To those who are well-versed in the world of online dating, finding the ideal match requires a fine-grained understanding of how technology, intimacy and intention commingle. It’s a complex world full of contradictions. The mental taxation of scrolling through an endless stream of dating apps comes with the territory, something that can feel especially difficult for singles from particular ethnic backgrounds. Despite these tensions, digital platforms enable people to develop profound connections, fall in love and build families all the time. It can, and does, work. But is it time for the process to evolve?

According to a 2023 Pew Research Centre study in the United States, 1 in 10 adults in a relationship met their current partner on a dating app or site. For adults under 30, that number shifts to 1 in 5. But although people are finding success, there has been some pushback against using technology to find a long-term, meaningful partner. Match Group, the publicly traded corporation that owns and operates the largest dating app portfolio in the world, including Tinder, Hinge, OkCupid and more, says paying users on Tinder decreased by eight per cent in 2023.

This doesn’t mean the apps are dying. In 2022, dating apps were a US$9.65-billion-dollar industry with a 7.4 per cent projected growth rate by 2030. However, it does mean that the industry is ripe for innovation from 70 founders with a vision for new online dating models. Big players like Match Group will continue to dominate the market due to share size, but they will need to adapt to what people, especially those from a wide range of backgrounds under 30, are longing for.

One trend gaining momentum is the emergence of a new batch of niche dating apps tailored to users’ cultural backgrounds.

Culturally specific apps include long-running staples like Jdate, Muzz and Dil Mil, which cater to Jewish, Muslim and South Asian singles (respectively). Then you have specific apps that include political distinctions, like Lefty, a dating app for singles who support social justice causes and advocate for change. Elsewhere, Feeld includes options for ethical non-monogamy, Loosid gathers together sober singles, and Dig targets dog lovers.

Dua launched in 2019 as a dating app for ethnic Albanians. Within a year, the app garnered 200,000 sign-ups from people seeking a connection with others from across the world. Today, Dua welcomes all singles searching for a connection strengthened by culture, with 8 million users and over 1 billion swipes, with users choosing to filter by ethnicity, or not.

Relationships are profoundly personal. When the task of finding a meaningful relationship begins to feel increasingly elusive, leaning into culture and tradition can re-shift the focus of a search, while also adding a healthy dose of hope. “Cultural niche apps are also born out of the fact that there is a lot of racialized exclusion with the mainstream apps,” says anthropologist Treena Orchard, associate professor in the School of Health Studies and an affiliate in women’s studies and feminist research at Western University. Orchard is the author of Sexy, Sticky, Sad: Swipe Culture and the Darker Side of Dating Apps (2024). “That’s been an issue from day one and so people have been wanting an alternative to that for quite some time.”

In 2017, Match Group launched Chispa, a dating app for Latin singles, and acquired BLK, a lifestyle and dating platform created for the Black community. And, in February 2024, they launched Yuzu, a dating app with the option to seek platonic friendships to meet the needs of the Asian community.

There is solace in aligning yourself with like-minded people. Shivanu Thiyagarajah is the Toronto-based CEO and founder of Tamil Culture, a media platform serving the Tamil diaspora, which, according to the 2021 census, includes nearly 240,000 people in Canada. Helping Tamils who have immigrated to Western countries connect with one another is important to her. “The Tamil community finds unity around the Tamil language, which is one of the oldest languages in the world,” she says. “For those who fled persecution and war in Sri Lanka, the forced displacement also creates a shared unity around struggle, which other South Asians, or even Tamils from India, wouldn’t necessarily be able to relate to.”

After she received requests from the community to host dating events specifically for Tamil singles, she launched MyTamilDate in 2014. “MyTamilDate focuses on serious, long-term relationships rather than casual dating,” Thiyagarajah says. “Marriage and family life are significant milestones in Tamil culture. Our platform [makes] the search for a meaningful relationship easier and more intentional.”

