In the press
the talking cure frequently appears in various news outlets and prominently features in numerous articles.
frankie
Jan/Feb 2025
Unhinged
Dating apps suck, according to a new wave of frustrated young folks. Cait emma burke is one such romantic who has decided to break up with the apps in favour of real-life connection.
I'm 20 years old, cripplingly hungover and curled up on the couch in my disastrously mould-prone Wellington sharehouse. Like every other anxiety-filled Sunday, I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm contemplating whether I'll ever find a boyfriend in this godforsaken city - spoiler alert, I won't - when my housemate bursts into the lounge room.
Wordlessly, she thrusts her phone screen towards me, awaiting my reaction. As my eyes dart across the screen, taking in the bold orange text, my sleep-deprived (and probably alcoholically poisoned) body is filled with sudden adrenaline: Tinder, the buzzy American dating app, has finally launched in New Zealand.
Like most single people who came of age as dating apps entered the world, I initially had mixed feelings about using an 'app' to find people to date. Culturally, we'd just spent years viewing dating websites like Match and OkCupid as something only desperate, incredibly lonely people resorted to in a last- ditch effort to find love. But our reservations were short-lived - when Tinder launched in 2011, we quickly became digital dating converts.
Tinder was an app that felt geared towards millennials, thanks to its social media-style interface and carefully (or in some cases, not so carefully) curated 'profiles'. The gamified process of swiping until you get a match - and the associated dopamine kick - proved incredibly addictive, and my friends and I whiled away hours sitting side by side, swiping, laughing, comparing. despairing and, occasionally, ogling.
Over the next decade, I'd experience the way these apps benefited single people. Dates, sex and - if you were lucky - romance and partnership were suddenly only a few swipes and DMs away. But as the decade wore on, the myriad ways these apps were permanently altering the way we date and connect came into sharp focus for me. I was brutally ghosted on multiple occasions and had numerous interactions with toxic, obnoxious men who'd become entitled thanks to the easy gratification these apps provided, and had started viewing women as disposable.
I worried we were forgetting how to flirt and romance each other, and how to identify the non-verbal cues that signify interest and attraction. More than anything, though, by the time I was in my late 20s, the apps just started feeling bad. It felt bad to use them, bad to try and curate a profile that captured my indefinable je ne sais quoi, bad to try and initiate conversation with a total stranger based on their poorly worded prompt, and bad to spend hours a night swiping until I practically had RSI. I wanted to throw my phone away and never match with anyone again, but I also wanted a partner. It was a catch-22.
"i eventually started contemplating dating again, and quickly realised that if i wanted to meet my love interests offline, i had to fully immerse myself on a night out, or at a café, or while browsing my local bookstore."
BREAKING UP WITH THE APPS Entering my 30s with more than a decade of app-based dating under my belt, I realised I was burnt out. One overcast morning, I unceremoniously deleted them all. I spent the next five months processing a painful heartbreak that had happened earlier that year, and being celibate. It felt - still feels - incredibly calming to not be on the apps and to take a proper break from dating. I've had time to get clear on what I'm looking for from the next person I date seriously - something I wouldn't have been able to do if I were pouring my energy into swiping through endless app profiles.
I eventually started contemplating dating again, and quickly realised that if I wanted to meet my love interests offline, I had to fully immerse myself on a night out, or at a café, or while browsing my local bookstore. I had to be on my phone less and be open and willing to talk to a stranger or look at someone just a little bit too long, or introduce myself to a cute guy at my friend's birthday. It was scary, but I found it was like a muscle; the more I struck up conversation or flirted with someone I barely knew, the easier it became.
Surprisingly, without the fallback of the apps, I was emboldened - I started meeting people organically most weekends. I'm now much more present on a night out, and that energy seems to draw people towards me more. I can't go home and swipe until I find someone who appeals to me, so I keep myself open to the possibility of meeting someone intriguing at the pub or on a packed dancefloor. And the more I've talked to people around me, the more I've realised I'm far from alone in my decision to break up with app-based dating.
