Newlyweds visit an exhibition displaying destroyed Russian military vehicles located on the main street Khreshchatyk as part of the upcoming celebration of the Independence Day of Ukraine, amid Russia's invasion, in central Kyiv. Image for representation only.
Credit: Reuter Photo
Kyiv, Ukraine: For the past 2 1/2 years, Kateryna Bairachna has wanted to meet someone special. But war always gets in the way.
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 the dating app Bumble, 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,” 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. Hourslong 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 Kyiv, the capital, 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 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.
Last year, Ukraine had 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 now resorting to measures they had not contemplated before, such as using dating apps or going on speed dates.
“War is a deal breaker,” said Svitlana Kryvokucho, 36, an information technology worker, who on a recent Sunday afternoon was participating for the first time in a speed-dating event in a trendy cafe in central Kyiv. “It’s a love crisis.”
Alisa Samusieva, 38, the organizer 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,” Samusieva said of the men, attributing their absence to a mobilization 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.”
Samusieva said she was considering organizing 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 organizations 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, 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.
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.’”
Aktysenko said about 1 in 5 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.”
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 that 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, 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 of her grandparents had taken part in Ukraine’s pro-independence nationalist movements in the 1940s.
The atmosphere was more relaxed at the table of 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.
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 great problem,” he said, his voice trailing off.
The speed-dating event seemed to solve the problem. There, most of 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,” Chuikov said with a grin. “It’s more than enough.”