Dating apps exploit you, dating profiles lie to you, and sex is basically something older people did. You might as well think about it: can AI help you find love?
For a handful of tech entrepreneurs and a few brave Londoners, the answer is “maybe”.
No, it’s not a story about humans falling in love with sexy computer voice – and strictly speaking, AI dating of some variety has been around for a while. Most major platforms have integrated machine learning and some AI Features in their offerings over the past few years.
But dreams of a future powered by robots — or perhaps just a general malaise in dating and a growing loneliness crisis — have fueled a new generation of startups that aim to use technology’s possibilities differently.
Jasmine, 28, had been single for three years when she downloaded the AI-powered dating app Fate. With popular dating apps like Hinge and Tinder, things were “repetitive,” she says: the same conversations over and over again.
“I thought, why not sign up, try something different? It seemed pretty cool to use, you know, agentic AI, that’s where the world is going now, right?”
Fate, a London startup launched last May, presents itself as the first “agentic AI dating application”. Its main offering is an AI personality named Fate who “onboards” users during an interview, asking them about their hopes and struggles before offering up five potential matches – without any swiping.
Fate will also accompany users in their interactions, if they choose, a feature that Jasmine described as useful and another user called “creepy” and “a bit like Black Mirror.”
Rakesh Naidu, the founder of Fate, demonstrated his coaching abilities in an interview with the Guardian. “I just feel a little hopeless right now when it comes to my chats. I feel like I’m not being engaging enough or meaningful enough,” he said into his phone. “I just need meaningful questions I can ask to really uncover the essence of people.”
“I hear you, Rakesh,” said a synthetic female voice. “Here are some ideas. First, what are you passionate about that not many people know about?”
Naidu, 28, said he launched Fate to address the shortcomings of the world’s biggest dating platforms – apps such as Tinder, Bumble and Hinge, which monetize the time users spend on it and “literally take advantage of the fact that people feel alone”.
Other startups, from Sitch to Keeper, have launched in the United States, hoping that AI capabilities can provide the novelty that will allow them to gain share of a crowded market. Sitch levers the power of AI to manage large amounts of information, inviting users to “give us detailed feedback on the color of their hair, where they want to start a family and their favorite music”; Guardian said he can find “a partner with rare and real soul mate potential.”
Part of the problem, according to Naidu, is algorithmic approaches to matchmaking: Tinder at one point ranked users’ attractiveness through an Elo score, an algorithm originally used to rate chess players. On dating platforms, this is a Hobbesian proposition: users with high scores are introduced to other users with high scores, users with low scores to other users with low scores. “It’s very superficial,” Naidu said.
AI, in theory, can offer a different path. As awkward as it may be to discuss your love life with a chatbot, Fate doesn’t rank you based on your answers, but instead uses an LLM to try to find other users who, based on their interview, might be similar to you. This approach, combined with the AI dating coach, helps users focus on authentic connection, Naidu said – “the similarity and reciprocity of personality.”
Amelia Miller, a consultant for Match Group (owner of Tinder and Hinge), is concerned about this approach.
A recent study by the group surveyed 5,000 Europeans about their online dating preferences – and found that while many were interested in AI tools to weed out fake profiles and report toxic users, most (62%) were skeptical about using AI to guide their conversations. An obvious worry might be the dystopian idea of two AI agents directing a conversation, with the nominally responsible humans turning into little more than meatspace spokespeople.
However, Miller, who coaches people on their relationships with AI, says she sees many clients turning to an LLM for guidance in the smaller, uncomfortable moments of building their relationships — asking the AI how to write text, for example, or answer an intimate question.
“Often I try to make sure people don’t turn to machines, because turning to humans requires a level of vulnerability that has become uncomfortable now that there is an alternative,” she said.
The appeal of an AI coach like Fate is that revealing yourself – your judgments, your hopes and your idiosyncrasies – carries no risk; he neither remembers nor evaluates. Friends do it and, Miller says, asking them for advice helps hone the skills needed for successful relationships.
“Counseling is really one of the primary ways that people practice vulnerability in a lower-stakes environment — it builds toward more vulnerable moments in a romantic context.”
Jeremias has been using Fate for several months. He said he doesn’t use the AI coach: “I could see it being useful, but I mean there’s obviously some concerns. Like the new generation basically won’t have the real-world experience of trying and failing.”
The app recently helped him meet someone after a long period of being single in London. He’s not sure if this is due to AI matching, or because Fate simply offers only five matches at a time – no infinite swiping – and, excruciatingly, requires its users to write an explanation when rejecting a potential match.
“It makes the swipe more thoughtful. If I actually say no to this person, what are my reasons for saying no?”
He and Jasmine both have a second date coming up, both after being single for several years, they say.
“It’s exciting because you get butterflies in your stomach again, dating, looking great, wearing dresses, heels. It’s fun,” Jasmine said.