Sara*, one of a handful of people I spoke to who no longer use dating apps, feels they bring out her judgmental side. "I sit there searching for what's wrong with someone's profile and then hate myself for it afterwards. I know that if I met half of the people I don't like on the apps in person, we would have a great time and I wouldn't pick out a flaw in them. But, when it's just an online profile, I'll find something to dislike immediately," she says. I resonate deeply with Sara; I know for certain that each of the men I've gone on dates with since going app-free would have, unthinkingly, been swiped into oblivion were I to come across them as a static dating profile.
Others told me they felt dating apps were "cruel", "demoralising" and "dehumanising" and that they made them feel even worse about being single. Charlotte* tells me the gamified aspect of the apps is what triggered her decision to give them up. "They were starting to feel like just another social media app to get stuck doomscrolling in. Some of my closest friends met their partners on apps in their heyday; but now, it just feels like they're a numbers game and you hear about how you need to 'game the system' in order to 'find' people, which is a horrible and slightly depressing way to try and meet people."
These perspectives aren't unique - worldwide, users are leaving apps like Bumble, Tinder and Hinge in droves, and youth research agency Savanta reports that more than 90 per cent of Gen Z feel frustrated by dating apps. Laura Miano, a sexologist and the co-founder of sexual wellness brand Posmo, encounters many clients who are struggling with app-based dating. "Apps are particularly challenging because of the sheer access people have to finding other options, meaning there may be less commitment to the dating process and less problem-solving as issues arise," she says. "Why put in too much effort when you have five other matches you haven't met yet? For those looking for a long-term and serious relationship, it can be a hard landscape to navigate.”
Caroline Weinstein, a clinical psychologist and the co-founder and director of The Talking Cure, hears similar frustrations from her clients. "People express various frustrations, including feeling overwhelmed with the volume of potential dates to scroll through, the impersonal nature of interactions and the pressure to present themselves in a certain way to attract attention. The swiping culture can sometimes feel transactional, leading to anxiety about constant rejection or superficiality. A frequent concern is 'ghosting' where potential dates disappear from communication without explanation, which can be emotionally unsettling," she says.
HOW TO DATE - SANS APPS
App-less dating is, without a doubt, scarier. There are no clear parameters, and no signs as obvious as a digital rose or 'like' to confirm that someone is interested in you.
A few single people I spoke to have implemented practices like asking someone out in public every two weeks or giving their number out to strangers each month, but the majority told me they're not going out of their way to meet new people to date. Something each person had in common, though, was their desire to meet someone organically. I know first-hand that if single people want this desire to come to fruition, they have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. We have to strike up a conversation, tell our friends we'd like to be set up, or slip a note and our number to someone we've been crushing on.
Laura reckons the first step to dating sans apps is to get out and about. "If you find that you don't go out much, it's going to be hard to find someone to date," she says. "Where to meet people will depend on your lifestyle - of course, clubs and bars are a great place to meet people. At restaurants, spark up a conversation with someone as you're waiting for your table or waiting for your Uber afterwards. Smile at them from across the room. If you're feeling bold, leave your number on a napkin."
Caroline recommends heading to events or engaging in hobbies and activities where you can meet like-minded people. "Volunteering, joining clubs, or attending social events related to your interests provide natural opportunities for connection. I hear 'run clubs' are the new dating scene of choice," she says.
"Let your social networks know that you are keen to meet new people. Sometimes friends can introduce you to others who share similar values and interests, instantly creating a more meaningful starting point."
And as Ray*, a man I spoke to who no longer uses dating apps, tells me, we need to embrace the romance of connecting with prospective lovers in real time - without the barrier of a screen. "I love catching an attractive stranger's eye in the supermarket while selecting the ripest avocado. I love fantasising about them coming up to me afterwards and me writing an entire story about our love affair. To me this is so much more exciting than getting hyped up about a person on the other side of your screen."
* Names have been changed
body & soul
Oct 2024
The Great Exhaustion: Why we're more tired than ever before (and what to do about it)
Trends like Quiet Quitting, The Great Resignation and Bare Minimum Mondays are indicative of a new era we've entered: The Great Exhaustion.
