Robbie,* 29, who works in marketing, met Larry* on Hinge in 2022. Larry wasn’t someone he initially found attractive, but, struggling with dating in London and amused by his witty opener, Robbie agreed to meet. Larry’s kindness disarmed him, and one date led to another, then another. “He was such a lovely, sweet guy, my friends loved him for me and, dare I say, I loved me being with him.” But for Robbie, the aesthetic chasm proved too wide to ignore. “I knew I could do better physically… I started distancing myself, replying more slowly until I eventually just stopped replying,” he tells Dazed. “I often think about him and how well he treated me, and how things could’ve turned out, but I just couldn’t look past it physically. I was way out of his league.”

Although it’s stark to see it admitted so bluntly, Robbie’s response didn’t emerge in a vacuum. At a time when “out of your league”, “market value” and the 1–10 rating scale are common parlance, who we’re drawn to is often shaped by how attractive we perceive ourselves to be. This logic can be traced back to the “matching hypothesis”, the widely accepted psychological theory that we tend to be attracted to people we see as similarly attractive to ourselves. “It’s self-protection,” explains Gary W. Lewandowski Jr., PhD, professor of psychology at Monmouth University. “We settle with partners who are roughly our equal in physical attractiveness to avoid the ‘cost’ of rejection or the ‘instability’ of an unequal match.” In dating, as in life, we want to do as well as we can – but we’re also realistic and self-preserving. So, as Daniel R. Stalder, professor of psychology at the University of Wisconsin–Whitewater, tells Dazed, when we consider dating someone in another league, we often suppress that attraction, consciously or unconsciously.

Professor Lewandowski adds that this tendency may also help explain why couples perceived as similarly attractive often report greater relationship satisfaction and longevity: the match feels more stable, with less jealousy and less need for “mate-guarding”.

But the internet has intensified our preoccupation with looks and leagues to an extreme degree. Across much of online dating, physical appearance is the primary driver of romantic selection. And because dating apps are so photo-centric, Lewandowski argues, we’re even more likely to stay within our perceived “league” when swiping through profiles. “It’s much easier to focus on appearance. How many people on apps look through a bunch of pictures before even reading a profile?” he asks. There may also be a gendered dimension: as economic independence has shifted heterosexual dating dynamics, physical attractiveness can take on greater importance.

As on-screen representations like Shallow Hal and Normal People – along with the endless meme genre dedicated to defending our dating choices – have shown, we care inordinately about what other people think. According to one study on the influence of friends and family over who we choose to pursue, “friend opinion predicted dating choice.” It’s a point Robbie echoes. “I hold my friends’ opinions so highly that even if cameras and mirrors didn’t exist and I was blind and they told me, ‘this man is not for you,’ I would probably believe them. I just feel like if I know everyone around me thinks my man is ugly, it would get to me. You know when you’re not part of an inside joke?”

But attraction isn’t just about looks. It’s also an intangible force, shaped by connection, chemistry and pheromones (and, for those resisting dating’s reigning cynicism, fate and love). We’ve all been there: an unexpected jolt of arousal when someone we don’t consider conventionally attractive brushes our arm, or a sickening flash of jealousy when someone we thought was just a friend mentions a budding romance. So it makes sense that looks and self-concept make up just two of the five main tenets of attraction: beauty and similarity. The other three are proximity, knowing someone is attracted to you, and non-sexual arousal. So who would we be drawn to if we didn’t know what we looked like? And what would that attraction be based on?

According to Lewandowski, smell would play a prominent role, since pheromones are released through scent — a phenomenon explored in research such as the famous “sweaty T-shirt” studies, which look at olfactory histocompatibility. “We’re naturally drawn to the scent of partners whose genes differ from our own. It’s an evolutionary mechanism to ensure genetic diversity. We can pick up on this through scent to see if someone’s biology is ‘clicking’ with your own. This also puts us much more at the mercy of who’s nearby, due to the mere exposure effect.”

Attraction isn’t just about looks. It’s also an inherent, intangible force, dictated by connection and pheromones (and, for those resisting dating’s reigning cynicism, fate and love)

Another way to imagine who we’d be attracted to if we didn’t know what we looked like is to think about the other traits that define our sense of self, since these are qualities we might also want reflected in a partner. “How kind and intelligent we are, what our political and religious beliefs are, and how much we like certain hobbies or sports,” suggests Stalder. In that sense, being blind to our own appearance might lessen our preoccupation with the appearance of others.

“You’d be forced to relate to others based on their values, personality, character and relationship skills — are they a good communicator? Are they warm? Are they responsive and supportive?” says Lewandowski, adding that this would shift our focus towards more reliable markers of a fulfilling relationship. “You’d ask yourself things like, ‘When I was with them, did I feel seen, heard and understood? Did I feel like I could be fully and authentically myself?’”

But, he adds, another possible outcome is that we might simply set our sights on new aesthetic extremes. “Without our own appearance as an anchor, people will naturally aspire to have the most physically appealing partner possible.” Even so, Lewandowski and Stalder suggest we would probably recalibrate those standards once we had internalised how others responded to our appearance.

When it comes down to it, imagining who we’d be attracted to if cameras and reflective surfaces ceased to exist is a murky exercise. But in an age increasingly defined by self-image and appearance, it’s a worthwhile thought experiment. If looksmaxxing and glow up culture are anything to go by, the way dating discourse has become increasingly adversarial is at least partly fuelled by our fixation on looks. So, in the midst of a loneliness crisis, shifting some of that weight onto other pillars of attraction could be a welcome digression.

So, does Robbie think he’d still be with Larry if he didn’t know what he himself looked like? After a conflicted back and forth, he lands on “probably”, though he stresses again how highly he values his friends’ opinions, so it’s hard to say. “By staying within our perceived league, we might be missing out on a great love or a great relationship,” as Stalder warns. If that’s true, then the real danger of dating by “league” may not just be its superficiality, but the number of connections we rule out before they’re ever given the chance to become meaningful.

Names have been changed*