Dating and Wellness; Are They Compatible?
Is dating someone who doesn’t care about magnesium… fine?
Is optimisation a love language or a coping mechanism?
And when did self-care become something we protect from relationships rather than practise within them?
On Sunday 4 January, two things peaked at exactly the same time.
Across the UK, people were recommitting to their wellness. Running shoes reappeared. Matcha replaced flat whites. Supplements were reorganised with the seriousness of a military operation. And yet, according to Hinge, it was also the busiest day of the year for swiping, liking and downloading.
Never have we been so invested in ourselves, and never so eager to meet someone else.
It’s a contradiction that’s uniquely modern. We’re optimising sleep, tracking cycles, lifting heavier, drinking less. And then opening dating apps that still default to drinks on a Thursday night, late nights and spontaneity-as-a-personality-trait disguised as a “prompt”. It raises a quietly uncomfortable question, I know is on so many minds but not quite leaving lips: in a culture shaped by wellness, is dating and relationships actually compatible? Or have we made ourselves too well to be with anyone?
It’s a thought I joked about recently on a podcast, after biohacker Bryan Johnson once remarked that there’s a reason so many biohackers are single. Extreme optimisation doesn’t leave much room for joy, flexibility or another person’s needs. Said lightly, but not inaccurately.
It’s also worth noting that this isn’t the first time modern dating norms have been gently interrogated. Vogue recently ran a piece that went viral, asking whether being single might actually be better. Not as a defeatist take, but as a reframing. Being single as being legitimate, even desirable rather than something we must all ‘accomplish’. We’ve all experienced that quiet deflation when a family member skips past your life-changing travel story and goes straight to whether you’ve met your husband.
In that context, wellness culture makes a lot of sense. If you’re sleeping well, feeling strong, emotionally literate and genuinely content on your own, the urgency to pair off softens. The bar rises. Dating becomes optional rather than essential and we hear things like “if they’re not adding to your life, then bye” Which is liberating. And, depending on who you’re sitting across from, occasionally uncomfortable.
Not long ago, I wrote about runn clubs becoming the new dating scene. The modern workaround for a generation that wants connection without the pub. You show up, you move together, maybe you wear yellow socks if you’re single. No awkward small talk over wine. No hangover chemistry. Just shared experience and a coffee afterwards.
It sounds ideal. And sometimes it is. But dating within wellness culture is rarely that clean.
For Oliver James, a male nutritionist, wellness has been more help than hindrance. “I think it actually helps,” he says. “I have a 9-5 in insurance, and I run a movement studio on the side. Having both worlds feels balanced, and that balance translates into dating.”
Still, balance often requires a touch of craftsmanship. “I’ve definitely softened my habits to appear more ‘normal’,” he admits. “I’m aware I can sit at the more extreme end of health-wise, so I don’t unload everything all at once.”
This will feel familiar to many. You don’t lead with your bedtime, your protein intake, the fact you haven’t had a hangover in three years… and don’t order tap water. You ease it in. You drip-feed. You wait until there’s enough trust to explain the why, rather than watching someone panic because you declined a third drink on a first date.
“When people understand the intention behind it, they usually find it cool rather than restrictive,” Oli says. “Health vibes can be fun. I’m probably 90-10. I like a little party.”
There’s also a gendered layer to all of this. “Men in wellness are still perceived differently to women,” he says. “There's a surprise. But it’s changing.”
“I work in the wellness industry. I’m single and dating. I don’t recommend the combination.”
That surprise is part of a bigger shift happening in dating more broadly. Women today are often financially independent, disciplined, emotionally literate and deeply invested in self-development. Traits that, historically, were coded as masculine. Meanwhile, many men are still navigating what their role is meant to look like now.
It’s something we’re exploring more deeply in a separate story, but it comes up again and again here. Some men admire that self-sufficiency. Others quietly resent it. A woman who doesn’t need you can feel threatened if you’ve been taught that being needed is your value.
For Leanne, a Pilates instructor, the mismatch feels exhausting. “I work in the wellness industry. I’m single and dating. I don’t recommend the combination.”