I first realised I was in a state of permanent exhaustion sometime in 2023. Australia was adjusting to post-pandemic life, and nowhere was that period of adjustment more fraught with difficulties than in the workplace.
If you’re an office worker like me, you’ll know what I’m referring to. Employers were flip-flopping about whether we’d get to keep our much-loved ‘work from home’ days, many businesses were struggling financially, redundancies were a regular occurrence, and pretty much everyone in the workforce was dealing with personal aftershocks – whether physical, financial or mental – of the pandemic.
Sitting in an office you’ve come to dislike, while trying to meet the ever-increasing demands placed on you due to staffing shortages, is a lot as is. But doing that while navigating the biggest collective trauma most of us have ever faced? It was, and still is, a lot.
Unsurprisingly, the pandemic and the years following it have left people with very little in the tank energy-wise. Trends like ‘Quiet Quitting’, ‘The Great Resignation’ and ‘Bare Minimum Mondays’ reared their heads from 2021 onwards, each indicating a growing desire for more work-life balance, and less emphasis on the rise-and-grind culture we’ve become so used to in late-stage capitalism.
Earlier this year, a new term was coined by economists and analysts to explain the work-related burnout so many of us are now experiencing: ‘The Great Exhaustion’.
So how did we get here, and what can we do to replenish our energy levels and approach work in a different way?
What can we do to replenish our energy levels? Image: Pexels
Unpacking The Great Exhaustion
Caroline Weinstein, a clinical psychologist and the co-founder of The Talking Cure, believes The Great Exhaustion highlights the significant mental health impact of modern work culture on employees.
“Many of us are feeling more depleted than ever, and it’s not surprising when we look at the demands placed on workers in today’s fast-paced, always-on society," she says. "Trends like ‘Quiet Quitting’, ‘The Great Resignation’, and ‘Bare Minimum Mondays’ are powerful indicators of a collective response to chronic burnout, where people are reevaluating their relationship with work and pushing back on unrealistic expectations."
Weinstein points to the ‘right to disconnect’ laws that recently passed in Australia and give workers the right to refuse to monitor and respond to after-hours work communication, saying that it’s “further proof that workers are exhausted and need additional safeguards for their mental health”.
Having our phones and laptops (not to mention smart watches) always on us or within easy reach means we don’t ever really get the chance to properly switch off.
Having our phones and laptops (not to mention smart watches) always on us or within easy reach means we don’t ever really get the chance to properly switch off, and this hyper-connectedness is burning us out.
“It’s often assumed that we are accessible at all times, both day and night. Moreover, technology has blurred the boundaries between work and personal life, so many people feel they’re never truly off the clock, with emails, Slack notifications and other digital demands extending well into personal time,” explains Weinstein.
“This digital overload and the ‘always on’ culture erodes boundaries, encroaches on personal space and time and contributes to a heightened stress response, potentially leading to chronic fatigue.”
The work-from-home culture that so many of us love isn’t always the best for our energy levels.
But it’s not only our increased workloads that are exhausting us – ironically, the work-from-home culture that so many of us love isn’t always the best for our energy levels.
“For those working remotely or in hybrid models, the lack of face-to-face interaction can lead to feelings of isolation, which exacerbates stress and mental exhaustion,” Weinstein tells me. “Humans are social beings, and when we’re disconnected from colleagues, it impacts both mood and motivation, which reduces the desire to get up and do things and creates a snowball effect of inaction. Exhaustion breeds exhaustion.”
While I value my working-from-home days (how good is getting on top of your washing on your lunch break), I do resonate with the decreased motivation and feelings of loneliness.
And now that I freelance two days a week, these feelings have only been exacerbated.
Time to clean out the conversation cobwebs.
So, what can be done?
In search of some practical advice, I ask Weinstein what she thinks can be done to pull us out of The Great Exhaustion we’re all experiencing. She tells me that, like so many issues we’re facing today, it’s a complex problem that requires more than a sternly worded email to your boss and a post-work face mask.
