. i’d reply. they’d reply. and then… nothing. two exchanges, sometimes three if we were really pushing it. the conversation would just die, mid-sentence, mid-thought. no explanation, no fade-out, just silence. and then another message from someone new would pop up, as if nothing had happened.
at first, i assumed it was me. maybe i wasn’t engaging enough. maybe my replies were too long, or too short, or too honest. so i adjusted. i tried being lighter. then more direct. then warmer. then more distant. none of it really changed the outcome. conversations still evaporated.
what made it stranger was how intentional everyone claimed to be.
so many profiles talked about “mutual benefit.” the phrase was everywhere. bolded. italicized. capitalized. people seemed very sure they wanted it. but when it came time to actually talk about what that meant, things got vague fast. suddenly, “mutual benefit” was more of a vibe than an agreement. something assumed, but never defined.
i’d ask questions, gently. what does that look like for you? what are you actually hoping for? sometimes i’d get an answer that sounded rehearsed. sometimes i’d get deflection. sometimes i’d get unmatched. it felt like everyone wanted clarity without having to offer any themselves.
there was this unspoken expectation that i should just know. that i should read between the lines. that wanting to talk about it made things awkward, even though the entire platform is supposedly built around transparency.
the irony wasn’t lost on me.
the app itself works really well. that’s the thing. it’s smooth. efficient. it does exactly what it promises in terms of volume and access. if you want attention, you’ll get it. if you want options, they’re endless. there’s always another profile to click on, another message to answer, another “hey” waiting in your inbox.
but emotionally, it started to feel hollow. like eating fast food when you’re actually craving something warm and grounding. you’re technically full, but not satisfied. i’d log off after scrolling for an hour and feel weirdly empty, like i’d spent time interacting without actually connecting.
even the dates that did happen had this strange, detached quality to them. polite. pleasant. efficient. like both of us were following a script we’d already memorized. small talk flowed easily, but deeper questions felt out of place, almost intrusive. i could sense the invisible checklist running in the background: attraction? check. chemistry? maybe. alignment? undecided.
and somehow, despite being surrounded by people who were very upfront about wanting arrangements, it felt lonelier than traditional dating ever had.
i think part of it is the abundance. when everyone is an option, no one feels chosen. conversations end because there’s always another one waiting. there’s no urgency to understand someone when you can just move on to the next profile that might be easier, clearer, less complicated.
i caught myself doing it too. letting conversations fade because something slightly shinier appeared. feeling less patient than i’d normally be. less curious. less willing to sit with uncertainty. the platform doesn’t force you to invest, so it subtly teaches you not to.
and that realization made me uncomfortable.
i went on Seeking because i wanted honesty. i wanted to stop pretending money didn’t matter. i wanted something straightforward. what i didn’t expect was how emotionally distant everything would feel. how easy it would be to talk to dozens of people without ever feeling truly seen.
sometimes i’d stare at my inbox and feel nothing. no excitement. no disappointment. just this flat, neutral response to attention that should’ve meant something. that’s when i started wondering if the efficiency was actually working against me.
i don’t think Seeking is bad. i don’t even think it’s deceptive. it does exactly what it says it will do. it connects people quickly. it creates opportunities. it removes a lot of the guessing.
but it also removes friction. and maybe friction is where connection lives.
i still log in sometimes. old habits die hard. i still read profiles, still reply to a few messages, still tell myself maybe the next conversation will feel different. maybe it will go past two exchanges. maybe this time, “mutual benefit” will actually mean the same thing to both of us.
and maybe that’s the emptiest part of all. not that it hasn’t worked yet, but that it always feels like it could. like the possibility is permanently just one message away.
so yeah. Seeking feels full. overflowing, even. but some nights, after closing the app, i realize i don’t feel any fuller than before.
and i’m still trying to figure out whether that’s just the nature of the platform… or something it’s slowly teaching me about myself.
