The worrying whispers about ‘elite’ dating app Raya: It was Tinder for the rich and famous… now women are starting to talk about what’s REALLY seems to be on offer

Over the past few months, I feel like there’s been a noticeable shift in how people talk about a particular dating app. 

Okay, about most dating apps – but there’s one in particular that stands out: Raya. 

Yes, I’m talking about Raya – the so‑called ‘celebrity dating app’ that was once marketed as a carefully curated members-only space for elites in sport, business and entertainment. In theory, it was supposed to be Tinder for the ultra-connected.

In my view, that’s not really the experience many users seem to be having anymore – especially here in Australia. From the conversations I’ve had and what I’ve personally observed, Raya no longer feels as exclusive or polished as it once seemed. 

My first clue came when a friend let me scroll through their account over a glass of wine.

Full transparency: I’m actually blacklisted from Raya. Because the first rule of Fight Club – sorry, Raya – is that you don’t talk about Raya.

I broke that rule – unavoidable, really, when you’re a sex and dating columnist.

But over the years, I’ve still had ways of peeking behind the curtain thanks to friends who made it through the application process. 

From where I sit, and based on what people tell me, Raya simply doesn’t seem to have the same draw it used to. Former users have drifted away, with some telling me they’ve stepped back because the app just isn’t meeting their expectations.

Here’s why.

Firstly, there’s the cost. Yes, cost. Don’t think that just because members are celebrities (or celebrity-adjacent), they’re getting the app for free. Oh, no.

There’s a fee – $29.99 per month – and that’s just for the basic package.

The app has always sold itself as a rare, curated community – a place you couldn’t easily access unless you were deemed ‘Raya material’.

But several users have told me they’re seeing a far wider range of professions and backgrounds than they expected based on the way the app originally pitched itself.

I’m talking tradesmen, real estate agents, junior publicists and even hairdressers. 

Now, there’s nothing wrong with these professions – there’s a reason we like to say ‘tradies get the ladies’ – but some long-time users have told me the overall mix feels, shall we say, less aligned with Raya’s old positioning.

Back in the day, there were reportedly thousands on the Raya waitlist hoping to be approved, which only added to the app’s mystique. 

But several insiders told me that the exclusivity only really seems to apply to certain locations these days.

One woman I spoke to, who splits her time between New York and Sydney and is in her mid-40s, said the difference in quality between the two cities was stark.

‘I’ve met some great guys on Raya, but only in New York,’ she told me.

‘Nothing ever seems to go past three dates. All the men I seem to meet and attract tend to be avoidants.’

In Australia, the brand dilution seems to be even more obvious.

‘I feel like they are accepting pretty much anyone who applies to build up numbers in the market. You see unremarkable men popping up in Sydney who don’t really fit the Raya standard.

‘I never match with anyone in Sydney, except for men visiting from out of town.’

When I checked the map on my friend’s account – yes, it pinpoints users’ locations – it was surprisingly bare. And this was in Sydney’s well-heeled eastern suburbs, where you’d expect the rich and famous to be swiping away.

Another woman in media – successful, accomplished and objectively gorgeous – told me she was surprised by how few matches she’d had in Sydney.

‘Sydney is dry AF on Raya,’ she said. ‘I’ve been using it for three months and haven’t had a single date from there.’

She admitted, given the app’s reputation, she’d expected far better. 

‘I’ve seen some big-name celebs, but only about three. It’s mostly athletes – tennis players and footballers – who aren’t exactly household names, and just more radio and TV people. I was really surprised when I saw carpenters and builders on there.’

I’ve also been told by multiple women that the app seems to have a more transactional edge these days. This is purely their interpretation – but they say they see ‘lots of young girls in their 20s in bikinis’ whose profiles appear geared toward meeting wealthy, older men.

Whether that’s actually the users’ intention or simply a projection is hard to say, but the perception exists among some.

One friend said these women use code to signal what it is that they’re looking for. 

‘A guy told me the code language for ‘financial arrangements’ is when a girl says she ‘loves to travel, looking for something short term, open to more serious’.’

(The Mail does not suggest any of the celebrities mentioned or pictured in this article fall into this category of seeking transactional relationships. Instead, they used the app during a period when it operated as a genuinely exclusive dating platform.)

More broadly, many women I spoke to felt that a lot of the men using the app seem to be after low‑effort, low‑commitment connections – something not unique to Raya, but still very noticeable to them, given the monthly fee. 

‘I think a large majority of men on there are just looking for easy connections,’ one source said.

‘Young girls who don’t require emotional investment from a man.’

Which brings me to what seems to be the changing clientele on these apps.

Once graced by genuine A-listers – Ben Affleck was spotted on there years ago, and a 2018 article listed other users at the time, including Cara Delevingne – the Raya I scrolled through now seems to be overrun by wannabe influencers, realtors and ordinary white-collar types.

Celebrities do still pop up from time to time – but not the ones people are imagining when they first download it. 

‘I’ve matched with a few,’ my New York-Sydney source said. ‘But more C-list celebs. It’s rare to see anyone A-list. It’s mostly Cs – Bs at best.’

I’ve seen some of the names, dear readers, and we’re mostly talking forgotten actors from ’90s and early 2000s TV shows.

Raya was supposed to be the Soho House of online dating. Instead, it appears to be like Instagram with a monthly fee.

As I swiped through my friend’s Raya account, all I could see were photos of pretty people, with bare-minimum bios. Most intros were less about connection and more ‘check out my abs’ or ‘here’s me in Mykonos’ – with barely a word written.

I couldn’t tell you what their hobbies were, what they were looking for in a partner, or anything else about any of them, really.

But there sure were a lot of fake boobs and chiselled chests on display.

And even when matches happen, they don’t necessarily translate into real-life dates.

‘You can like people but they don’t seem to like you back,’ one woman explained. ‘And when they eventually do, they barely chat.’

She also found the app’s mechanics frustrating.

‘You only get to swipe through a handful of people every few hours. Maybe twice a day it resets. This is my first time using it and, to be honest, I don’t understand the hype.’

That is a sentiment I heard more than once.

For all its hype, Raya feels like it has quietly morphed from a dating tool into a digital curiosity – mildly amusing to scroll when you’re bored, but rarely a place where real relationships begin.

Because at the end of the day, even the most exclusive dating app in the world can’t escape the fundamental problem of modern dating: infinite choice without commitment.

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