“Addressing The Great Exhaustion requires a multi-faceted approach involving both organisational changes and individual self-care strategies. The pandemic has led many to reevaluate what they want from work and life. There’s a shift toward valuing well-being, work-life balance and meaning over purely economic or career gains.
"For many, this shift has resulted in setting firmer boundaries, even if that means Quiet Quitting or doing the bare minimum to protect their mental health,” she says.
This shift has resulted in setting firmer boundaries.
At an organisational level, Weinstein believes employers should consider revisiting workload expectations, offering more flexible work arrangements and providing genuine mental health support.
“Many organisations have trialled four-day work weeks with limited impact on overall productivity and huge gains in worker satisfaction and well-being. Time shifting is another way organisations can better cater for workers by allowing them to start and end early or, if they’re night owls, to start and end late.”
She also highlights the importance of creating a work culture where boundaries are respected, breaks are encouraged and mental health is prioritised, as this can help foster a healthier work environment.
On an individual level, she says we need to get better at practising self-care, setting boundaries and redefining personal measures of success by “celebrating the small wins and seeing how having better overall health actually allows one to do their job better”.
It’s also crucial that we learn to recognise the signs of burnout, like emotional exhaustion, cynicism and decreased satisfaction, as this can help us take action before we reach a breaking point. “Mindfulness, regular breaks, physical activity and connecting with supportive peers can also be powerful tools,” she suggests.
Ultimately, Weinstein believes that The Great Exhaustion “reflects an urgent need for change, both in how we structure work and in how we define success and productivity”.
If employers and employees alike look at depleted energy levels as a chance to change how we approach work and health, then hopefully, we can create a much healthier and more sustainable work culture going forward.
Fashion Journal
Nov 2024
Why are we so uncomfortable with being perceived?
Like every other burnt-out, chronically online millennial woman, I spent my formative teenage years on Tumblr, Myspace and the like. I learnt early on that to be a woman on the internet is to be perceived, and that being perceived means being judged.
The value judgements placed on you – by real-life friends, total strangers, a seedy guy you once had a sloppy makeout session with behind the bins at a house party – could range from exclamations of affection to damning assassinations of your appearance and character. I still vividly recall a cute boy commenting on a photo of me on the (now-defunct) social media website, Bebo. “Ew. Not my cup of tea,” he wrote. I was 13 years old, and his dismissal cut like a knife. Unsurprisingly, it was around this age that I developed a complex relationship with being perceived, particularly on the internet. It’s a relationship I’m still untangling today, as a 30-year-old woman.
There have been moments in my life when being perceived in public has sent me spiralling. Simple tasks like going to the supermarket have provoked symptoms similar to a panic attack. Likewise, an unfounded fear that I’m being appraised by strangers and found lacking in some fundamental way has been pervasive. While not everyone’s as chronically anxious as me, I know even the most self-assured among us have hidden a tagged photo. We all hate hearing our voice in the back of someone’s video and for most people, ‘candid’ photos can take up to 20 takes. So why are we so uncomfortable with being perceived?
It’s evolutionary, babe
Despite being social creatures, being seen has always been a little terrifying for us humans. The fact that public speaking is our most common phobia (ahead of literally dying) is a testament to this. But with our need to be social an evolutionary imperative, why are we so afraid of being in the public eye?
Clinical psychologist Caroline Weinstein tells me this fear may be closely tied to our need to belong. “Humans are social creatures and historically, being part of a group was crucial for survival. Being judged or rejected by a group could lead to social exclusion, which was a significant threat to survival. This discomfort may be an evolved response to potential social threats.”
Being rejected by your group meant certain death, probably through exposure to the harsh elements or a surprise attack by a vicious prehistoric animal. This explains why we still have such intense reactions to perceived rejection, even when undertaking non-life-threatening activities, like leading a presentation at work or interacting on dating apps.
Caroline explains the discomfort many of us feel when being perceived is called the ‘spotlight effect’, which can stem from several social and psychological factors. “The central factor is self-consciousness, which is the state we are in when we’re aware of being watched or judged. We become hyper-aware of our own behaviour, appearance and thoughts. This heightened awareness takes us out of the situation we’re in and turns us into observers of ourselves, which can be quite an uncomfortable feeling.”
