A ‘love crisis’ on the home front

Serhii Chuikov (second from left) and Svitlana Kryvoruchko (fourth from left), at a speed-dating event in Kyiv. While the pursuit of love might seem secondary to dealing with missile attacks, power outages and food shortages, many Ukrainians say they need romance to help them cope with the trauma of living in a nation at war. — ©2024 The New York Times Company

FOR the past two and a half 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,” said Bairachna, 35, a marketing director for a clothing brand in Kyiv. 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 Kyiv, the capital, the presence of men has noticeably dwindled. In some villages, conscription has hollowed out the male population.

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 for the first time took part in a speed-dating event in a trendy cafe in central Kyiv. “It’s a love crisis.”

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,” 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.”

Samusieva 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, Bairachna said, observing that many “look very depressed” and “tired”.

Olena Aktysenko, 24, a marketing producer from Kyiv, 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.’”

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.”

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, 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.

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, Chuikov’s encounters involved laughter, smiles and intense gazes. In the end, over 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.” — ©2024 The New York Times Company