Paul Mescal, Michael B. Jordan, Callum Turner, Andrew Garfield, and Shawn Mendes. What do all of these famous and objectively handsome men have in common? They have all been on Raya at one point: the dating app that makes all the others look puny and inferior, a paragon of online romance, containing an exclusive catalogue of the upper echelon that only the rich, beautiful and famous have access to.

And by some unlikely miracle, the gates to this highly revered heaven have opened themselves for me. On a normal Tuesday two weeks ago, around 2 AM in the morning, I was sent a text message to confirm that I had been accepted to this infamous app with an admission rate lower than Oxford’s. And after collecting high-fives and jealous glances from all my friends and co-workers, I learned that once you peel back the glitz and glam, Raya isn’t exciting—it’s just plain boring.

@lilnewyorkina

Just casual #nyc #raya #datingapp #natearchibald #chasecrawford #hopecore

♬ QKThr - Aphex Twin

@lucyxfuchs

Benoit from Emily in Paris 🥹💞 @KEVIN DIAS #emilyinparis#emilyinparisflix #raya #datingapp #tinder #hinge #bumble #relationshipadvice

♬ QKThr - Aphex Twin

@cleopatra8123

I confirm they are not together #badbunny #kendalljenner #badbunnykendalljenner #dating

♬ sonido original - canciones.rl

Raya, in a nutshell, is the Oxbridge of dating apps. The membership-based service offers a carefully curated selection of celebrities, creatives, and public personas, who are usually reluctant to use the same generic apps as us normos. Instead, they wish to connect more privately with other high-net-worth individuals. This is why founders Daniel Gendelman and Atlas Benjelloun whipped up the exclusive service. Raya means ‘friend’ in Hebrew and is supposed to “to solve a big problem for a small amount of people.”

Interestingly, the app has never spent a single penny on marketing or promotion. Raya has relied solely on word of mouth to create its reputation as Tinder for the Illuminati.

For me, it took half a bottle of wine and an equally tipsy friend to realise that this was a good experiment to pursue. During a normal outing at a bar that was used to lament over the atrocious quality of men on Hinge, we decided to aim higher—much higher.

In a tipsy haze, we both applied with aspirations to set ourselves free from the lacklustre vibes and mundane swipes of the traditional apps. We even made a pact: if one of us bagged a billionaire (not that we support them, obviously), the other would get dibs on the best seat in the private jet. Three glasses in, it felt like a flawless plan.

The application process was straightforward: we submitted our personal details, linked our Instagram accounts, and faced the daunting possibility of an indefinite wait for approval.

A referral from an existing member is known to speed things up, which is why these advantageous nods of approval are being sold for up to £100 online. But since we didn’t want to break the bank for a the mere chance at dating a DJ with generational wealth, we decided to go solo.

The exact admission criteria remain a mystery, but the unofficial checklist seems to be: rich or successful (preferably both), objectively attractive, at least 5K Instagram followers, and ideally five glowing referrals. By those standards, I wasn’t exactly Raya’s dream candidate—I mean, I like to think I’m moderately attractive and have an interesting job, but let’s be real. My parents bestowed me with work ethic and a good education instead of a trust fund and vacations in Béziers. Yet somehow, three months later, I was in.

After fronting a hefty monthly fee of £20, I was finally able to dive into the world of Raya. Unsurprisingly, the first few people that I encountered were actors from quite well-known shows—shoutout to House of The Dragon and Outer Banks. That being said, the fun was quickly over because you only get a restricted amount of swipes per day, unless you cough up more money for a premium membership, of course.

After three days of being on it, I was able to dispel quite a lot of myths about Raya. For one, it’s not just celebrities and influencers there. The vast majority of people were in banking and finance, or various positions in the creative field like makeup artists, DJs, or showroom assistants. Occasionally, I swiped past real estate agents, charity directors, engineers, and one or two life coaches. So not strictly a red carpet event, but also no one who considers ‘exposure’ a valid form of payment.

One thing I will say—the overall attractiveness level? Way higher.

The men all seemed to follow the same Mr Worldwide template: ski vacations, Grand Prix champagne parties, lavish dinners with ‘the lads,’ and always a picture of them wearing a suit during some social event in the countryside. Half the time, I wasn’t sure if they were looking for a date or auditioning for the next James Bond movie. Honestly, on Raya, both are probably possible.

@josephmfares

everyday my self-esteem gets a little lower #raya #dating #networking

♬ original sound - Joseph

What really surprised me though was that the app had a directory which allows you to search for categories of people. Suggested ones were ‘Members at Ralph Lauren’, ‘Models’, ‘Formula 1 Drivers’, ‘Members Who Work at Red Bull’, and ‘Chanel’.

Next to the directory, there was also a map that users could use to scan for people in specific areas like St. John’s Wood, Notting Hill, Hampstead Heath, Belgravia, Pimlico and Dalston. Out of curiosity, I searched for members in Peckham, Stratford, and Croydon. The result? Nothing. I don’t think Raya’s cartographer is aware of anything beyond zone 2, and apparently, the algorithm malfunctions at the mere sight of a Poundland.

This exposed what I started to recognise as Raya’s true nature: it’s a networking app, like LinkedIn but for the ultra-elite.

“Once you get a match, you probably will never hear from that person, cause I don’t feel like most people are on that app to date,” content creator Jessica Stocker noted. “It’s kinda like a clout thing, like you’re cool, I’m cool, let’s match and never talk again.”

@jessica.stocker

Raya review

♬ original sound - Jessica Stocker

And that pretty much encapsulated my first few days on the app.

Swiping on Raya felt like collecting digital trophies—match, brag, and move on.

A defining aspect of Raya is the excitement about who’s on there and being able to count yourself among these elites. It’s like someone slapping a virtual VIP wristband on you. It’s cheap validation  and difficult to pass up, although you’ll realistically not see that many benefits.

The app consistently emphasises that it’s an “intimate” and “exclusive” community, however, I quickly started to feel like these were just synonyms for small and boring—especially with a very limited amount of swipes each day.

Yet, I still found the thought of deleting it and closing the gateways to this supposed heaven challenging. It started to feel like having it there, sitting in the app space on my phone, was almost more valuable than using it.

I am aware that this is how most luxury things work. It’s about what they communicate to the world and the envy they generate, rather than their real-use value, as Karl Marx would say.