There s a new dating app in d. c. so obviously we had to check it out npr
There s a new dating app in D. C. so obviously we had to check it out
I had set my preference to anyone, and while some of the men that came across my screen were sort of just rubbing their chins and not saying much, or literally any words at all, a few women genuinely seemed like they were putting their best, most earnest foot forward. In order to be more "intentional" about swiping, the app doesn't allow you to actually swipe; you have to click an "X" button or a heart button on someone's video — the thinking goes, I guess, that your decision making would be less mechanical, more motivated by "genuine connection" instead of validation.There's a new dating app in D.C. so obviously we had to check it out
Just as they say capitalism breeds innovation, apparently so too does D.C.'s allegedly calamitous and easily mockable dating scene breed more gamified programs on our phones that offer the promise of genuine human connection.
Enter PreVue, yet another online dating app attempting to carve a space for itself in an already saturated (and frankly, kinda sad) D.C. market. The app, which attempts to set itself apart by requiring users to post a video introduction of themselves, expanded to the District in May after launching first in Boston.
It's the brainchild of Luke Grady, an architectural designer turned business student who was driven to start the PreVue because he found other apps' whole sad swiping saga lacking in "authenticity." The promise of a witty bio would often underdeliver IRL, he says; his dates "weren't really cutting it for me." (Grady's alleged dates were not available for comment.)
Article continues below"I wanted to find a solution to combat that, because all of [the apps] seem to offer the same kind of thing — the uploading of the photos, and then the biographies," Grady told DCist/WAMU in an interview.
The choice of D.C. as one of the app's first cities was based on both quantitative and qualitative research; marketing teams conducted surveys, but also, more simply, Grady says, if you browse the search results when you type in "singles" and "D.C.," you can sort of piece together that we're hurting for help — admittedly a data point DCist has probably contributed to.
So the premise of PreVue is as such: instead of thumbing mindlessly through a stack of people who, in a laborious list of answers to in-app prompts, state that they are looking for someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously but is also the most passionate person on the planet, who is also a total nerd about literally everything, but should NOT expect to beat them at trivia (although if they do, free drinks!), who can handle their sarcasm but also loves a good flirt-to-roast ratio, and lastly — most crucially — someone who is willing to fight to the death defending their position in the very important "does pineapple belong on pizza" debate .
Instead of all of that, users swipe through potential matches' 22-second videos meant to challenge them to "embrace vulnerability," Grady says. These videos must be filmed in the app, not uploaded, and cannot be edited or filtered, a measure to preserve this elusive authenticity.
"We're trying to combat this kind of online dating swiping fatigue," he says. "[The video] . can't be faked."
So as any truth-seeking storyteller dedicated to their craft would do, I downloaded the app and made a quick profile to check everything out for myself. The initial setup is fairly standard — plugging in your name, age, gender identity, and job. I had to set an age range, geographical range, and gender identity for my potential matches. There was also an option to indicate what you're looking for; friendship, something casual, a relationship, and the reticent "don't know yet." Then the app asked me for permission to open my camera.
Because I respect myself and more importantly, my coworkers, I went to the quiet room (or crying room, depending on who you're talking to) in the back of the DCist/WAMU newsroom to film this 22-second thing safely out of earshot and eyesight of my fellow hardworking colleagues. I propped my phone up on my laptop and confidently tapped past a prompt asking me if I'd like any coaching from some in-app experts.
Trying to ignore the facial asymmetry highlighted by the unforgiving front-facing camera and reminding myself that none of this is real, I thought for a second about actually giving the PreVuers a real introduction to myself and really leaning into this whole experience. But that felt too uncomfortable — as they say, never mix work with pleasure! — so I went with my original plan, which was to film myself just sort of sitting there, not speaking, staring at my camera as I played the final chorus of Faith Hill's "This Kiss" from my laptop. (There was no real significance behind that choice, it's just been stuck in my head for almost a month.)
Once I uploaded my clip, it asked me to select a thumbnail image from this 22-second video of my unmoving, blank face, which was probably my least favorite thing I've had to do in a while and a humbling reminder that my right eye is smaller than my left. After that, I was taken to the main interface of the app and ready to meet genuine, real people. I toggled to the geographic radius page, which I had set to five miles, because I thought that was reasonable, and the app told me there were seven potential connections within my range. The world was my oyster.
More than 8,000 people have downloaded the app in the D.C. area, according to Grady, so I am chalking my tiny pool of potential suitors down to the age range I had set (although it did span a decade). I moved over to the "stack" and began tapping through profiles.
I had set my preference to anyone, and while some of the men that came across my screen were sort of just rubbing their chins and not saying much, or literally any words at all, a few women genuinely seemed like they were putting their best, most earnest foot forward. In order to be more "intentional" about swiping, the app doesn't allow you to actually swipe; you have to click an "X" button or a heart button on someone's video — the thinking goes, I guess, that your decision making would be less mechanical, more motivated by "genuine connection" instead of validation.
I didn't match with anyone, but after you do match with someone, that's when you can read someone's bio and see their additional photos, thus informing your decision about whether or not you want to message them. And after that, I'm guessing it works pretty similarly to the rest of the apps: You volley a few surface-level questions back and forth until one person stops responding, and then both parties move on with their lives, until matching on a different app and repeating the cycle.
Of note, there is a flag on every profile for users to report something being said or displayed in a video; Grady says the app has a built-in moderator that should filter out videos immediately if they have nudity, hate speech, drugs, or violence, but may miss something.
While I wasn't expecting a thorough explanation (algorithms are designed so we don't understand them, I think) I asked Grady to explain how the algorithm works, and how he responds to critiques of dating apps — particularly that they perpetuate sexual racism and that their algorithms (most of them made by white people, usually men) largely favor white users over all other demographic groups. He said the algorithm is crafted based on what you say or show in your video.
"Let's say you were holding up a cat, you were talking about how much you love your cat and how you met your cat . we can pick up that and we can then push you towards other individuals that have talked about how they like cats," he says. "The matching is hyperrealistic toward the data that you present; the algorithm works based on what you record in your PreVue."
So perhaps it makes sense that I ended my experiment matchless, as phrases like "Faith Hill," "centrifugal motion," and "perpetual bliss" are probably difficult to work into a serious pitch about why someone should date you. (Although for someone with a little creativity, I think there could definitely be something there.) It seems as though those who would find the most success on this app would be those unafraid to earnestly post on the internet, which in our irony-poisoned era is an increasingly valiant effort.
And while yes, it's sort of, or very, trite and tired to harp on the monotony of online dating apps in 2023, people — and not just those in D.C. — do seem to be burnt out and exhausted and stuck in a cycle of deleting and redownloading the same five apps. Whether downloading yet another one is the solution is a question only the city's singles can answer.