Flocking: When Gen Z Leaves the Apps, Boards a Plane, and Dates Like It’s 1963
Wednesday, July 30, 2025.
There’s a quiet rebellion underway. No marches. No slogans.
Just Gen Z, boarding planes with carry-ons and a look that says, “I’m not looking for love, but if it happens in Barcelona, I won’t stop it.”
They’re calling it flocking—a dating trend where young adults travel not just to see the world, but to dodge the soulless meat-grinder of dating apps and maybe, accidentally, fall in love somewhere with decent espresso.
Flocking is the anti-algorithm. It’s Tinder, if Tinder wore hiking boots and made eye contact.
It’s the idea that perhaps romance has better odds at a rooftop bar in Portugal than it does inside an app designed by tech bros who think human intimacy should be “scalable.”
The Algorithm Is Not Your Wingman
Let’s face it: dating apps promised us a world of options.
What we got was a slot machine for our self-esteem. Every swipe is a little jolt of hope followed by a tiny funeral. You match, you message, they vanish.
Repeat until you stop believing in God.
Studies confirm what anyone with a heartbeat already knows: online dating wears you down. It emphasizes superficial traits (Finkel et al., 2012), cultivates decision fatigue, and is linked to higher levels of anxiety and depression (Strubel & Petrie, 2017).
You end up scrolling in your bed at midnight, judging people for liking pineapple on pizza, while wondering if love has a customer service number.
Enter flocking.
It says: what if instead of chatting with strangers who never ask a follow-up question, we met people in places that smell like sunscreen and possibility?
Romance With a Passport Stamp
Travel makes us interesting—or at least less predictable. When you’re in a new place, your nervous system perks up. You’re more alert, more open. You’re not just meeting a potential partner—you’re meeting a version of yourself that hasn’t been crushed by Tuesday.
Research backs this up. Novelty and shared adventure increase emotional closeness (Aron et al., 2000). Even short-term travel boosts traits like openness and agreeableness (Zimmermann & Neyer, 2013). Which may explain why you’re suddenly charming at a hostel dinner in Florence but emotionally constipated back home at Chipotle.
Of course, vacation love is often a beautiful lie wrapped in a sunset. It rarely survives reentry.
But that’s not the point. The point is: you felt something. You had dinner with someone who didn’t ghost you halfway through the appetizer.
You laughed. You flirted. You remembered that chemistry isn’t a setting—it’s a sensation.
Flocking as Civil Disobedience (with Room Service)
Flocking isn’t just about dating abroad.
It’s about exiting a system that feels more like emotional capitalism than human courtship. Dating apps have become the Amazon Prime of relationships: convenient, numbing, and possibly responsible for the decline of civilization.
Gen Z’s refusal to engage isn’t laziness. It’s strategy.
They’ve watched Millennials burn out on performative dating—crafting bios like LinkedIn resumes and ghosting with surgical precision. They want something weirder. More spontaneous. Less transactional.
This isn’t wanderlust. It’s resistance.
The Class Problem (Because There’s Always One)
Let’s not pretend flocking is accessible to everyone.
It’s easier to find romance in Paris if you can afford to get to Paris. There’s a class line baked into this trend, like gluten in a French croissant. Most people can’t take a random Thursday off to fly to Oaxaca and “see who the universe brings.”
But the sentiment behind flocking—that connection is better when it’s embodied, accidental, and off-screen—is available to all.
You don’t have to fly to fall in love. You just have to leave your damn apartment.
Go somewhere where people talk to strangers. That might be a beach. Or a community garden. Or the DMV, if you’re feeling bold.
The real rebellion isn’t in the miles. It’s in the method.
In Praise of Inefficient Love
Love, it turns out, was never meant to be efficient.
It was meant to be ridiculous. Awkward.
Full of terrible timing and glorious accidents.
Apps try to strip away the friction, but the friction is where the story lives. No one tells their grandkids, “I knew she was the one when her profile said she liked The Office.”
Flocking reminds us that romance was always better when it included a little Perelean mystery.
That sometimes, the best way to meet someone is to get lost in a new place. That maybe you don’t need more options—you just need fewer notifications.
So pack light. Flirt badly. Miss your flight together.
The app will still be there when you get home.
Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.
REFERENCES:
Aron, A., Norman, C. C., Aron, E. N., McKenna, C., & Heyman, R. E. (2000). Couples' shared participation in novel and arousing activities and experienced relationship quality. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 78(2), 273–284. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.78.2.273
Finkel, E. J., Eastwick, P. W., Karney, B. R., Reis, H. T., & Sprecher, S. (2012). Online dating: A critical analysis from the perspective of psychological science. Psychological Science in the Public Interest, 13(1), 3–66. https://doi.org/10.1177/1529100612436522
Strubel, J., & Petrie, T. A. (2017). Love me Tinder: Body image and psychosocial functioning among men and women. Body Image, 21, 34–38. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bodyim.2017.02.006
Turkle, S. (2011). Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. Basic Books.
Zimmermann, J., & Neyer, F. J. (2013). Do we become a different person when hitting the road? Personality development during a semester abroad. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 105(3), 515–530. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0033019
Transparency Statement: Daniel Dashnaw practices under the supervision of a licensed marriage and family therapist, in accordance with Massachusetts law. All content is for educational purposes and deeply rooted in empirical research, existential curiosity, and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting.