A Different Moral Universe: Dating Apps and the Political Divide

Behold:

I did just want to ask one thing… did you vote for Zohran?

An X post about a cancelled date has restarted the discussion about the breadth of the political divide between single men and women. “Murray Hill Guy,” a New York City influencer, had a first date planned at a nice restaurant this past Tuesday. He cancelled that reservation immediately after reading the woman’s query about how he’d voted, texting her the confirmation that the date was off. He then posted the exchange online, as one does, so that his mostly conservative fanbase could jeer or lament as they wished.

In 1999, when I first joined the dating apps, one could select one’s political views from a clunky drop-down menu. As I recall, there were just four options: liberal, conservative, moderate, and prefer-not-to-say. I selected the first of these, recognizing that it was an extremely elastic category. I also didn’t pay much attention to what prospective dates were selecting. We’d just concluded the Clinton Impeachment, and people had strong feelings about his conduct, but I don’t remember anyone ever suggesting that differing views on that scandal were disqualifying. We had James Carville and Mary Matalin on our televisions at night, affectionately skewering each other. (For my younger readers, Carville and Matalin were – and still are – married. He worked for the Democrats; she worked for the Republicans; they disagreed constantly in public - on various talk shows - and still adored each other.)

Does Substack need another Gen X rumination about just how wonderful the late 1990s were? Probably not. I merely point out that those of us of a certain age were raised in a culture where political ideology did not rank high on the list of a potential mate’s desired qualities. The culture was replete with stories of married couples who shared passion, devotion, friendship – and who cancelled out each other’s vote every single election. My maternal grandparents are just two of millions of examples. (Things got tense in November 1948, when my Democrat grandfather crowed a bit too loudly that Truman had defeated Dewey, the candidate for whom my Republican grandmother had enthusiastically voted. They worked through it just fine.)

For today’s daters and would-be “maters,” these nostalgic anecdotes about past tolerance of disagreement reflect a fundamental misunderstanding of what politics really are. In a contentious and bitter era, ideological differences are now evidence of a vast moral gap. We can no longer disagree about politics without disagreeing about core issues of human dignity, of purpose, of identity. If we are expected to cut off parents and siblings over politics, then surely any “decent person who understands the stakes” would never, ever dream of dating someone who voted for the other guy. Though none of us are this eloquent, we’re apparently supposed to offer a variation on Bertrand Russell’s famous reply to Oswald Mosley when the latter proposed a debate. The great philosopher wrote to the famous fascist:

I feel obliged to say that the emotional universes we inhabit are so distinct, and in deepest ways opposed, that nothing fruitful or sincere could ever emerge from association between us.

Mosley was the son of a baronet, and Russell the grandson of an earl; they were gentlemen who generally deployed a very civilized tone, but nonetheless found ways to express unmistakable mutual contempt. Today’s daters may not be so artful in their language, but they all seem to agree with Russell. To disagree about Donald Trump, or immigration, or trans rights, or the Middle East, is to inhabit a different and opposed emotional universe. Any attempt to visit the other’s universe is bound to be, well, fruitless and insincere.

On the main dating app I use, nearly half the women’s profiles contain an explicit request for right-wing men to steer themselves clear. (I have never seen the reverse.). I won’t screenshot as it violates the app’s terms of service, but I can quote: “Absolutely no MAGA,” “Don’t ‘like’ me if you voted for Trump,” “No Zionists,” “Free Palestine,” “ACAB.” (The last of these stands for “All Cops Are Bastards.”). L.A. is a left-wing town in many respects, and as a demographic, single, urban women of all ages also lean left-of-center.

Nearly half the time, after there’s been an exchange of “likes,” the woman will ask me about my political views. I am keenly aware that answering “I’m not political” can come across as either dishonest or obtuse. It’s a declaration of cluelessness about existential threats; it’s evidence that one moves through the world with no acknowledgement of one’s astounding and unmerited privilege. To be moderate or non-political is, in our hyper-partisan age, to lack both imagination and empathy.

So, I tell those who ask that I did not vote for Trump. If pressed, I will say that I voted for the Libertarian, Chase Oliver. I have many disagreements with the Libertarian party, but Mr. Oliver was an articulate, thoughtful, civil candidate who campaigned on the fundamental principle that we ought to be more reticent about telling other people how to live their lives. I will say that I support Israel, though I do not endorse every decision of the Netanyahu government. If there are more questions, I make the basic point that I am fundamentally suspicious of most ideological movements, that I have very few certainties, and that unlike many folks, I do not regard political disagreements as indictments of character. And of course, I always add, “And it’s totally okay if you feel otherwise. If you’re looking for fellow activists, that’s not me.”

I’ve had two or three conversations (over text or a phone call) that have ended with a recognition that the political gulf is too great to move forward to a date. Each of those chats has been friendly. No name calling, no cruelty, and no pleading to reconsider. Each time, we recognize that the point of the talk is to establish compatibility – or its absence. The goal is not to question what someone else finds important! Put simply, part of dating kindly is allowing everyone to want what they want. If a woman is very clear she prefers taller men, or a man is insistent on a younger woman, we can privately wonder if they shouldn’t expand their parameters, but unless we’re their therapist or very close friend, we don’t try to talk them out of their preferences. I am certainly not going to tell a woman she’s mistaken for wanting to date men who share her belief that the police should be defunded. I’m simply going to say that we’re not a match.

I can wish it were 1999 all I like, but it will not be so. I can celebrate my grandparents’ cheerful and affectionate disagreements, and joke about how they canceled each other’s votes in every presidential election from 1936 to 1968, but I will not insist theirs was an ideal which all should follow. I understand that in 2025, given the state of the world and our collective (and no-doubt-justified) anxiety about it, politics will continue to be a deal-breaker on the dating apps. People will continue to insist that ideology is morality, and that how one votes goes a long way towards determining one’s trustworthiness. We can wish it were otherwise, but we shouldn’t deride, scold, or mock those for whom political compatibility is foundational.

On the other hand -- the thing about dating apps is that if you set your parameters for prospective partners too narrowly, you will soon find that there aren’t a whole lot of good options. One choice is to give up, which isn’t much fun. A second choice is to persist, remaining tenaciously optimistic that the universe will provide the perfect match. A third option is to recalibrate and loosen up the search criteria. Could, for example, you consider dating someone who does not share your views on gender affirmation for trans teens – but who is very polite and calm in their disagreement? Or who doesn’t even disagree, but simply lacks your passion for the issue? I don’t know the right answer. I do know that the more indispensables we add, and the less flexible we are, the fewer opportunities for connection we will have. That may be a worthy tradeoff. It may not be.

I cast a wide net on the app. That’s less strategy than it is deep curiosity; less a calculated desire to improve my odds than a recognition that I can find compatibility, connection, and chemistry with a very broad category of my fellow humans. I recognize that mine is a stance rooted in a whole host of privileges – but I can both concede that privilege and still suggest that others reconsider a few of their own non-negotiables.

Bertrand Russell might have been certain that nothing fruitful or sincere could come of association with Oswald Mosley. You might be surprised – as I have so often been happily surprised – that fruitful, sincere, and profound connections can be made with those who inhabit very different moral universes. If that’s too implausible, then at the very least, be charitable in dismissing those whose commitments are alien or anathema to your own.