Young Woman's Car Breakdown Captures Dating Frustrations

In February 2024, a Los Angeles art director who goes by Ruthy on TikTok posted a breathless video from a sidewalk. She had just jumped out of a moving car. Her date — a man she knew casually from high school — had arrived over an hour late, and when she calmly told him she wouldn't tolerate tardiness again, he erupted. "Who do you think you are telling me that I can't be late picking you up to a date?" he demanded, before announcing he was taking her home [1]. Ruthy didn't wait for the car to fully stop. The video collected nearly a million views and 149,000 likes, spawning a five-part series that turned a single bad date into a referendum on the state of modern romance.

Months later, another TikToker, Kayla (@kayla.g21), went viral with a different but thematically identical warning: never let a man drive you on a first date. Her date had physically blocked the car door, refusing to let her leave. "He was 6'2 and jacked… so nothing," she wrote, describing her helplessness. That video drew 443,800 likes [2]. And in a quieter but equally resonant clip, 22-year-old Zoe Marner from Montreal told her 622,200 viewers that her biggest dating frustration was simply finding someone who held opinions about the world — someone "equally as curious" as her [3].

These are not isolated anecdotes. They are symptoms of a structural shift in how young Americans relate to each other — or, increasingly, don't.

The Dating Recession, by the Numbers

In February 2026, the Wheatley Institute at Brigham Young University, in partnership with the Institute for Family Studies, released "The State of Our Unions 2026," the most comprehensive snapshot yet of American dating life. Based on a nationally representative survey of 5,275 unmarried adults ages 22 to 35, the findings confirmed what viral videos had been illustrating in miniature: young Americans have largely stopped dating [4][5].

Only 31% of respondents reported actively dating — defined as going on at least one date per month. Among women, the figure was even lower: just 26%, compared to 36% for men. Nearly three-quarters of women (74%) and nearly two-thirds of men (64%) reported they had either not dated at all or dated only a few times in the previous year [5].

This is not, researchers emphasized, because young people have stopped wanting relationships. More than half (51%) of respondents said they were interested in starting one. An overwhelming 86% said they planned to marry someday [4]. The gap between desire and action is the defining feature of the dating recession.

Source: Wheatley Institute / Institute for Family Studies

Data as of Feb 12, 2026CSV

The Money Problem

The single most-cited barrier to dating was financial: 52% of young adults said they simply could not afford it. Among men — who still feel disproportionate pressure to pay — the figure was 58% [5].

That pressure has a basis in reality. According to BMO's Real Financial Progress Index, released in February 2026, the average "all-in" cost of a date in America — including grooming, transportation, and the date itself — hit $189, a 12.5% jump from $168 the prior year. Millennials reported spending an average of $252 per outing. Over a full year, the average American spent $2,323 on dating [6].

The report coined the term "date-flation" to describe a phenomenon outpacing general consumer price increases. Americans went on an average of 12 dates in the past year, down from 14 in 2025. Nearly half (47%) of singles said dating was no longer financially worth it [6].

Source: BMO Real Financial Progress Index

Data as of Feb 11, 2026CSV

The cost squeeze is producing a "K-shaped" dating economy. Fourteen percent of Americans reported spending nothing on dates — up from 12% the year before. At the other extreme, 14% reported spending $300 or more per date, up from 11%. The middle is hollowing out [6].

Meanwhile, average hourly earnings for private-sector workers have climbed from $28.43 in January 2020 to $37.32 in February 2026 — a 31% increase [7]. But for young adults in entry-level positions, wages have not kept pace with the combined pressures of rent, student debt, and the performative costs of dating in an era of Instagram aesthetics. Financial responsibility was rated the most attractive trait by 94% of respondents in the BMO survey, ahead of personality or physical appearance [6].

The Confidence Collapse

Money is only part of the story. The Wheatley-IFS report documented a crisis of confidence that cuts across income levels. Only about one in three young adults expressed faith in their own dating skills. Just 37% said they trusted their judgment when choosing a partner, and only 34% felt confident discussing feelings with someone they were seeing [5].

The numbers on resilience were even more striking. Fewer than 28% of respondents said they could stay positive after a bad date or relationship setback. More than half — 55% — agreed that their breakups had made them more reluctant to begin new relationships [5].