For many singles, swipe culture leads to emotional fatigue

Culturally specific dating apps naturally have a smaller community of singles than the big players. For MyTamilDate, this is an advantage that allows for more personalized services, including human verification for all profiles. Success stories abound. Two users of the app lived minutes away from each other for years, but met for the first time on MyTamilDate and have since married. “There’s a lot of frustration with online dating right now, but meeting someone in person once you’ve left school is extremely difficult,” Thiyagarajah says. “Tech opens up our world and options, and if used with the right intentions, discipline and awareness of ourselves, it makes it much easier to find what we need.”

Humans naturally seek partners with similarities and common interests. A 2023 study in Nature Human Behavior found that male-female couples are more alike than not, sharing up to 89 per cent of traits like educational attainment, political values and “religiosity,” or how closely they adhere to organized religion. Although the study didn’t specifically focus on ethnicity, falling for a partner who has physical similarities is also deeply human, says Orchard.

“We as a species have been often designed to seek out people who look like us or feel like us, because on a deeper level, they look like kin,” she says. “Post-pandemic, with the increasing uncertainties in the world, perhaps those sort of instinctual things are kicking in on a different level. The world does feel less safe for a lot of people, so going with a community or an individual that’s similar to you makes sense.”

That said, people are not a monolith. Connecting only because of a shared geographic or linguistic origin may result in a superficial bond. And although swipe culture can still lead to love, for many singles, it leads to overwhelming emotional fatigue.

Nisha Mohan experienced this first-hand. While living at home during the pandemic, Mohan and her brother Sishir were inspired to develop a dating app for South Asians that was different from anything they’d encountered before. They both had generally frustrating experiences using these apps, but the pandemic exacerbated and intensified their difficulties. “The only way to meet anyone was online and everything felt overwhelming,” says Mohan. “You get choice overload. The swiping design of the modern dating app makes you focus on surface-level things…it’s a cognitive overload, which is super exhausting.”

She’s not wrong—the user interface of swiping is designed to make you feel like you’ve earned a prize. And who doesn’t want more rewards, especially when they’re seemingly so expeditious and easy to achieve?

“There are intermittent releases of information, whether it’s a new match or new reply, that are specifically designed to hit our dopamine receptors,” says Orchard. “There’s also interesting things about the algorithm that really demonstrate how we are rewarded for our productivity and how we are punished when we take a break.”

The swipe-reward-repeat cycle didn’t appeal to either sibling, not as modern singles and not as South Asians.

Finding a partner is often a family affair in South Asian culture. This doesn’t necessarily mean opting for an arranged marriage or hiring a matchmaker (although it can), but rather includes welcoming, and honouring, the involvement and opinion of parents and other elders. Mohan wanted to bring the feeling of familial approval—with a twist—to online dating for South Asians.

Between Mohan’s work in user experience research and Sishir’s background in product development, they had an impressive artillery of technological expertise at their disposal to bring their idea to life. They began working on Ishq, an invite-only dating app for “high intentioned” South Asians in 2021. Their target market included only those who were looking for a long-term commitment. They officially launched in October 2024, after a few years of beta testing.

Ishq differentiates itself from other dating apps in a few ways. Each member is personally vetted by Mohan after a video call where she gauges their seriousness and asks a range of personal questions. This creates the hand-picked aspect, a form of cultural approval that’s familiar to many South Asian singles. “We wanted to make Ishq a community of South Asians with shared values around authenticity and intentionality,” says Mohan. “So authenticity being: Do people have a good idea of who they are? Are they comfortable with who they are? And, then, intentionality being those who are willing to put in the time and effort to find someone long term.”

There’s also no swiping. No algorithm. You can post only one photo “so people aren’t over-indexing on looks,” says Mohan. Members get only three matches a day sent to them at a certain time. You can speak with just one person at a time, and when you match, both members must agree to a FaceTime video call before meeting IRL. Ishq also hosts intimate in-person events.

This brings us to our initial question: How can we transform the experience of finding love digitally? Apps like Ishq could set a new standard of thoughtful design influenced by the user experience, but Mohan’s passion is for her people.

“How can we help South Asians create more meaningful and deeper connections?” she says. “This is a community that we care about, and South Asians deserve to have something like this.”