War shatters dating scene for women in Ukraine

KYIV – For the past 2½ years, Ms Kateryna Bairachna has wanted to meet someone special. But war always gets in the way.

Ms Bairachna met a soldier, but then he was sent to the front. She traded text messages with another man, but those fizzled out because he was in no mood to meet, fearing he might soon be drafted. On dating app Bumble, Ms Bairachna liked the looks of a hipster. But when she scrolled through his photographs, she noticed his amputated leg.

“I looked at his profile for 15 minutes and felt so sorry for him,” Ms Bairachna, 35, a marketing director for a clothing brand in Kyiv, said in an interview. She wondered if she could handle a relationship with a maimed war veteran. Then she swiped left, removing him from potential matches. “I feel I’m not ready for that.”

Russia’s full-scale invasion has upended nearly every facet of daily life in Ukraine. Two-thirds of Ukrainians have lost a relative or friend to the conflict. Hours-long blackouts are now routine across the country, and entire cities have been obliterated by Russian strikes.

It has also wreaked havoc on the dating scene. Although the pursuit of love might seem secondary to dealing with missile attacks, power outages and food shortages, many Ukrainians say they need romantic relationships to help them cope with the trauma of living in a nation at war.

For women, the problem is particularly acute. Tens of thousands of men have died. Many more are on the front lines, some have fled the country, and others are reluctant to leave their homes, fearful of being stopped in the street by draft officers.

In cities such as the capital Kyiv, the presence of men has noticeably dwindled. In some villages, conscription has hollowed out the male population.

“This leaves a small percentage of men who are ready for and want relationships,” said Ms Margarita Stelmashova, a Ukrainian psychotherapist and sexologist.

The war has also made forming long-term relationships more challenging. Many soldiers experience psychological stress that strains their intimate connections, sexologists say. And several women said in interviews that they worried about dating servicemen who might have war trauma, and who could one day be killed.

In 2023, Ukraine saw its lowest number of births and its second-lowest number of marriages in the past 10 years, according to government data.

Faced with the turmoil of the war, some women are resorting to measures they had not contemplated before, such as using dating apps or going on speed dates.

“War is a deal breaker,” said Ms Svitlana Kryvokucho, 36, an information technology worker, who on a recent Sunday afternoon was participating for the first time in a speed-dating event at a trendy cafe in central Kyiv. “It’s a love crisis.”

In the cafe, women sat at tables marked with numbered signs while men rotated for five-minute talks. Each conversation began with people exchanging forms detailing their interests. Smiles crept across faces and laughter filled the room as bonds were forged.

Ms Alisa Samusieva, 38, the organiser of the event, called TetAteT, struck a somber note. Only 26 men had turned up, she said, compared with the usual minimum of 30. That had forced her to hold only one speed-dating session, instead of the usual two.

“They’re afraid,” Ms Samusieva said of the men, attributing their absence to a mobilisation law the Ukrainian government enforced in May to fill the ranks of the army. “They don’t want to go out. They just want to sit at home and hide.”

She said she was considering organising online sessions to circumvent the issue, “like during Covid”.

On dating apps, men’s profiles offer a window into the radical changes brought about by the conflict. More men are pictured wearing military uniforms or with prosthetic limbs. Foreigners employed by humanitarian organisations and international institutions appear regularly. So do foreign fighters who have joined Ukraine’s war against Russia.

The strain of the war on Ukrainian men is evident on dating apps, Ms Bairachna said, observing that many “look very depressed” and “tired”. She and other women said their mood was gloomy, with few willing to commit to relationships.

Ms Olena Aktysenko, 24, a marketing producer from Kyiv seeking a long-term relationship, said her exchanges on the dating app Tinder often hit a wall. “I ask, ‘What are we doing? What is happening?’” she said. “They respond, ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or in two years’ time. There’s a war in the country.’”

Ms Aktysenko said about one in five men she encountered on Tinder were soldiers, but she has not chatted with any of them. “They’re brave, they’re heroes,” she said. “But given the situation, starting a relationship feels too risky.”

Several Ukrainian women who have travelled abroad since the war broke out said it was much easier to date foreigners who did not face the threat of war. Ms Bairachna, who often travels outside Ukraine, said she was struck by the dual reality. “Why do our men have to suffer so much when women can just go abroad and have a martini in Milan?” she asked.

Love certainly has not vanished from Ukraine. Romances still blossom, and weddings are still being celebrated.

At Forsage, a popular club in Kyiv, the dance floor pulsed with young people grooving to R&B and pop music. Ms Maryna Pylcha, 22, said there was hardly a night when she was not approached by a man at the club, adding, however, that she was “very selective in this matter”.

But she recalled how a military man she had once dated ended their relationship after he was injured. “He said, ‘You can find someone better than me in Kyiv’,” she said. “It was very painful.”

The war has also heightened ideological divides, crushing potential relationships that may have blossomed before the conflict. Some women now refuse to date draft dodgers, saying they are unpatriotic.

It is also common to see women on dating apps stating their refusal to date Russian speakers, reflecting a broader movement among Ukrainians since the war began to stop speaking Russian, a common language in the country, and switch entirely to Ukrainian.

At the speed-dating event in Kyiv, Ms Yulia Kovtun, 27, stayed silent for five minutes after the man who had just sat down at her table told her he would speak only Russian.

“I’m looking for someone who shares my values” and “firmly supports the language issue”, she said, noting that both her grandparents had taken part in Ukraine’s pro-independence nationalist movements in the 1940s.

The atmosphere was more relaxed at the table of Mr Serhii Chuikov, 38, a soldier who lost his left leg in the war and now wears a sleek black prosthesis. He and the woman across from him said they were glad to have found a place to meet people and briefly forget the harsh realities of war.

Mr Chuikov said the event was a “breath of fresh air” compared with the situation in the army, where he and his fellow soldiers struggled to form or cultivate romantic relationships.

“It’s a great problem,” he said, his voice trailing off.

The speed-dating event seemed to solve the problem. There, most of Mr Chuikov’s encounters involved laughter, smiles and intense gazes. In the end, more than a dozen women wanted to meet him again, and he was interested in nine. He had four mutual matches.

“I don’t need to come a second time because there are already so many nice girls today,” he said with a grin. “It’s more than enough.” NYTIMES