“Ghosting” in LGBTQ romantic spaces

Imagine you clicked with a kindred individual, someone with whom you find common interests and your conversations flow effortlessly. You begin a connection with this person and open a vulnerable part of yourself, which is unusual for you. There is comfort in this relationship, a possibility to relax around them in a way that is different than even your best friends. 

You continue chatting, getting to know them and leaning into the feelings of euphoria while deepening your relationship with this individual. Plans are made to meet, and for once you let yourself bask in the newfound prospect of someone. 

And then, they stop responding to your messages. They leave you hanging on the other line, checking your phone and waiting to hear from them just one more time.

Sound familiar? This abrupt exit, commonly known as “ghosting,” unfortunately rings true as a familiar experience for those who frequent dating apps. This is the reality of ghosting: an unanswered question, the artificial end to what could have been an amazing friendship or relationship. 

However, “ghosting” hurts others more than expected. As a gay man, ghosting has become a staple of my interactions with other gay men on dating apps like Grindr or Tinder. Most recently, I was ghosted by a potential prospect about a week ago. 

After investing myself into my relationship with this man and conversing for about a week, I felt comfortable enough to ask him out on date. Unfortunately, he must have felt differently and decided to leave me hanging on the other line. While this discomfort differs from the humiliation of being stood up (another pain with which I am familiar), there still lies the stinging feeling that you were left behind.

My experiences reflect the overarching issues I face when fitting into the LGBTQ community and forming lasting secure relationships with other men of similar sexual orientation. Specifically, finding spaces conducive to private one-on-one conversations proves to be the most difficult task. 

Typically, designated queer spaces are found online through apps or online forums, or local bars where alcohol blurs the line between an intentional conversation or simply another half-assed one liner.

And while marches may provide at times a positive environment to seek out companionship, the sheer number of bodies at these events tends to overwhelm even the most extroverted of people.

Which then leads us into a cycle of online conversations facilitated by our favorite dating apps. To nail down a conversation that’s more than one line, we defer to our “tried-and-true” apps to seek out those conversations. What you will find is many people who truly separate online interactions from real life conversations.

To match with someone or find similar interests on a profile obviously means we will hit it off with that individual. This is how relationships online are viewed, as a formula which if done right will lead to long-lasting relationship.

However, intimacy and efficiency mix like oil and water. Relationships take time to grow and flourish, a concept which these apps have rejected and replaced with a swipe system that hinges on a half-hearted want to experience another physically.

Dating app fatigue may feel familiar to a practicing heterosexual who uses apps like Tinder simply to pass time while they are bored in class.

Yet for many in the LGBTQ community, these settings are one of the primary means to meet others who can empathize with their lived experiences. And when even this setting is sexualized, where are we meant to go to find a kindred spirit who enjoys similar interests?

Our individual sexualities grant us infinite possibilities to create durable connections with each other. What rankles me is the overwhelming sexualization of queer spaces to the point where it feels inescapable. 

In virtual spaces where authentic conversations are already rare and there is a degree of separation between the people talking, this sexualization places unnecessary tension on users who truly want to experience an authentic conversation.

To “ghost” an individual means more than the end of another conversation. 

It represents the splintering of a connection between two individuals who live in a society where genuine conversations around sexual orientation are impeded by countercultural forces. We as a community need to learn to craft spaces welcoming to the variety of lived queer experiences.

And yet, will I still hold out hope that I’ll meet someone on Grindr? Ask me in a week, and we shall see.