I am, admittedly, a big flirt. I love everything about the exchange of getting to know another person. The playful banter. The rush of dopamine. The sexual subtlety and subtext of everything not said. Flirting, to me, remains one of the last human endeavors where people are intentionally trying to find common ground. It’s pure possibility, absolute magnetism. It’s also an art that can’t be faked, or—despite Silicon Valley’s best attempts—perfected by AI.
That, of course, didn’t stop Big Dating from going all in on virtual intimacy this year, during which the focus shifted from endless swipes to AI-powered matchmaking. As the narrative around dating fatigue reached new heights, the trend toward sincere connection was an overdue correction by an industry that, across the last decade, built itself on ruthless scale, maniacal ambition, and profit incentives, only to realize that the answer was right in front of them all along: You win by investing in people.
The integration of AI tools wasn’t simply about keeping up with the Joneses or leaning into new innovations (though it was some of that). For once it was more than just talk: Big Dating was seeking absolution for its sins.
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Where dating apps once conspired to retain users by any means, AI presented an opportunity to connect people faster and, perhaps, forever. It led many companies to reconsider their user experience. According to a Pew Research Center study a few years ago, in the US, almost 60 percent of single adults said they were not currently looking for a relationship or casual dates. And while we aren’t exactly in a romantic recession—active users remain high; not to mention that Facebook Dating is a secret hit among Gen Z—overall user engagement among several apps, according to analytics firm Apptopia, has decreased by 7 percent year-over-year. (Yes, even in spite of one Belgian artist’s bizarre attempt to match people based on their browser history.)
It’s not a crisis or anything of the sort—hundreds of millions of people still swipe, scroll, and like on a daily basis—Big Dating just desperately needed to repair its reputation. AI looked like an answer.
In October, Three Day Rule, the veteran matchmaking service, launched a matchmaker-trained AI app called Tai that offers real-time coaching. Grindr, which is on a quest to become the ultimate global gayborhood by going “AI native,” is using tools from Anthropic and Amazon on its wingman feature and chat summaries (though some users weren’t happy about the app’s broad embrace of machine tech). Iris, Rizz, and Elate also rolled out AI features to help users navigate the early talking stages.
In a year where everyone had Love Island USA on the brain, yearners made a comeback, right-wing influencers campaigned for a larger stake in the dating zeitgeist, and virtual relationships saw record growth—as anecdotally did divorces caused by AI affairs. (According to a report by TechCrunch, the AI companion market has grown more than 96 percent since 2024.) Tinder, meanwhile, underwent a brand refresh and tried to attract more Gen Z users. “The biggest issue that we’re concerned with … is the bulk creation of new accounts,” Yoel Roth, head of trust and safety for Match Group, told WIRED in October following the launch of Tinder’s mandatory face verification update.
But the push for an analog dating experience—for something more human, physical, and real—was just as intense as it was for AI.
What seems even more true today is that young people want better alternatives to dating apps. They’re still hungry for love, they just no longer believe the solution is on their phone. I spoke with Eric Waldstein in February. He’s the CEO of Beyond, a new social club built around modern relationships that encourages online and IRL interactions among its members. He told me he anticipated a trend toward more intentional, curated experiences “that give people something they can’t get from an algorithm.” Boy, was he right. In the months that followed, even as AI streamlined our connections, another trend emerged with just as much force: People, it seemed, really just wanted to get to know someone in person without the barrier of a phone between them.
Good old-fashioned meet-cutes were making a comeback. On Instagram, influencer Laurie Cooper popularized “Sit at the Bar September.” Flirting parties popped up across Los Angeles. IRL dating events surged on ticketing platform Eventbrite in 2025, the company confirmed to WIRED. Friending events increased by 35 percent, compared to this time last year, with attendance at board game dating events up by 55 percent. Even some of the more promising apps of the moment rejected scale in favor of intention: Cerca paired people based on mutual connections, Breeze set out to reboot the blind date, and Timeleft offered to curate dinner parties for users with random groups of people in their city (the pitch: “turning strangers into friends”). I’m not a betting man, but expect offline-focused dating tech to dominate even more in 2026.
“People want digital to facilitate real-life interaction, not replace it,” Waldstein says. “I think people will start having a better understanding of what’s influencing their triggers and what brings them peace, and as a result we’ll see an increase in demand for authenticity.” He anticipates the shift will move “toward trust over reach” as singles look for an extra dose of social accountability in the next era of their dating experience.
There was no bigger theme for Big Dating in 2025 than getting people offline, with or without the help of AI, and back into the physical world, in search of an old architecture of connection.
Consider this the sign you’ve been waiting for. Get to it. Your person is out there.
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