‘Taste matching’: finding love online on Goodreads, not Tinder

One ordinary night, someone comments on a movie in the r/horror subreddit, the space on Reddit dedicated to horror films. Another person replies. There are no carefully chosen photos, no profile description specifically designed to impress, no questions like, “What are you looking for?” It’s clear what they’re both looking for: to talk about scary movies. No flirting. Days later, the exchange is repeated. Then come the private messages: “Hey! What have you been watching lately?” And, almost without realizing it, these two people start telling each other things that no longer have to do solely with films. Some time later, and perhaps after a real-world meeting, that digital conversation turns into a relationship.

Stories like this—discreet, subtle, seemingly innocent—are becoming increasingly common on digital platforms designed not for finding a partner, but for sharing tastes, cultural obsessions, or ways of seeing the world. It’s a slower, less performative way of connecting online, one that feels more real. Some people catch each other’s eye while discussing books on Goodreads, writing fan fiction on Wattpad, playing online games, or exchanging memes on X or Instagram. From there, they end up building emotional connections without having explicitly “looked” for each other. Some call this “taste matching”: finding someone based on what you like, not on how you present yourself.

On dating apps, many people feel like they’re shopping in a supermarket where they themselves are also products. It’s all photos, brief descriptions, and the need to quickly decide what to keep and what to discard. This model can become exhausting, especially if it results in a series of disappointing dates. “Given the speed and superficiality of these apps, which generate rather trivial, sporadic, or purely sexual relationships, it’s normal for something else to emerge,” explains Luis Ayuso, Professor of Sociology at the University of Málaga and part of the research team for the study “The Management of Intimacy in the Information and Knowledge Society.”

Ayuso views this phenomenon not as the beginning of the end for dating apps, but as a response to the need to create new spaces for socializing. “Paradoxically, digitalization has eliminated many meeting places. This has led to the creation of new spaces for sociability, both digital and in-person,” he points out. Cultural platforms, social networks, and physical spaces like gyms are becoming places to meet people and, potentially, find a date.

In these environments, the classic seduction profile doesn’t exist. People don’t enter with the intention of finding a partner. For psychologist and couples therapist Cristina Rocafort, this changes the tone of the connection from the start. “Without demonizing apps, I understand that in this way attraction or love can arise more genuinely. In a cultural space, you don’t have a sign in your head that says ‘I want a relationship,’” she explains. “Relationships can be created where the lack of intentionality leaves a little more room for mystery, as could happen before the arrival of the internet.”

Less pressure, more conversation

One of the reasons these platforms are appealing is, for example, the reduced pressure to conform to certain aesthetics. The starting point isn’t image, but conversation. “There are people, usually over 30 and eager to meet others, who don’t feel comfortable using a dating app based almost entirely on appearance,” Rocafort points out. “Meeting people through a shared interest makes things much easier for them, eliminating that more frivolous aspect of the apps.”

María has experienced it this way since she was very young. “I met my first boyfriend through YouTube, and what connected us was talking about music. In fact, the first time we met in person, we exchanged Green Day and My Chemical Romance T-shirts,” she says, laughing. Later came other relationships that began talking on Twitter—now X—about movies, illustration, and graphic novels. “When you meet people like that, there’s no inherent predisposition for something to happen. Expectations are neutralized, and everything flows more naturally,” she explains.

But are there differences in the type of intimacy that arises from a connection based on shared cultural interests compared to one that begins with physical attraction? For Rocafort, there’s no single best approach: “The biggest difference is the beginning, but ultimately, intimacy and connection require ongoing work.” He gives the example of a couple who start with physical attraction. Perhaps in that case, the starting point is sexuality, he argues, but then they’ll also have to work on or explore the other things they have in common. “Among these, cultural interests will certainly play an important role. Intimacy and emotional connection with someone won’t happen solely because of physical attraction or because they like the same movies,” he points out. They are different starting points that then require effort to reach the same destination.

Ayuso does emphasize the special symbolic value of sharing references. “In this digital society, communication is increasingly important,” she maintains. “Paradoxically, we have greater access to communication, but it’s poorer, and in a relationship, communication is fundamental. We’re tired of seeing images of couples sitting at a table, each looking at their own phone,” she states. In this context, having shared cultural tastes provides a foundation for talking, thinking, and projecting oneself beyond the immediate present. “It’s a much more stable foundation,” she asserts.

But it’s not always like that. Sonia fell in love at 16 with a boy she met on an anime online forum. “Having exactly the same tastes led us to start talking about more personal things. It was a really natural transition,” she recalls. Later, they met in person, but things didn’t work out. “I thought, ‘I’m sure I will relate with this person in other aspects of life as well,’ but it turned out that wasn’t the case at all. He had his own timeframes, his own traumas, his own quirks... Our ways of functioning were completely different,” she explains.

Writing, distance and idealization

Another question is whether the fact that many of these relationships begin in writing fosters deeper intimacy. Rocafort is cautious on this point: “Distance and communicating in writing can give us the feeling that we are more protected. We are exposed, but not as much.” This can facilitate an initial openness, but it also encourages idealization, in the doctor’s opinion: “Ultimately, deeper intimacy will be achieved through real contact. And if I am not able to sustain the relationship in person, it is doomed to fail.”

Sonia experienced exactly that. She met a guy talking about books and recommending reads on Instagram. “Everything he said was so interesting. It was fascinating,” she recalls. “We talked more and more until one day we decided to meet. It turned out he was also incredibly good-looking. I got really nervous because I really liked him, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship. We ended up having a super-intense fling for two or three weeks, and then he gradually started to disappear.” Over time, she’s come to feel that the whole cultural exchange was just a pick-up strategy. “I let myself be charmed by all the cultural things we had in common, and I really imagined that it would lead to many other things, but it turned out that it didn’t. It was all smoke and mirrors,” she reminisces.

Love retains its elusive and capricious nature, but not all stories end in disappointment. Lali met her partner while commenting on reality TV and the Spanish TV show “Sálvame” on Twitter during the Covid pandemic. “To me, he was the cute guy from Twitter. I couldn’t believe he was real,” she recalls. With him, she felt she could be herself, and precisely for that reason, after months of talking, she decided to meet him in person. Today, they still live together and have a cat. For her, the difference with dating apps is clear: “Through Twitter, I was able to get to know him better, seeing the comments and opinions he shared about things. That naturalness doesn’t exist on dating apps; it’s all about showing off, about pretending. Sometimes it feels like a job interview.”

Slow love in the digital age?

Lali’s case is a perfect example of what anthropologist Helen Fisher calls “slow love,” as Ayuso explains. “In contrast to the fast-paced love of apps like Tinder or Hinge, there’s a trend toward new forms of love that develop gradually,” she explains. It doesn’t represent a total rejection of digital technology, but rather an adaptation. “Digital technology is here to stay, but some people need a different rhythm.”

According to the expert, the changes in how we relate to each other have come so quickly that many of us need time to adapt. There are no magic formulas. Neither psychology nor sociology offers clear guarantees of the best way to start a relationship. Nothing is predetermined. “The relationship isn’t so much predicted by how I meet the other person, but by the work I do afterward,” Rocafort insists. The platforms will change, the dynamics of relating will change, but the foundation remains the same: daily communication, care, and presence.

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