Queer people just want to find love (and safety to be themselves), like everyone else. And really, that’s all we want — even though the world isn’t always kind to us in this pursuit.
In hope for love, connection, and personal freedom, we do big things, like moving to another country or city. Living openly as a lesbian and dating without societal pressure were among the top reasons I emigrated. I arrived in Berlin in 2022 with zero queer contacts and have been steadily building them up since, be it friendship, activism, or potential partners.
Berlin is famously queer-friendly, and I landed in Schöneberg, out of all places (where Nollendorfplatz subway now officially has ‘Regenbogenkiez,’ or rainbow area, on the nameplate). From the Weimar era, when the city was a true queer haven, to today, Berlin welcomes non-conformity and offers plenty of opportunities to meet and come closer.
If you want to explore its queer heritage, there are countless options. Want to learn about its gay history? You’ve got Schwules museum for it. Want to watch more queer movies? There are weekly Mongay sessions at Kino International. Want to explore your sexuality? There are many bars, clubs, or communities where you’d be welcomed.
But if you’re looking for close friends or partners, Berlin’s social bubbles can turn out to be pretty closed-up. To know people, you need to know people first. This is where dating apps offer a shortcut, and of course, I took it!
Moving to Berlin, done. Installing the app, done. But here comes the challenge: I hadn’t actively dated for several years before emigrating. How does one jump back into the game, and how do you make sure you start on the right foot with someone else? My solution: a monster spreadsheet with 318 questions for myself (yes, literally). As a product manager and a writer, I work with interviews, research, and spreadsheets all day. Creating the dating spreadsheet and rereading it afterward helped me understand my needs and the people I match with. As an older millennial, I’ve lived enough to know what I want and what I don’t. Can there be any connection without clarity?
In case you got concerned, no, I didn’t write down 318 answers about every person I meet. But creating the questions had set the mood, and reading through the list after a date helped to find words. What did I like about our connection, and what didn’t I?
It helped me find clarity for myself and explain how I feel, too. And funny enough, “love” doesn’t seem to be the only thing we want: clarity seems to have become the new sexy - forget the mysterious type or hinting at our wishes that we did in the 2000s. The current Hinge report participants name that same clarity as both a goal and a tool of contemporary dating.
Another new practice of mine: speaking openly with friends about how dating feels. Watching from the sidelines, they quickly read my face and moods, offering a supportive hug or an ironic meme. My friends are my found family (a reality for many queer folks, in emigration or not), so it matters if a potential partner is welcomed with open arms.
Back to the spreadsheet for a moment: some questions helped me reflect on my values. Just the act of adding “Did I feel listened to and understood during the date?“ showed me what I need in a partner. As a queer person who lacked support and understanding in my family (and many other rooms in the past), this one is now non-negotiable. And apparently not only for me — the Hinge respondents seem to agree. Maybe there’s a new trend coming (and finally a good one)?
There’s also something else that aligned between my experience and the report: valuing consistency. When you’ve experienced spotty behavior in the past, you want to know your potential partner is reliable, that their words match their actions. Especially when you’re over 40 and your life is already what you’d like it to be. You don’t have time or motivation for games. You want to build something together — or have short-term fun. Whatever it is, it should be communicated with respect.
From the report, p.14:
From the report, p.27:
Since everything seems to boil down to clarity again, here’s a simple but effective example I follow from day one, and appreciate when someone does it too: I communicate early. For example: that I am monogamous (arguably rare in the Berlin dating scene, as you all very well know), neither vegan nor vegetarian, not interested in raising children, and not a club goer. This significantly reduces the potential dating pool already, yes. But it leaves me with people who are on the same wavelength. My “Don’t hate me if I…” prompt reads: “am already sleepy after 9pm 😴”.
One tiny and sweet, recent dating experience: I brought a small handmade toy to the third date. It was a crocheted teacup with a cute face. I was crocheting it, thinking about our first two meets, knowing that my date loves tea. She loved me and kept sending cute pictures of herself pretend-drinking tea during a long meeting at work. The Hinge report also shows that people stay connected between dates, showing each other that their date is present in their lives, even when they aren’t physically there.
And what makes Berlin a tough city to date in, honestly?
First, the famous fear of commitment (the ‘flakiness’ you’ll hear people of all sexual and gender identities complain about). With so many options, you might never settle. It’s easier to go back to scrolling than to resolve a conflict. Sitting with discomfort is a skill.
Second, it’s a transient city. People move to the countryside, find jobs abroad, return to their home countries. You find them, and then you lose them. Grieving is a part of life, as loving is.
That’s simply how Berlin functions, and we can’t change it. What we can change, and I hope we will, is how we communicate our needs and expectations (ideally, early and clearly).
When we’re young, we tend to “feel cool” while being mysterious, and it’s naturally attractive — it rings like adventure. But growing older, seeing that true connection comes only from true vulnerability, and that chemistry isn’t just attraction but also about building trust, is a game-changer: not only in who you want to love, but in how you love. Reach clarity about your own baggage and accept that everyone carries theirs. Then we might all find people to spend time — or a life — with.
*This essay is a sponsored partnership with Hinge.
Everything I wrote above is based on my experience, but reading has always helped me realize that I am not alone. As a bookworm, here is some recommended reading on clarity, dating, and Berlin:
The Landlady, Brendan Nash — for Weimar-era queer dating in Berlin (more book recs on Berlin here
Let’s all find our humans and communities that hold us.
Happy Pride, today and always 🌈,
Lena
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