This confidence deficit maps onto a deeper shift. Justin Garcia, executive director of the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University, has described what he calls an "intimacy crisis" — a condition in which the human need for closeness has been "stifled by and misdirected in today's digital world" [8]. Garcia notes that a quarter of Gen Z adults have never had partnered sex, while 80% say they want romantic relationships. The disconnect, he argues, lies not in desire but in capacity: 55% of Gen Z adults say they feel unprepared for relationships [8].

When the Car Becomes the Metaphor

The viral car videos resonate because they literalize what millions of young adults feel: trapped, unable to exit, and at the mercy of someone else's unpredictable behavior. In Ruthy's story, the car was the site of her date's controlling outburst. In Kayla's, it was the mechanism of physical intimidation. Both women resolved the situation the same way — by leaving, abruptly and on their own terms, even at some personal risk.

The broader TikTok dating genre has become a repository for these cautionary tales. Women have been secretly filmed by male influencers using smart glasses and posted as "dating advice" content, garnering millions of views while exposing their subjects to harassment [9]. The knowledge that any date might end up on the internet has fundamentally altered the experience of vulnerability, turning what should be intimate encounters into performances calibrated for potential audiences.

"It's harder to be vulnerable when you look at dates as content," one analysis observed, noting that the awareness of potential surveillance "has fundamentally shifted dating into more of a public activity than a private one" [10].

The App Fatigue Epidemic

Compounding the financial and emotional barriers is a growing exhaustion with dating apps — the primary infrastructure through which young adults are expected to meet. Research published in 2026 in the journal New Media & Society found that dating app users experienced increased emotional exhaustion and feelings of inefficacy over time [11]. Seventy-nine percent of dating app users reported experiencing burnout, fatigue, or frustration from their online dating experiences [12].

The numbers reflect a paradox: dating apps are more popular than ever — over 390 million users worldwide, with the global market valued at $12.9 billion — yet satisfaction remains dismal [13]. Only 21% of young adults in the Wheatley-IFS survey reported being satisfied with their dating options [5].

Gen Z daters are now experimenting with what some platforms call "clear-coding" — demanding upfront clarity about intentions — and lower-pressure formats like double dates [12]. A trend dubbed "deep dating," which emphasizes extended conversations and emotional connection over rapid swiping, has gained traction as a deliberate counterweight to app culture [10].

The Gender Divide

The dating recession is not gender-neutral. Men are more likely to be actively dating (36% vs. 26% of women), but women are more likely to endorse a dating culture focused on serious relationships (83% vs. 74% of men) [5]. Men are more likely to cite financial barriers (58% vs. 46% of women), while women are more likely to report that past bad experiences have made them cautious [5].

The Pew Research Center's 2025 study on social connections found no statistically significant gender gap in loneliness itself — 16% of men and 15% of women reported feeling lonely most or all of the time [14]. But men were significantly less likely to seek support from friends, family, or mental health professionals, creating what the National Organization for Women described as a "male loneliness epidemic" driven less by the prevalence of isolation than by the inability to address it [15].

This divergence has political dimensions. Young men have shifted measurably to the right in recent elections, while 60% of young women voted for Kamala Harris in 2024 [8]. The ideological gap compounds the relational one, adding another layer of incompatibility to an already strained dating landscape.

What Comes Next

Despite the bleak data, the Wheatley-IFS report found grounds for cautious optimism. When young adults were asked what kind of dating culture they wanted, the answers were remarkably unified: 83% of women and 76% of men endorsed a culture that prioritized emotional connections. Large majorities wanted dating to be about forming serious relationships rather than casual encounters [5].

The problem, researchers concluded, was not one of aspiration but of infrastructure and skill. The Washington Times editorialized that young adults need "Dating 101" — structured support in developing the interpersonal competencies that earlier generations absorbed through denser social networks and fewer screens [16]. Some universities have begun offering courses on relationships and emotional intelligence, recognizing that the retreat from dating is not a lifestyle choice but a skills gap.

The viral videos will keep coming. Every week produces a new Ruthy, a new Kayla, a new Zoe — young women articulating, in 60-second clips, frustrations that would take sociologists chapters to unpack. Their audiences number in the hundreds of thousands because the experiences they describe are not extraordinary. They are ordinary. That is the point. The car has broken down, the date has gone sideways, and the road ahead is unclear. For millions of young Americans, stranded between the desire for connection and the inability to achieve it, the metaphor is almost too precise.