A couple of years ago, my husband and I were at a bar with some friends we hadn’t seen in a while, when one of them turned to us and asked, “So what’s it like to be married?” We both glanced at each other, a bit bewildered. “We’re not aliens,” I said laughingly. We may as well have been. Apparently, being married in San Francisco is like being a hipster without Warby Parkers. It just doesn’t exist. I’m a Millennial, and it seems like, in my generation, it’s easier to find people who have longer relationships with their Lyft drivers than with their dates, let alone engage in this foreign concept of marriage.
It’s amazing that my husband and I met only six years ago. When we first embarked on our wonderful world of courtship, Android phones hadn’t even come to market. Smartphones were virtually (no pun intended) nonexistent. So much of what we do, how we currently engage one another, and our access to information all happens on mobile devices. At that time, we were devoid of any technological distractions and dated the old-fashioned way: he picked me up at my apartment and brought me flowers; he cooked dinner and planned activities; and we did the parental meet-and-greet and talked about our future. Within a year, we got engaged. A year later, we got married. Would my life have been dramatically different if all this were happening now? I think so. Why? For so many reasons.
I met my husband in a bar. I let him buy me a drink. The drink led to conversation. The conversation led to dancing, which led to laughing, which led to an in-person chat until 5:00 a.m. about who we are, what we did, and how we want to change the world. After we’d dated for a year, he dropped the bombshell that he was moving to India to run a start-up and wanted me to join him. INDIA? Land of mosquitos and malaria?! At age 25, I had just graduated from law school, and my career hadn’t even begun. But I said yes. I don’t even remember it being a big life-changing decision. It was simple — I loved my boyfriend, and I wanted to be with him.
Though six years ago may not have been the age of snail mail and smoke signals, it wasn’t the video-chatting and virtual world it is today. Had I chosen not to jump on board, our communication would have been restricted to phone calls, e-mails, and texts. Had the same technology that exists today been available years ago, I might have been more inclined to stay on this side of the world and attempt to sustain a relationship through FaceTime and WhatsApp. So I took a risk, placing a bet on a man who may not have been perfect. But given the chance, I figured, he could be the perfect person for me.
Without a doubt, nothing is better than physical presence and face-to-face interaction. The Silicon Valley mantra, however, boasts of technology as this inter-webbed engine that can seamlessly connect people everywhere. If that’s true, the relationships we form should reflect those deeper bonds and lasting associations. This then raises the seemingly obvious question of whether technology actually does forge those connections. And at what point do the human elements of effort, understanding, empathy, and trust manifest themselves? At what point does technology become more hurtful rather than helpful? I can think of at least three cursory ideas.
The first is that technology has impeded our ability to be real. It has enabled our peers to create both a public mask and a virtual mask, through which the dynamic of our characters is constantly in flux. The virtual mask is the one most prevalently employed, as it’s the persona we reflect when we e-mail/text/Tweet/chat/Facebook/Instagram/e-date.The virtual mask is a facilitator of curation — timed witty responses, layer upon layer of filtered photo shares, and “#blessed” status updates, which are all examples of self-empowering, or perhaps self-involved, behavior.However, what happens when, after a few exchanges of canned banter back and forth via text or on a dating app, you’re forced to interact with your e-date in a physical, nonvirtual world? Awkward silence? Polite laughter? The lines between what’s real and what’s online become clouded, and the root problem of the issue is that what we do online is not necessarily a snapshot of who we are. Rather, it’s how we want others to see us.
In a survey regarding these issues involving singles throughout the city, 68 percent said they did not believe they presented themselves differently in the public world versus on a dating app or when texting with a potential date. The really noteworthy data point, however, is that the same percentage felt that when they met their date in person, he or she was completely different from the person who appeared online or via text. The end conclusion? People don’t believe that technology interferes with their ability to be real in both worlds, but apparently there is a serious disconnect, since those on the receiving end do see a misalignment.
Second, having the option to date a never-ending conveyor belt of prospects gives people the chance to be overly picky under the premise that there are plenty of other fish in the sea. “I would never date someone who brought me red roses on the second date,” one girl told me. I was completely perplexed. When I asked why, I was told, “It’s too strong. Lilies maybe, but roses? No way!” Apparently, “It’s the thought that counts” had been tried, tested, and tossed. I experienced a similar sentiment on the male side. “Nah, if she didn’t like the Niners, that’d be a deal breaker,” one guy friend pronounced. Moreover, I learned that standard first dates for e-daters involve grabbing coffee or drinks so they can plan an escape route if (and, more likely, when) their date goes south of blah. “What if someone you met online suggested an activity you both expressed interest in, such as a bike ride or a cooking class?” I probed to see if there was somewhere more scintillating that would allow one to form a bond than a mundane bar or a stuffy coffee shop. Again, I got similar responses on both sides. No one wanted to commit to anything more than an obligatory beverage before fully qualifying their lead. The instantaneous nature of technology has not just created a shift in our mind-set; it’s generated an expectation of satisfaction right away.
The problem is that many people in my generation are always looking for “someone better” or an “instant click,” but they don’t necessarily want to invest the initial time or take the risk that’s needed to form a real relationship. The people I observe in successful, happy relationships are those who go with the flow, are willing to take a chance, and understand that no one is going to meet every single quality they desire. The Hinges, Tinders, and Coffee Meets Bagels of the e-dating pond offer their users access to all these fish, but when one takes the bait, the angler actually has to reel it in.
Finally, technology takes instant gratification to another level, becoming an insatiable beast. Rideshare on demand. Food on demand. COOKIES on demand (not that I’m complaining, Doughbies). San Francisco thrives on leveraging technology to make things more efficient and convenient. When it comes to relationships, it’s impossible to apply the same algorithms to dating. “Clicking” on demand doesn’t always amount to clicking in person. Relationships and marriage take effort and understanding — a human element not built into the functionality of apps like Hinge. When my husband and I moved to India, we were only one year into our relationship. We had no money and no friends, and we had just begun living together for the first time — all this in a city surprisingly more expensive than London, and with less infrastructure than Rwanda. Enduring experiences such as a failed start-up, three bedridden weeks of typhoid, and wedding planning across the globe strengthened our relationship and brought us closer as a team.
It might just be that the online hyper-connectedness of our society today has simply gone too far. Those looking for love are inundated with too many connections, too many apps, and too many swipes. The social norms for our culture have shifted with technological advancements, yet most of the expectations people have are still based off romcom media and traditional ideologies. It wouldn’t hurt to occasionally trade in texting for talking and Instagramming for investment. While having a virtual library of prospects surely aids in building a potential dating pipeline, it’s equally important to remember that people online are mostly one-dimensional. The lumbersexual enjoying a brewski at Suppenküche is not only how he appears. Take a risk and go say hi.
Photo Courtesy of Lam Phan
