From Swipes to Something Real: My Honest Take on Gay Dating in Brisbane

There are two versions of me in Brisbane.

There is the version who has a full life. A proper one. A calendar that thinks it runs the show. Work that matters. Family. Culture. Commitments. A body that sometimes taps me on the shoulder and says, slow down, you are not invincible, you are not twenty five, and you cannot live on adrenaline and hope.

And then there is the other version of me.

The version who opens his phone at night like it is a tiny portal to possibility, only to discover it is also a portal to chaos, confusion, and the kind of disappointment that can make you laugh out loud in your own living room because if you do not laugh, you might actually scream.

I used to think dating was about meeting someone. Simple. Two people. A spark. A conversation that does not feel like work. The kind of first date where you forget to check your phone because you are too busy being present.

Now dating feels like managing a small digital call centre.

Grindr. Hunge. Bumble. Tinder. Scruff. BiggerCity. Plenty of Fish. Skout. Grokio. UGH

It is like I am running a rotating roster. Clock in. Respond. Swipe. Reply. Try to sound interesting. Try to sound not too interested. Try to sound like a real human being while doing the exact same introduction for the fiftieth time that week.

Hi. How are you. How was your day. What do you do. Where do you live. What are you looking for.

And by the time you have typed it all out, you already know the answer to the last question because the conversation has taken a sharp left turn into something that has absolutely nothing to do with dating and everything to do with a shortcut to a situation.

It is the modern gay dating paradox in Brisbane. We have more options than ever, and somehow less connection than we have ever had.

My iPhone has started judging me.

You know that little Screen Time notification that pops up like an intervention you did not ask for.

Your usage is up.

Your usage is up again.

Your usage on dating apps now surpasses your usage on all social media combined.

Not only am I single, I am apparently committed to being single with excellent attendance.

And it is not even the fun kind of usage. It is not a romantic montage. It is not me smiling at my phone while walking along South Bank with the sun on my face and a coffee in my hand thinking, maybe this is the one.

It is me lying in bed at night, thumb scrolling like I am trying to solve a puzzle that keeps changing its pieces.

Because here is the truth. Switching between all these apps is exhausting. You have to reintroduce yourself again and again, like you are applying for a role where the position description is unclear and the interview panel keeps changing.

Every app has its own vibe.

One feels like speed dating with no small talk allowed.

One feels like a curated catalogue where everyone looks like they live in a gym and have never had a bad angle in their life.

One feels like a place people go when they are tired of the other places, but still hoping a miracle is hiding behind the next swipe.

One feels like you are in a room full of men who are technically available, but emotionally somewhere else.

And the funny thing is, no matter what the app claims to be, the conversations tend to fall into the same three categories.

Category one. Silence.

You match. You say hello. Nothing.

You wait. Still nothing.

You wonder if they died. Or got married. Or simply opened the app, looked at your message, and decided their thumb needed a rest.

Category two. The interview.

Where are you from. What do you do. How tall are you. What are you into. Do you host. Are you discreet. What suburbs.

It is less getting to know you and more, are you compatible with my immediate plan.

Category three. The shock and awe approach.

And this is where I need to be honest, but also keep my dignity intact.

Unsolicited pictures. Unsolicited messages. Conversations that start at level ten when you are still at level one.

No warning. No context. No attempt at being charming. No hello. Just a digital version of someone barging into your lounge room and making it your problem.

Sometimes I sit there and think, do people realise there is a human on the other side of the screen.

A whole person.

A person who has had a full day.

A person who might be tender. Or tired. Or hopeful. Or trying to build something real. Or simply trying to find one decent conversation that does not feel like a negotiation.

And yet, the expectation seems to be that you are meant to perform. Respond fast. React positively. Be flattered. Be available. Be up for it. Be easy. Be fun. Be uncomplicated.

But I am not uncomplicated. None of us are.

I have a life that has shaped me. I carry responsibility. I carry history. I carry love for my people. I carry the ache of everything I have survived. I carry a body that needs care. I carry a mind that thinks too much at night and feels too much in silence.

So when a conversation opens with something crude, it does not feel exciting. It feels empty.

