Are we swiping right on loneliness? Time to log off and reclaim real connections

Sometimes, logging off and engaging with the real world is best. We could do well to "touch some grass."

Since the epidemic, internet and social media use has skyrocketed. What COVID-19 did was merely accelerate our ongoing migration into the digital world. The LGBTQ+ community has always been at the forefront of this migration due to the marginalized status we occupy in society. Despite what some may argue, only recently have public displays of affection become acceptable, and even today, some of those exchanges met with hostility and discrimination.

With the rise of social media has come the increased use of social media apps. Outside the "big three"—Facebook, Instagram, and X/Twitter—are dating apps, with Grindr ranking high as one of the most downloaded apps. It is interesting to consider how much of our lives we have entrusted to apps of all varieties, from our favorite moments with our families to our most intimate details.

Many fail to realize, or choose not to acknowledge, that social media companies are well aware of the destructive tendencies their products tap into. Nearly every aspect of these platforms increases user engagement, tapping into our unconscious fears and desires. We fear missing an important event, desire romance and intimacy, and worry about missing an important email that could change the trajectory of our careers.

For decades, companies from Grindr to Facebook have employed social science researchers to harness the addictive qualities of apps. Notification sounds cause us to immediately reach for our phones, wondering who has contacted us or what pic we've sent. Each app designs a distinct notification sound from other apps and, thus, attaches itself to a specific part of our brain. Researchers have shown we get a dopamine hit from getting a like, retweet, share, or other response—imagine what happens to our brains when we think a romantic encounter looms around the corner.

This strategy is highly effective.

Grindr has one of the largest daily returning user bases of any social media company, and its users rank among the highest for time spent on the app. Like a pull of a Las Vegas slot machine, that downward motion refreshes the grid of profiles engineered to increase engagement. While I've met several gay friends who met their partners on apps and used the app to connect with a member of parliament who gave me a private tour while in London, I've also met many other men with an unhealthy, if not anti-social, relationship to the app.

After being a victim of an internet scam artist, my reliance on these apps was recently reflected back to me. He used several fake social media profiles to discover my interests, learn about me, and determine how best to manipulate me. Gay romance scams are an understudied topic, one which only a few researchers like Carlo Charles have studied.

I understand that my story is familiar and follows an all-too-familiar pattern. I am left wondering how this happened and why it happened to me.

I received my answer while at a conference in Montreal. An attractive young man messaged me on the app and mentioned he was a fellow academic. He thought he recognized me from elsewhere, but looks can be deceiving amidst a grid of pixelated images. I had already decided after nearly becoming the victim of a scam I wasn't interested in hooking up, dating, or anything other than being friends—plus, I was there to work and had early morning appointments. Despite my encouragement to get out there and that he'd have no problems finding someone to make out with, he decided to stay on the apps, "Everyone will just pass me by, so I'll stay here on the apps, and maybe I'll go to the gay sauna later."

While I'm no prude or a stranger to the apps or saunas, it made me realize the addictive nature of apps. Grindr and similar platforms have created the illusion of an endless supply of lovers and that the perfect person lies just around the corner with the next swipe. These apps also leverage social and psychological aspects of human behavior against us to increase engagement, making us dopamine addicts seeking instant gratification.

When you pair that with other substances, these encounters can quickly become dark experiences.

My career has taken me to live in rural areas, some known to be hostile towards LGBTQ+ people and others where the community can be challenging to be involved with. Apps are a way to find a sense of community. However, like many aspects of online life, these spaces are poor alternatives to real human isolation and loneliness. Despite advertising otherwise, social media companies are businesses, and their business is keeping us logged on and engaged.

Perhaps the solution is for us all to touch grass and find the beauty that exists in all things—even if it's not ideal.

Christopher T. Conner is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at the University of Missouri. His work focuses on social media, online communities, and interaction. His latest book, Conspiracy Theories and Extremist Movements in New Times, is available from Bloomsbury Press/Lexington. He has also published extensively on Grindr, LGBT+ culture, and a wide range of other topics. His book The Spectacle of Online Life will be available in late Spring 2025.

Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit advocate.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.