Mind Games Everybody Dating Plays but Would Never Admit

When it comes to dating, not all is as it seems. Some people can’t help themselves. Some people flirt. Some people ghost. Others’ weapon of choice is breadcrumbing. And some people turn dating into a psychological experiment with an uncertain outcome.

Let’s be honest with each other. We’ve all played games to some extent. I certainly have, because I haven’t always played with all my cards on the table. Sure, I could say I did it to protect myself. But that wouldn’t be entirely true.

The truth is, we like being wanted. To feel that way over and over, many of us play these small games. My take is that dating games don’t always mean someone is immature; often, they just show we’re human.

Let the games begin — even before the first date.

Usually, it all starts innocently enough. You match and start talking. Although if we’re being completely honest, the first little game is already unfolding, starting with your profile picture.

Before anyone has said hello, we’ve already decided which photo makes us look the most attractive, effortless, interesting, fun, and mysterious. We’re not necessarily misrepresenting ourselves, but we sure are doing our best to be seen in a favorable light.

And then comes the bio. What to write or what not to write?

This little exercise in personal branding can be surprisingly daunting. I once asked a date to improve my Tinder profile because I was so unsure of its appeal that I figured I needed feedback from someone who had actually swiped right.

And then, finally, someone matches with us. But that’s not where the mind games end, is it? Quite the contrary, I believe it’s where the games truly begin. We kick them into high gear by tracking every interaction and discussing our interpretations with our friends. Things like who sent the first message, how quickly they replied, whether their message was enthusiastic enough, and whether the punctuation means anything. Not much overthinking going on here, huh?

And just like that, we might deliberately wait before replying because responding immediately could reveal that we were, in fact, waiting for their message. We might also leave a conversation hanging because they seem a little too interested, only to become strangely intrigued when their attention disappears.

This is where dating gets wonderfully stupid: we want someone to like us, but we also want to maintain enough uncertainty to make their liking feel earned. What do I mean by that? Well, we want reassurance without appearing to need reassurance, attention without looking like we asked for it, and romance without surrendering any negotiating power.

Welcome to the age of strategic indifference.

I’m not entirely sure why, but scarcity seems to have become a kind of currency in modern dating. We’ve bought into the questionable idea that the less available we appear, the more valuable we become. So everyone scrambles to look just a little less interested than they actually are.

The game is to keep the other person wondering, pursuing, and proving themselves. Don’t reply too quickly. Don’t show too much enthusiasm. Keep them guessing about how much you care.

But what happens when the pursuit stops?

Someone who seemed merely pleasant yesterday can become fascinating today because they have suddenly become less available. Their silence acquires meaning. Their attention feels more valuable. We notice that they haven’t watched our story, haven’t liked our post, haven’t sent the usual message, and suddenly we are far more invested than we were when they were readily available.

It is one of dating’s crueler little tricks: sometimes we don’t know how much we want someone until we feel them slipping away. What looks like indifference can turn into intrigue the moment we sense competition, rejection, or the possibility that we may no longer be chosen. It can be that we miss the person. But it may very well also be that we miss the feeling of being chased.

That is where the line between attraction and validation starts to blur.

If we are being very honest with ourselves, not every season of our dating life is dedicated to truly finding love. Sometimes it’s about distraction or getting over someone. Other times it’s about leaving a relationship or trying to sabotage the one we’re in.

The prize, in those moments, isn’t necessarily the relationship. It’s the confirmation. The quiet little reassurance that we are attractive, desirable, interesting enough to be pursued. And once we get it, we can finally relax. We have the answer we wanted. They want us. Excellent. On to the next one.

The problem is that validation and intimacy are not the same thing. Being wanted can feel intoxicating, but being known is something else entirely.

Pursuit gives us a rush, while closeness asks something from us in return.

Once someone actually gets close, the carefully maintained distance disappears, and suddenly there is nowhere left to hide behind delayed replies, strategic unavailability, or the comforting ambiguity of not knowing where we stand.

Now we have to figure out if we really like this person, not just if we like being liked. That’s when the game changes. Getting someone to want you is exciting, but deciding if you truly want them is when things get serious.

When the chase ends, choice begins.

The odd thing about dating today is that most of these games aren’t about tricking anyone — they’re about protecting ourselves. We act like we don’t care because caring feels risky. We hold back because showing interest gives the other person power. We keep our options open because choosing someone means we might make the wrong choice. So dating becomes a careful dance of mixed signals, waiting, keeping distance, and hoping to avoid rejection.

But intimacy requires the exact opposite. At some point, someone has to reply when they want to reply, admit when they are interested, stop pretending not to care, and risk finding out that the feeling isn’t mutual.

Maybe that is the real dating game we keep losing. Not getting someone to want us, but having the courage to be honest about what we want. Because the moment we stop trying to win the game is the moment we finally give ourselves a chance at something real.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.