“His favorite book was by Jordan Peterson, which was a huge hit”: How Books Perform on Dating Apps | books

‘HeyOne of my detailed prompts is: “What’s the best book you’ve read this year?” “I swipe left on anyone who says a book I don’t like,” says 29-year-old Ayo*. “Someone once responded with a book by Jordan Peterson, which was a huge shock.”

It’s a straightforward take on romance, but IU is far from alone. Books have long served as a cultural shorthand for personality—cues of taste and worldview—but dating apps have accelerated and intensified that process. In an attention economy that rewards speed, these connotations should be clear at a glance.

“I prefer contemporary literary fiction or classics that are interesting in the broadest sense,” Ayo says. “Authors like Ben Lerner, Sheila Heti, Annie Ernault—if someone mentioned one of those, I would be fascinated and intrigued. If it was Fitzcarraldo, I would likely identify with it regardless of whether I had read it or not.”

A modern dating profile is like a compact resume. Saying that you like romance may indicate emotional openness; Fantasy or science fiction may indicate neuroticism; Poetic gestures in sensitivity. Being modern seriously (or at least wanting to appear serious). Plus, the joy of discovering someone likes the same novel can feel like fate.

Platform data shared with The Guardian suggests that data is increasingly relying on book-based signals. Last year, mentions of reading Tinder bios in the UK rose by 29% overall and 41% among women. On dating app Feeld, around 7% of UK profiles explicitly mention reading; Users who connect with other readers are approximately 10% more likely to report a “helpful connection.” On Hinge, the word “book” is one of the most common words shared by people around the world in their responses to the phrase “simple pleasures.”

Data released by independent platform 99designs this month showed that 42% of Americans want a partner who reads regularly, and 38% find profiles that mention books more attractive. The message is clear: Books do some of the heavy lifting in the dating economy.

“It’s not hard to see the attraction,” says Luke Bruning, lecturer in philosophy at the University of Leeds and co-director of its Center for Love, Sex and Relationships. “The excitement of seeing someone enjoying a niche book you love can be real and constant and tell us something about their taste and personality.”

Erin Beasley, a researcher who studies digital intimacy at the University of Copenhagen, agrees. “We live in an age of anxiety, and some of this may be safety related — we want to get a full picture of someone because the version of us on dating apps is fragmented,” she says.

These signals are increasingly categorized into a language of “green flags” and “red flags” – social media-fueled rhetoric, where certain titles or genres are treated as immediate proxies for someone’s values, politics, or emotional availability.

The irony is that books are now a sign of authenticity and performance. This tension—between actual taste and strategic signaling—is linked to the discourse of “performative men”: the suspicion that some men patronize feminist politics or literary taste as a dating strategy rather than as their own authentic beliefs and preferences.

Kaitlyn, 25, has seen both sides of this. “At university, I was in a life-destroying ‘situation’ with a man who ran the Ulysses book group,” she says. “Even at the time, when I really liked it, I thought it was a bit bad. I still never read it because of that dating experience.” After dating someone a few years later, she was initially thrilled to see Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own on a man’s bookshelf next to a stack of women’s books—a green flag, she believed, evidence of feminist sensibilities. “And then it turned out to be terrible, too.”

Others also describe disappointment when performance collapses in real life. “I’ve had Ben Lerner Hinge for six months in the hopes that one day someone will respond to me and be the right person,” says Ella*. Ultimately, this letter earned her an appointment: “Unfortunately, it was not him, it was just a lawyer who gave me a lecture about Tarkovsky.” Harry’s worst date* was with a woman whose profile said she was writing a book, but who over drinks admitted that she had completed an English literature degree without reading a single book and couldn’t name a book she enjoyed.

But dating shortcuts can also risk dividing people into types, and can sometimes lead to bias. A love of airport novels does not preclude emotional or intellectual depth, any more than a rack of modernist doorstops guarantees it.

“Classism is the biggest danger,” Bruning says. “There can be many reasons why some people cannot read, read less than us, read different material to us, or are reluctant to disclose their reading habits. We must be careful not to let our prejudices rule out these people as potential partners.”

Paisley is also concerned that there is a risk of it becoming a consumer practice, where people are weeded out over simple taste mismatches rather than engaging with complex, sophisticated individuals.

“Red flag rhetoric can be helpful when signaling dangerous or harmful behavior, but it can also be harmful because it encourages us to find a partner who ticks all the boxes, with whom we have an initial spark, and with whom that spark never diminishes,” she says. “That’s not always how relationships work. Think about friendships—there will be times of growth and negotiation.” If books fall back into shorthand, they should perhaps be considered a rough translation at best.

*Some names have been changed