I asked a friend what she thought about the idea of VHS dating. She looked at me blankly and said, “What’s VHS?”

“OMG, never mind,” I said, rolling my eyes as my mind did a quick whiplash back to the late 1900s. To the family room of the house I grew up where a plastic woodgrain cable box with exactly 42 channels and a Betamax video player sat on top of our Sony Trinitron television.

“It’s state of the art,” our father told us long before the term itself became a cliché.

Our father bought in to the technology so hard he even got himself one of the early Betamovie camcorders, a contraption he hauled around on his shoulder like a pet chimp.

“This is what the pros use,” he said. He pooh-poohed VHS despite the fact that the format cost less and had a longer runtime than Betamax. Which, of course, was why VHS eventually won out, converting even my tech-nerd father to the format.

I honestly don’t remember my family actually watching the tapes. And I imagine that after my parents downsized, my mom ended up tossing boxes of our dutifully recorded vacations, holidays and general farting around.

While those old cassettes may have been long lost to a landfill, another set of tapes — not recorded by my pop, but by a long-forgotten video dating service in California — survived. And by survived, I mean they’ve been turned into an Instagram account called “VHS Dates,” which now has over a quarter of a million followers.

Long before Bumble and Hinge, there was video dating. No swiping, just awkward monologues in jewel-toned suits with linebacker shoulder pads. No algorithms, just cringey pickup lines and polyester lapels.  

That’s where “VHS Dates” comes in. A Los Angeles production company was given boxes of old tapes, which had been discovered in the facilities closet of their building. The cassettes had sat untouched for decades. A young production intern asked to take them home, since he had a VCR.

“I think he said he watched like six hours of tapes the first night,” said the studio manager. He brought them in the next day and the team started digitizing and editing their favorites.

The edited clips now live on Instagram — and the comments sections are almost as funny as the tapes themselves.

For example, there’s Lydia, who enjoys watching The LA Lakers. “I’m looking for a big man,” she says. “I want to know if you can lift me and place me somewhere.”

One commenter wrote “Hoping Lydia got slam-dunked,” a line that’s earned more than 20,000 likes.

Then, there’s Keith.

“I could not date a smoker, and I do smoke cigarettes, though.” As a low-key flex, Keith adds that he’s been reading his way through the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica. “I’m on Q right now. Quince.”

To which a commenter wrote, “Encyclopedias had the ’90s in a headlock.”

Amanda, meanwhile, commands the camera in a wildly patterned blazer with shoulder pads the size of large Tupperware bowls and earrings that look like shower curtain rings. “Tell me I’m sexy,” she says. “I’m a very good kisser and if you don’t know how to kiss in French, I can show you that.”

One commenter quipped, “Her whole style is inspired by Florida airports.” Another: “John Candy sold her those earrings.”

And then there’s dream date Danny, between bands and in his ninth semester of community college, who advises that the key to a good relationship is “Whenever you disagree or have a fight, just bail, man!”

Through the cynical lens of today’s daters, the clips are hilarious. But they also strike a tender chord of vulnerability and even recognition. Behind Amanda’s video, one commenter wrote simply: “She’s a sweetheart. I wish all good things for her.”

“It’s been fun to see how much people love these videos,” the studio manager said. “We think they’re really funny and endearing, too.”

Some viewers find it hard to believe the tapes are real. “These are obviously AI-generated, but still pretty good,” one commenter wrote. But the vast majority of commenters just want to know where the daters are now. Did they ever find love?

The studio has tried chasing breadcrumbs to find the original dating company, but nothing major has turned up. Maybe people like Keith and Amanda are best left in anonymity. Some destinies are sweeter when left to the imagination.

Because, however you put yourself out there — whether on video, online or even IRL — it’s always fraught with risk.

As one of my frustrated single friends texted me recently: “I’m so done with online dating. It’s the stupidest, low-stakes, low-return investment of all time. It’s not worth it just to feel bad about yourself.”

“Maybe instead of trying so hard, we should just chill. Have fun with friends. Be happy. Get laid. I mean, if we look at our lives right now, we probably have everything we need,” she texted. “Except a new mountain bike. I really need a new mountain bike.”

And if that were a dude’s video dating pitch? I’d definitely swipe right.

Kate Sonnick is a freelance writer who swears she’s getting off the dating apps. Send comments, story ideas and old Betamax tapes to [email protected] and follow @katesonnick on Substack.