It feels like I am being reduced to a body part instead of seen as a whole person.

And maybe that is the hardest part. Not the explicit messages. Not the constant app switching. Not even the time it steals.

It is the way it chips away at your sense of being worthy of something more.

Because every now and then, you do find him.

The prince.

He is not perfect, but he is kind. He writes in full sentences. He asks questions that actually require answers. He makes you laugh. He seems curious about who you are, not just what you look like. You start to relax.

You start to imagine the simple things. A second date. A proper one. Dinner. A walk. A movie. Meeting his friends. The kind of pace that lets connection build instead of burning out.

And then, the first date arrives, and you realise you have both shown up for completely different reasons.

You came for a beginning.

He came for an ending.

You came with intention.

He came with a timetable.

And the moment it becomes clear that you are not going to fast forward your boundaries just to keep someone interested, the energy shifts. The charm fades. The replies slow. The follow up never comes.

No second date.

Not because you did something wrong. Not because you were not enough. But because your intentions did not match.

Which sounds so mature when you say it like that, does it not.

In reality, it is still disappointing.

Because you can be emotionally intelligent and still feel rejected. You can understand the dynamics and still feel the sting. You can know your worth and still wish it did not have to be this hard.

Sometimes I wonder if we have confused access with intimacy.

We can access anyone at any time. We can message strangers while waiting in line for groceries. We can swipe through faces like we are browsing a menu.

But intimacy. Real intimacy. The kind that grows slowly and safely. The kind where you feel chosen, not selected.

That is rarer.

And in Brisbane, it can feel like everyone is close enough to meet, but too distracted to connect.

We are all busy. We are all stretched. We are all trying to find something while pretending we do not care too much.

But I do care.

I want someone who can hold a conversation without steering it into the gutter. Someone who does not treat dating like a transaction. Someone who respects the fact that I am a whole human being with a whole life.

Someone who understands that chemistry is not an excuse to rush. That attraction is not a substitute for respect. That loneliness is not a reason to accept less than what you truly want.

And yes, I will admit it.

Sometimes I get sucked back in. I download the apps again. I tell myself, maybe this time will be different. Maybe I will meet someone who is also tired of the same patterns. Maybe he is out there, also rolling his eyes at his Screen Time report, also wishing for something real.

I have friends who say, you have to kiss a lot of frogs.

And I get it.

But I am tired of kissing frogs who do not even want to be kissed. They want convenience. They want novelty. They want a moment. They want a body.

I want a person.

So lately, I have been asking myself a different question.

Not, why is dating so hard.

But, what am I actually looking for, and what am I willing to stop doing to make room for it.

Because maybe the answer is not another app. Maybe the answer is less noise. Less scrolling. More living.

More being out in the world where people can see your energy, not just your photos.

More moments that feel like mine again.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time my phone tries to intervene with a Screen Time alert, I will listen.

Not because dating is wrong.

Not because wanting love is foolish.

But because my time is precious. My peace is precious. My heart is not a free trial.

And if love is going to find me, I want it to find me as myself.

Not as a profile.

Not as a late night reply.

Not as a person who has learned to accept crumbs.

As myself.

A man in Brisbane who still believes in connection, even when the apps make it feel like a myth.

And if you are reading this and nodding along, exhausted, frustrated, and quietly hoping for something more, I will say this.

You are not too much for wanting a second date.

You are not boring for wanting conversation.

You are not old fashioned for wanting respect.

You are not difficult for having boundaries.

You are just human.

And maybe the most radical thing we can do in modern dating is refuse to be reduced.

So yes, I might still open Grindr. Or Hunge. Or Bumble. Or Tinder. Or Scruff. Or BiggerCity. Or Plenty of Fish. Or Skout. Or Grokio.

But I am going to try to open my life more than I open those apps.

Because if the right person is out there, I want to meet him in a way that does not require me to lose myself first.

Alright, I am outsourcing my love life to my friends because the apps are doing my head in. If you know a single bi or gay man in Brisbane who is actually available and actually wants to go on a real first date, tell him to message me or message me his details. I promise I am normal in public and I can hold a conversation.