The Cost of Trusting Men

Women turned to the Tea app to vet the men they're dating. A new male-oriented competitor, TeaOnHer, shows us why.

Hey guys! I know it’s been a minute (summer happened…) but I’m back, and so is my usual posting schedule. Thanks for sticking around, and I can’t wait to hear what you think of this one. XOXO

Hot, but a total momma’s boy.

That was the description of my ex-boyfriend on Lulu, a female-only network where women could leave Yelp-like reviews of men. The app was launched in 2013, and discontinued a few years later—but not before it caused a stir by letting women rate suitors on sex appeal, personality, and what they’re like to date. Critics called it “sexist and objectifying”; the founder called it ground-breaking and, most importantly, safe.

The same idea re-emerged over a decade later with Tea, an app for women to crowdsource red flags about men. But Tea’s recent data breach—leaking thousands of selfies and ID photos—landed it in class-action lawsuits, exposing how a platform designed to protect women can end up putting them at risk. These kinds of whisper networks have always existed, from sex workers’ black books to the “Shitty Media Men” spreadsheet post-#MeToo. But in an era of big tech, the stakes—and the risks—are higher.

Hedging against the risks of love

“People are afraid of being duped, ghosted, or worse, and apps like Tea offer a kind of insurance policy,” my friend

Magdalene J. Taylor

told Newsweek, describing this as “defensive dating”: a cultural attitude born of women’s frustrations and fears about heterosexual dating culture.

It’s no secret that heteropessimism is on the rise. From the #boysober movement to the short-lived US resurgence of 4B, trends point to a growing animosity—or apathy—between men and women. As Magdalene pointed out in an article on the subject, some men online claim that aside from sex, “90% of women have nothing to offer men,” while without money, “90% of women won’t stay.”

I see similar cynicism from women: TikToks claim men don’t experience romantic love the way women do, or encourage women to “make more money and discover how mediocre men are.” The shared implication is that what keeps men and women interested in each are the material, tangible benefits—not love, trust, or emotional connection.

Pop culture reflects these anxieties. In Celine Song’s Materialists, cynical high-end matchmaker Lucy must choose between her wealthy would-be client, Harry, and her broke actor ex. In the end, Lucy chooses love over luxury—an ending framed as a “love conquers all” narrative, but one that sparked feverish debate online, with many women describing it as “broke man propaganda” and a “recession indicator.”

How heteropessimism made the “high value woman”

These days, many women are not afraid to openly date for wealth. Amid a sea of trad wives and “stay at home girlfriends,” social media personalities like SheraSeven are reclaiming the “gold digger” archetype in the name of economic empowerment—and framing it as appropriate compensation for entertaining men’s affections. In viral videos, she shares tips on how to elicit lavish spending from suitors, in the comments, women lament men’s emotional inadequacies and encourage each other to at least “get their bag” if they’re going to date.

As a friend of mine put it, luxury gifts are a kind of mating ritual: a signal of the ability to care for someone long-term, or, if the relationship ends, a way to value their time so they’re “not left with nothing.” Of course, one would hope that a relationship would enrich your life in other ways, even if it doesn’t last forever. But for many women dating men, that’s simply not the case. At least according to a slew of viral TikToks where women chronicle their post-breakup #glowup—showcasing not just tears shed over an ex-lover, but the former acne, “cortisol face,” and weight gain many women attribute to unhealthy relationships.

Women aren’t just worried that men will leave. They’re worried that dating them will leave them worse off—financially, emotionally, or socially. And faced with growing economic pressures, many would rather pursue a man with a “provider mentality,” figuring that if a man’s going to make them miserable, they might as well invest in one who will strengthen their portfolio in the meantime.

In an increasingly adversarial dating environment, women are adopting new, increasingly strategies to cope—and seeking refuge in same-sex spaces, where they can share intel and advice. We see this at work in “Are We Dating the Same Guy?” Facebook groups, where women post photos of their partners or prospective dates and ask for “the tea,” which can be anything from serious allegations to screenshots of an awkward Hinge convo. Like the viral “boyfriend tests” on TikTok, this could read as a sign of insecurity, or a form of self-defense. Women trust their own peers more than their intimate partners—and by opening their relationships up to an audience, they hope other women will spot the red flags they miss.

On a privacy level, it’s troubling to see a budding romance subject to such extreme surveillance. But if you doubt the need for women to seek protection from the men they date, look no further than the TeaOnHer app, a gender-flipped version of Tea. Like the original, it was billed as a place for men to share red flags—and like the original, it was swiftly hacked. But unlike the app geared toward women, TeaOnHer—purportedly designed to “help men date safe”—quickly became a hotbed for slut-shaming and misogyny. As the saying goes: men are afraid women will laugh at them; women are afraid men will kill them.

The economics of intimacy

In Materialists, Lucy often talks about “doing math,” treating romantic compatibility like an equation where the numbers need to add up. These days, women are running a different kind of calculus: assessing the risks and rewards of engaging with men. In an increasingly hostile dating culture, expectations of emotional consideration have been gradually lowered. And whether through gossip groups, guarding our hearts, or getting expensive gifts, we’re turning to other factors for a sense of stability and protection.

Apps like Tea are marketed as safe, private spaces. And in an online world dominated by surveillance and shaming, it’s no wonder women would flock to them. But where we see protection, companies see opportunity. And as apps cash in on the gender war, they remain bound to the same market forces they claim to shield us from, including the “move fast and break things” mentality of big tech. The data breach isn’t a fluke; it’s a symptom of the business model: getting users to input personal info in exchange for a simulacrum of the safety, intimacy, and community we seek—while, in the process, we keep the wheels of the gossip mill spinning with high-engagement content.

For thousands of years, gossip has carried a dual purpose: blowing off steam and enforcing social norms. In today’s attention economy, the incentive tilts toward exposure and spectacle. Yet women’s whisper networks have always existed, not for profit but for survival. Behind closed doors, women share stories not for likes, but to warn, vent, and validate one another. And as tech platforms race to monetize these bonds, it’s worth remembering: real privacy isn’t found on an app. It’s built offline, with people you trust—and, if you’re lucky, love.

On a different but related note, I’m working on a story on how the current economic climate is impacting sugar daddies and the dynamics of sugar dating arrangements. If you’re on either side of this dynamic—or know someone who is—I’d love to interview you. It can be anonymous, so just leave your info on this Google Form.