The Tea Dating App Isn’t the Problem—Our Culture Is

“Later that night / I held an atlas in my lap / ran my fingers across the whole world / and whispered / where does it hurt? / It answered / everywhere / everywhere / everywhere.”

—Warsan Shire, What They Did Yesterday Afternoon

For too long, Arab girls in Dearborn have been forced to navigate love and relationships in the shadows—shamed into silence by the weight of 3ayb culture and slut-shaming that polices their every move. This silence hasn’t protected them; it has endangered them. In a community where honor is too often tied to a girl’s ability to keep secrets, even at the cost of her safety, the rise of the Tea dating app has brought both hope and heartbreak. As more young Arabs seek connection on their own terms, we must confront the toxic norms that have long punished women for being seen, for choosing, for simply existing in public as desiring beings. Enough is enough.

3ayb—an Arabic term meaning “shame” or “disgrace”—is more than just a word in our communities; it’s a tool of control. This interrogation of 3ayb builds on the ongoing work of Fatmeh Baidoun, a PhD candidate in Women and Gender Studies and Psychology at the University of Michigan–Ann Arbor, who has been actively conceptualizing 3ayb as a system of gendered social control. It operates like a shadow law, unspoken but deeply understood, used to govern behavior—especially that of women. In this context, 3ayb becomes a weapon used to silence, isolate, and punish girls for expressing desire, asserting autonomy, or simply being seen. It’s not about morality—it’s about preserving appearances, reputations, and the illusion of control. And the fear of 3ayb is so deeply internalized that it often stops girls from seeking help, even when they’re in danger.

The popularity of apps like Muzz, Baklava, Muslim Singles, Minder, and now Tea proves something many in our community are unwilling to admit: Arabs want to connect beyond traditional matchmaking. And conceptually, what’s happening online isn’t much different than what’s always existed—when someone new enters the picture, you ask around. You check the stories, the history, the reputations. The only difference now is that the process is visible, communal, and gives women more agency than ever before.

And that’s exactly what scares people. For generations, the Arab community has obsessed over the reputations of women while giving men near-complete freedom to do as they please. Girls are labeled whores for simply talking to a guy, let alone dating one, while their male counterparts are rarely held to the same standard. This double standard is more than cultural—it’s dangerous. It creates a power imbalance where women are silenced, hidden, and punished, while men date freely, often outside the culture, treating Black, Latina, white, and other non-Arab women as sexually expendable. They make false promises—love, marriage, a future—only to eventually “settle down” with a girl from back home, the one who meets the imaginary purity standard.

This hits close to home. I’ve witnessed firsthand the harm that silence creates. I once had to escort a friend to the ER for a rape kit after she was sexually assaulted by someone she met on a date. She couldn’t tell her parents—not because she didn’t want to, but because they didn’t even know she was dating. In our community, not only would the blame fall on her, she would be punished simply for having seen a guy at all—because a girl’s honor is treated as more important than her safety, her pain, or her truth.

In another case, someone I love deeply was verbally and emotionally abused by an ex, and when she tried to leave, his friends pulled out a gun to mock and intimidate her. She stayed silent—not just out of fear of retaliation, but because she knew that if her family found out she had been in a relationship, she’d be the one scrutinized, shamed, and disciplined.

That’s the violence of our silence. That’s what needs to end.

This culture of silence and shame isn’t only upheld by men—it’s often viciously enforced by women, too. Some mothers, aunties, and peers don’t just repeat the rules of 3ayb, they weaponize them. For many, controlling other women’s sexuality becomes a source of power, a way to cling to the narrow status offered by purity culture. It’s the virgin-whore complex in full force: by shaming others, they reinforce their own worth in a system that tells them being “pure” is their only value. This isn’t just about fear—it’s about hierarchy, control, and the false comfort of being on the “right” side of a double standard.

What Tea offers isn’t just a place to “spill” but a system of accountability. The app incorporates reverse image search to verify photos, runs criminal background and sex offender checks, and flags content that violates community safety. Its terms of use are clear: content meant to abuse, harass, defame, or promote hate or violence is strictly prohibited. But context and intent matter—users are allowed to share posts if the purpose is to raise awareness about harm, bullying, or abuse. In a space that centers safety, Tea also provides resources for those in crisis, including links to domestic violence hotlines, legal aid, suicide prevention services, and sexual assault support.

This is not an endorsement of the app itself, but a recognition of what it has come to represent: a symbol of resilience, resistance, and a reckoning long overdue.

Now that women are reclaiming space through platforms like Tea, the backlash has been immediate and hostile. And that violence is true to form—every threat to systemic power is met with desperation. Some men have responded by creating men-only apps specifically designed to post women’s nudes as revenge porn—a vile, cowardly intimidation tactic meant to shame women back into silence. Revenge porn is illegal—sharing or posting someone’s intimate images without their consent is a criminal act, not just a cultural scandal. These aren’t isolated incidents; they’re calculated moves to preserve a culture that has always protected male egos at the expense of women’s safety.

The men who face allegations, and the brethren who defend them, are afraid. Afraid that the culture that has coddled and protected them for generations is finally being shaken. That they are being forced to look in the mirror and confront the harm they’ve caused. That the silence they counted on is cracking open, and with it, the illusion of impunity. But the tide is turning. For every woman scared into silence, there are more who have nothing left to lose and everything to say. We are done being policed, punished, and objectified. We want truth. We want accountability. We want liberation—not just from abusive men, but from the systems that protect them.

This is about more than dating. It’s about refusing to live in fear. It’s about reclaiming dignity on our own terms. It’s about saying: never again.

Our culture must meet the moment. We are living in a new era where women and girls are demanding the right to explore connection, intimacy, and love in ways that are safe, self-determined, and fully informed. This means creating space for them to figure out what they like, what they want, and what they refuse to tolerate. It means recognizing their full humanity—not as daughters, sisters, or future wives, but as people. Our current cultural approach will not save us. It has failed too many for too long. The epidemic of silencing, shame, and punishment has harmed countless girls—whether at the hands of partners who never had their best interests at heart, or families and communities that threaten them with violence for simply trying to chart their own path.

If we truly care about protecting our women, then we need to trust them. Not just to survive—but to choose, to grow, and to thrive.