Raya isn't as exclusive as you think it is

Exclusive dating app Raya doesn't have as special of a user base as you think it does.

There might be no lower point than dropping cash on a dating app. But dating is tough, men are lonely, and women are sick of men's antics. Swooping in to save the day are "exclusive" dating apps like Raya, which promises a user base of vetted, career-oriented (hot and rich) professionals — for a price. That price is $25 a month, and the unfortunate truth is Raya, "the celebrity dating app," is just like every other service one can find in the App Store. (Mashable has reached out to Raya for comment.)

I spent one month on Raya, after waiting 10 days to get approved before I could shell out for a membership. My mission? To see if the app was overrun with TikTok influencers. Spoiler: either they weren't there, or they were so niche that my mildly-online self couldn't spot them.

Instead, Raya's vibe felt so Tinder-esque, so reminiscent of other swipe-based apps that, I truly believe we as a society have hit critical mass dating app singularity.

What is Raya — and can an average person use it?

Raya, known as the "celebrity dating app," is marketed as an exclusive, members-only platform for the elite and ultra-connected. Imagine Tinder but with a velvet rope. Supposedly, getting in requires more than just a catchy bio; you need referrals, approval through a vetting process, and a solid Instagram game. Once you're in, expect a feed of curated, career-focused hotties — think models, actors, musicians, and entrepreneurs. At $25 a month (or $50 for premium), it's a splurge that promises glam and privacy, as the app is very uptight about discretion. Raya has strict rules against sharing information or taking screenshots of user profiles.

Part of Raya's allure to average people like me is the potential celebrity encounters. Case in point: The internet lit up in 2021 when TikTok user Nivine Nash shared a video claiming that Oscar-winning filmmaker and actor Ben Affleck had previously matched with her on Raya. After unmatching, she received a video message from Affleck himself, asking, "Why did you unmatch me? It's me."

The story quickly went viral, shedding light on the fact that yes, even A-listers are swiping away on dating apps. In fact, several celebs have been outed for their (alleged) time on Raya including Owen Wilson, Chris Rock, Zach Braff, Elijah Wood, Sharon Stone, Cara Delevingne, and John Cusack.

According to a 2018 New York Times article, only eight percent of Raya applicants are accepted, making it supposedly harder to get into than Harvard Business School. That statistic was published six years ago, though, and Raya's exclusivity is a bit overhyped in my experience. Despite its reputation as the "[members' only club] Soho House of dating apps," the reality is far less glamorous than what those quoted influencers and testimonials make it out to be.

The Raya experience

So, here's how I got onto the app: I started with a simple, straightforward application. Raya asked for my name, date of birth, location, industry, occupation, and Instagram username. My Instagram? Locked, with a humble following of about 150. No big-shot referrals in sight. And it only took 10 days to get the coveted acceptance email — which surprised me, considering some say they've been on the waitlist for years. There's a whole subreddit dedicated to getting a referral for the app. Ludicrous stuff.

Despite my modest social media presence, I made it through Raya's reportedly rigorous vetting process. According to that New York Times article, applications are allegedly reviewed by a committee of 500 people scrutinizing each Raya hopeful. Again, that was the status quo six years ago, but it's a process that promises exclusivity and high standards. As my experience reveals, though, the reality might not be as glamorous as the hype.

After getting the coveted approval, I curated my best photos, carefully selected a backing song that screamed "me," and eagerly logged in. And who was at the top of my queue? Not a celebrity, but a local nurse. Huh. So, the swiping began: blonde, blonde, blonde, blonde, blonde — seriously, where are the Black women on this app? — blonde, brunette, blonde. Raya founder and CEO Daniel Gendelman tried to assure the Times that the community was diverse, more focused on being interesting than an Instagram model aesthetic. My impulse was to screen-record this experience, but the app immediately flashed a warning. Not wanting to waste my $25 in one go, I decided to play it safe and moved on.

Swipe left, swipe right — it's the same drill as all the other apps. Swipe right too much, and you'll run out of likes (unless you're willing to pay for more). Swipe left too much, and Raya will cut you off for a while. That's their way of saying, "Stop being so picky."

Instead of a parade of celebrities, my time on Raya was a mix of consultants, aspiring actors, medical professionals, recruiters, and even students for some reason. Every profile is linked to Instagram, and I saw plenty of locked accounts with low follower counts, just like mine. Yeah, there were some people of high stature here, but everyone else is here too — so what's the point?

Here's the catch: if you're not in New York City or Los Angeles — which I'm not — good luck finding the celebs you're hoping for. And since Raya is ostensibly a global social networking platform, you can't filter by location. You also can't set your height, which isn't a big deal for me since I'm already short, but for some, it'd be nice to know.

Should you use Raya?

To be completely honest, one of the few things I actually liked about Raya is its vetted user base. Unlike the free-for-all chaos of Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge, where catfishing is possible, Raya's users are the real deal.

Another plus? In this age of TikTok and oversharing, where everyone's spilling every detail of their lives for content, Raya offers a breath of privacy. Nobody wants their dating app chats or minor dating annoyances broadcast to millions. Raya's no-screenshot policy is a godsend in this regard. Sure, it doesn't stop someone from forcing an actor to admit he's back in the dating game post-divorce, but it does keep most personal business under wraps.

Is this level of privacy and vetting worth $25 a month? Probably not. But good vibes and venture capital can only carry an app so far — you need revenue. Influencers might market the app as the "Soho House of dating apps," but the actual experience? It's more like an expensive Tinder with a better PR team.