Her honesty emphasises the idea that self-work automatically delivers romantic ease. “Being single can be lonely, especially when you’re self-employed. You see people all day, but forming deeper connections is hard when everyone’s rushing from one thing to the next.”
Dating, she says, becomes another thing to optimise. Another task. Another output. When it doesn’t align, it feels inefficient. So you retreat back to what feels productive and familiar. Work, training and being in routine.
Wellness has raised her standards and, in the process, narrowed her dating pool. “Some people take very little care of themselves. They don’t move, they eat poorly, they don’t want to change. That’s wildly unattractive to me.” Clarity brings confidence, but it also brings selectiveness. “I know what I want. I listen to about 20 percent of what a man says and then I watch what he does. A lot of men still want to Clooney their way through life.”
She pauses. “The only problem is, you’re not George Clooney, hun”.
There’s also a quieter pressure placed on women in wellness to be perpetually calm, regulated and healed. “People expect you to be serene. To respond perfectly. To never get rattled,” she says. “But we’re human. We suppress a lot. So when something genuinely upsets you on a date, it shocks people and you don’t respond with the serene composure of Gwyneth Paltrow, your date seems shocked”
Because you’re into wellness. You’re supposed to be chill. You’re supposed to be evolved.
“There’s a saying in this industry. People in wellness are often the most unwell, And honestly, there’s truth in it.” And yet, despite everything, she hasn’t written dating off. “Dating can be fun. I’ve met incredible men. The difference now is that my boundaries are clearer, so when I do date, I usually have a great time.”
For others, wellness has been the very thing that made connection possible. Bella, a yoga teacher and wellness founder, met her husband at the gym. “It was no coincidence,” she says. “I’d written a list of what I wanted in a partner. Two weeks later, I joined a new gym and there he was.”
Seeing each other daily removed early dating friction. “We got to know each other naturally. By the time we went on a date outside the gym, there was no awkwardness.” Movement became their foundation. “It was quality time that didn’t revolve around grabbing a drink.”
Sobriety adds another layer entirely. One woman describes her first sober date as a revelation. “Before, every date was dinner or drinks. When my now boyfriend asked me on a run and coffee date, it was refreshing. I knew the connection was real, not encouraged by alcohol.”
Perhaps that’s why we’re seeing alternative date culture quietly rise. Long walks. Sauna sessions. Gallery trips, followed by pastries because ‘balance’. Even sober members’ clubs and spaces like Long Lane are reframing what socialising can look like. Soho House now offers a fully alcohol-free cocktail menu, not as a compromise, but as an option and venues like &Soul doubling up as a members' space to sweat, study and stay open to connection. Sexy drinks don’t have to mean getting drunk, especially when there’s a run club scheduled the next morning.
Still, not everyone is convinced. One anonymous dater puts it bluntly: “I don’t drink much, so every first date being drinks is sh**. Trying to explain that hobbies are attractive is exhausting. Men don’t approach in bars anymore. Hinge is awful. It’s rough out here.”
It doesn’t help that faith in dating apps is quietly eroding. Even as swipes peak, people feel burnt out. Disillusioned. Recently, it was reported that the founder of Hinge has stepped away to launch an AI-driven dating platform. The irony isn’t lost on anyone. We’re outsourcing intimacy to algorithms, then wondering why it feels hollow.
And yet, even the most jaded voices admit something has shifted. “A lot more people are into wellness now,” the same anonymous dater concedes. “It’s not weird anymore.” If anything, according to recent trend reports, wellness isn’t just a habit, it’s become the new luxury, reshaping how we travel, consume and even define our priorities.
Maybe that’s the point. Wellness itself isn’t incompatible with dating. What feels incompatible is rigidity. The sense that life must be perfectly regulated before it’s shared. That joy has to be earned. That connection must fit neatly around routines.
The people navigating this best aren’t abandoning wellness. They’re softening it. Letting it inform their lives, not dominate them. Choosing curiosity over control.
So perhaps the question isn’t whether dating and relationships are compatible with wellness. Perhaps it’s whether, in learning how to take such good care of ourselves, we’ve forgotten how to make space for someone else.
Words by Eleanor Hoath for The Well Edit
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