The Dating Trend That’s Worse Than Ghosting

I sat there.

Coffee cooling.

Phone silent.

Again.

The third time that month. A promising conversation. A seemingly solid plan. Saturday, 3 PM at that cafe with all the good pastries.

The hopeful text at 2:45: “Running few mins late, be right there!”

Their final message, sent Friday night with nothing but cheer: “Can’t wait to! See you then!”

Now? Radio silence. The pastry I had ordered for two sat uneaten. Just me. And the crashing sound of being ghosted. Again.

It’s not just ghosting anymore. but fuck that, the post-date disappearing act of doom. This is different. This is pre-ghosting. Burning up before anything solid even has a chance to take root.

Flakes. Fade-outs. Last-minute cancellations with no reschedule. Good intentions of texting.

Define what the hell a “silly text” even means. Promises to text that evaporate into the digital void. “I’ll let you know!” they say. Spoiler: They never do.

I scroll. Endless profiles. Witty bios. Carefully chosen smiles. Matches ping. Conversations spark. Plans are tentatively sketched. Hope flickers. Then… nothing.

The chat goes cold. The plan evaporates. The game becomes nothing more than another electronic ghost haunting an already-densely-packed graveyard of what-ifs and potential epics.

Did I say something wrong? Did I order too plain of a coffee? Or is this… the new normal?

Psychologically, this behavior is called benign neglect. It sounds gentle. It’s not. The passive, cowardly act of ignoring someone usually because it feels easier than confronting.

Instead of “Actually, I changed my mind.”

Or “I got scared.”

Or perhaps, “Someone else looked more appealing.”

The illusion of infinite dating apps, for all their promise, are built on an illusion. Endless swiping. Entirely new worlds are only a finger flick away.

If the next one might be… better, then why invest in this one? Easier? Less demanding?

A Pew Research Center study revealed that over 60 percent of people believe online dating is more dangerous than pre-Internet connections, some even thinking the rise in Gen-Y users responsible for this belief.

It’s an epidemic. We have more choices than ever, but we are still starved for real attention.

The impact isn’t trivial. Rejection stings. But constant pre-emptive rejection?

The all-too-familiar slights where one is not even worth the least effort of a “Hey, can’t make it.”

It chips away. It whispers lies. You’re forgettable. You are not enough to show up for. Some days I feel… thin. As though I might simply fade away too. Disposable. A one-time fleeting notification easily seen and swiped away.

I try to rationalize.

“They got busy.”

“Something came up.”

“It’s not personal.”

But what happens when it keeps on happening? It gets personal before long — really, inescapably personal. A pattern emerges.

The disappearance is not the rule; it’s the baseline. It feels as though by making a plan, I am laying bait for my own disappointment. Why bother getting ready? Why bother hoping? But that is when the cynicism begins to slither in, a form of protection against the next necessary disappearance.

I catch myself doing it too. The pulse of fear when the next new match writes to you. That reluctance to firmly commit.

The small voice in the air reminding you that, “What if something better were to come around in the next five minutes?”

It’s sneaky. The art of erasure culture vanishes. As a result we turn into both — victim and villain.

But if we never fully show up — because our nature is so fragile in its beauty. Always having one foot out the door. Ready to bolt. We are prepared to vanish before we will leave. What does it cost us? Real connection.

Vulnerability requires presence. It requires showing up. Physically and emotionally. Flakiness is not a solid base to build anything.

Trust is lost before it’s even built. Intimacy becomes impossible. We’re lonely islands, too scared to create the bridges because they may disappear in a fog.

Well, what is it like dating when everyone is gone? Honestly? Well, I really don´t know. I am still at that cafe table every now and then — metaphorically. But I’m trying.

I’m lowering the stakes. That will not always be The One. After all, every coffee does not have to be for life. Sometimes, it’s just coffee. A brief, real human interaction. That’s valuable too. Maybe that’s enough.

I’m valuing consistency over fireworks. The person who shows up? Who actually texts as promised? Who doesn’t vanish? That’s rare. That’s gold. I am slowly recognizing that quiet stability is deeply appealing. Even more than any well-crafted tagline.

I’m trying to be the change. If I’m not feeling it? I try to say so. Clearly. Kindly. Hey, great talking to you but I don’t feel that type of way” Best of luck!” It takes seconds. It stings less than silence. If I need to cancel?

If I truly mean it, I will give you a legitimate apology and counter time. No flaky “maybe next week?” ghosts.

I’m protecting my energy. I can’t control others vanishing. But at least I can choose how little of me I offer to the void before someone confirms they are turning up. I am hesitating just a tad too bit to keep my hope grounded. Not extinguished, just… managed.

It’s exhausting. Leading across the temptation minefield. The silence is loud. The absences pile up.

But in the vanishing acts moments appear. Fleeting, but real. A conversation that flows effortlessly.

A real coffee laugh, with no emojis. A plan made and kept.

Those moments? That is why I fervent scrub on my profile every so often. The reason I still dress up on occasion. Why I fight the cynicism.

Because under our shells are flakes and fears, but still we all just want the same. To be seen. To be chosen. Someone who could just… arrive And stay.

Perhaps the antidote to vanishing is simply that. Showing up. Being present. Even when it’s awkward. Even when it’s scary. Especially then. One genuine connection at a time.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.