The Anxiety of App-etite: Why Ordering Dinner Feels Like A Small Existential Crisis

So there you are hungry, hopeful, and frankly a little bored. You open your phone to order dinner. No biggie. It’s a familiar ritual you perform with all the reverence of modern worship. A tap here. A scroll there. A hundred restaurants at your fingertips. And then… nothing.

As if you’re paralysed by the sheer volume of options. Thai? Could be good. But so could tacos. You flirt with a burger, then remember that documentary you watched about processed meat three months ago. Sushi? Are you really in a raw fish mood?

Thirty-seven minutes later, you’re emotionally depleted, spiritually unfulfilled, and obviously still hungry. It would be underwhelming to call this pattern of confusion “menu anxiety”. The state is the 21st-century condition where trying to order food triggers the same spiralling self-doubt once reserved for major life decisions.

Certainly, this isn’t an individual’s experience in isolation. It is a new form of existential crisis taking over a generation of epicureans. The constant chicken and egg situation we find ourselves in seems quite like the one that Gen-Z have been “suffering” through when it comes to ordering meals at a restaurant. Not a big deal but clearly looking at a menu makes the social anxiety play peek-a-boo with our foggy minds.

It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a simpler time, you walked into a restaurant, glanced at a menu (probably laminated), and picked something that vaguely sounded edible. Job done.

Now, thanks to delivery apps, every meal is a referendum on your personality. What you eat says who you are. Health-conscious? Comfort-seeking? Vegan-by-mood? God forbid you order pasta on a day you’re projecting a quinoa-and-cleanse aesthetic. Blimey!

And so, begins the existential spiral. You’re not only choosing dinner, you’re also choosing the mood you want to be in or at least project. No pressure.

App-etite: A Modern Malady

You know it’s bad when even scrolling through food feels exhausting, let alone thinking about what to stream as you sit for dinner. As bad as it is, the so-called good part is that this pattern has a name. It’s called choice overload, or as we prefer to call it, app-etite — the gentle descent into madness caused by too many restaurants, filters, cuisines, ratings, photos, discounts, pop-ups, and “trending near you” suggestions, speedy deliveries, top picks…you know the drill.

At some point, your brain short-circuits and you do what any person would do, order the first thing that caught your eye when you opened the app. Because apparently, the only thing harder than cooking these days… is clicking "Order Now."

Part of the panic stems from the digital eyes. Everyone’s a voyeur now. And god forbid you like a food reel and your AI-backed algorithm floods you with 50 million more of such reels. According to a study by Ketchum, 1 in 4 Gen Z diners feel judged online for what they eat. Which is lovely, considering you're just trying to survive dinner, not present a TED Talk on nutritional ethics!

Your order isn’t just food anymore. It’s proof that you’re cool, balanced, fit, fun, spontaneous. But also responsible, gluten-free-adjacent, and low waste. That’s a lot of pressure for a burrito to be honest. Of course, if you thought dining out would save you, think again. You’ll still get handed a menu that reads like a novella. Ten kinds of hummus. Cocktails with names like “Emotional Damage” and “Dad’s Approval.” Your waiter exuding the gentle menace of someone who just finished a masterclass in passive aggression gives you four minutes to decide. It’s all a bit much, really.

So you say, “We just need a moment.”

And fifteen moments later, you’re still there, wondering if you’ve ever actually liked food or just the idea of it.

Whether you like it or not food, once a source of joy, has become a minefield of indecision, guilt, aesthetics and silent judgment. We've outsourced our instincts to apps, filters, influencers and algorithms. The result? We’ve never been more well-fed and yet so emotionally undernourished.

If you ask us, it's time to reclaim the joy of eating without turning it into a crisis. Dinner should not be a diagnostic tool for your personality. Sometimes, you don’t need variety. You need clarity. And carbs. Until then, may your food be hot, your apps glitch-free, and your existential crises strictly post-dinner.