Increased self-consciousness can make us feel like we aren’t fitting within the social norms that shape how we believe we should behave in public settings, too. “This heightens the pressure to conform to these standards, making us feel uneasy, especially if we think we’re falling short,” says Caroline. “Ultimately, the discomfort of being perceived is a complex mix of personal insecurities, social conditioning and the innate human need for acceptance and belonging.”
Curation and control
Living in a digital world, where hyper-realistic filters with names like ‘Bold Glamour’ are only a tap away, we now have an unthinkable level of control over how others perceive us. Using the many tools at our disposal to perfect what we post may boost our confidence, but it can also amplify the insecurities that arise when we don’t have control over our image.
Our fear of being tagged in (or even seeing) an unflattering photo of ourselves runs deep. But buying into this fear can have real-world ramifications. It might stop you from self-promoting your successes, ultimately hindering your career. It might stop you from capturing happy holiday moments, going for runs in public, dressing how you want or – like Fashion Journal’s Managing Editor, Giulia Brugliera – it could have you entertaining the idea of a ‘no photos’ wedding.
I’ve known friends who never post anything on social media, despite wanting to, for fear of being perceived the wrong way. One friend went as far as to refuse being in a single photo on a four-month trip with her partner because seeing photos of herself causes her that much anguish. She tells me that she laments this decision, saying, “We’ve now lost all those memories”.
So how do we get over it?
As a writer and creative, self-promotion is basically built into my job. Despite this, during the almost five years I spent as the editor of Fashion Journal, outside of what I shared on FJ and its social platforms (which was, admittedly, a fair bit) I did minimal self-promotion.
When I started freelancing this year, I began sharing more of my work online and I’ve seen my follower count, engagement and career opportunities flourish. The downside is, I’m often overcome with an all-encompassing feeling of humiliation. The idea of a man I’m dating reading my articles about long-term singledom, or reviewing my Instagram profile and finding it ‘cringey’, fills me with dread.
Unfortunately, the payoff from sharing my career milestones is too lucrative to give up. So how do I navigate it? Content creator and fellow writer, Maggie Zhou, tells me my read on the situation is probably overblown. As someone who’s been influencing since before there was a name for it, she’s clearly got a grip on being perceived.
“I don’t really give two hoots about who watches my videos or reads my writing. It’s nice to publish stuff online because, in a way, it creates a separation; it doesn’t really feel real,” she says. “Whenever I see someone sharing their art or work online, my knee-jerk reaction is positive. We don’t scroll our For You page criticising and cringeing at people who’ve chosen to share online. Give yourself some compassion, and also, no one actually cares that much about you.”
For anyone who struggles to share their work online, Caroline believes the key is finding a balance between visibility and personal comfort. “First, decide what to share – you don’t have to share everything online! Be selective about the personal information and types of content you put out. Focus on your work, projects and achievements, while keeping private anything you might feel will attract too much judgement, if that feels more comfortable.”
If blending the personal and professional still makes you uneasy, she suggests creating separate accounts. “This allows you to control the narrative in your professional space while keeping your personal life offline.” Another tactic to try is creating a content schedule and potentially automating your posts. This can make posting updates feel more like a routine, instead of something you’re always thinking about. “Ultimately, it’s a complex mix of personal insecurities, social conditioning and the innate human need for acceptance.”
Who you engage with online can enhance your experience of being perceived, too. “Surround yourself with like-minded people who are also in creative fields [or whatever your industry]. Engaging with a supportive, niche community can reduce the anxiety of being seen by a large, unknown audience,” Caroline says.
And finally, just as Maggie suggests, Caroline tells me it’s important to practice self-compassion. “A key part of dealing with perception anxiety is to acknowledge the discomfort. Understand that it’s okay to feel uncomfortable, and this is part and parcel of being online. Over time, ongoing exposure to these experiences can reduce anxiety and build confidence. “Each time you successfully share a post or receive positive feedback, acknowledge it as a step forward. Over time, these small wins can help desensitise the fear of being perceived.”