The Hinge Experiment: Apparently My Date Reads My Blog

Well, The Hinge Experiment™ has taken an interesting turn.

Yesterday, I celebrated that after weeks of absolutely nothing happening on Hinge, I finally had a new match.

Airica.

We started talking. We discovered some things in common. She lives about an hour and a half away, which I don't consider a major obstacle. Most importantly, we started making plans to meet on Sunday.

So naturally, I did what I do.

I wrote about it with her photo.

And this morning, I discovered one tiny detail I probably should have considered more carefully:

Airica saw the post.

Oops.

Time for a Mea Culpa

I had to do a little mea culpa earlier today.

Airica was shocked that I'd posted about her and our Hinge match.

And you know what?

I totally get it.

She's a private person.

I am...

Well...

Have you met me?

I have a website with my name on it where I document my life regularly.

I write about dialysis.

I write about my prosthetic.

I write about eye surgery.

I write about scams.

I write about family.

I write about dating.

I once turned having zero Hinge matches into multiple blog posts and gave an imaginary iguana named Steve a recurring role.

Clearly, privacy and I have a somewhat unconventional relationship.

But that's my choice.

Airica didn't necessarily sign up for the same thing simply because she matched with me.

That's an important distinction.

My Life Is Public. Hers Doesn't Have to Be.

This was actually a good reminder for me.

I'm comfortable putting a lot of my life online.

Airica isn't.

Neither approach is wrong.

But when another person becomes part of one of my stories, particularly someone I'm just getting to know, I need to remember that my comfort level doesn't automatically become theirs.

So I apologized.

No excuses.

No:

“But I'm a blogger!”

No:

“But that's what I do!”

No attempt to convince her that she shouldn't have been surprised.

She was surprised.

I understood why.

Mea culpa.

Lesson learned.

And hopefully, lesson remembered.

But Here's the Good News...

Despite my apparently irresistible ability to create complications before the first date even happens, it looks like we're still on for tomorrow.

Yes.

Tomorrow.

The Hinge Experiment may finally produce an actual date.

Two people.

Same geographic location.

At the same time.

Intentionally.

I'm almost afraid to type that sentence.

Given the history of this experiment, I'm waiting for Hinge headquarters to send someone to my house and say:

“Sir, there's been a clerical error.”

But as of this writing...

We're on.

There's Just One Tiny Problem

Now I need to figure out what we're actually doing.

Details.

Apparently, announcing you're going on a date isn't the same as planning the date.

Who knew?

She's about an hour and a half away, so I'd like to come up with something that's worth the drive but also relaxed enough that we're not trapped in some elaborate four-hour romantic extravaganza if we discover within the first 20 minutes that we have absolutely nothing to say to each other.

That's the strange thing about meeting someone from an app.

We've talked.

We've messaged.

We've seen pictures.

We've read profiles.

But we've never actually been in the same room.

There is still that moment when two people meet and discover whether the digital version translates into real life.

I'm looking forward to finding out.

And Maybe I'll Try Something Radical

Perhaps tomorrow I'll do something completely outside my normal operating procedure.

Experience the date before writing about the date.

Revolutionary.

I know.

And if Airica prefers that parts of her life stay private, I can respect that.

The Hinge Experiment can still be my story without making every person I meet a public character.

Although Steve the Iguana remains fair game.

He signed a release.

Probably.

Current Hinge Standings

After weeks of watching an empty match screen:

Matches: 1.

Woman I'm actually talking to: 1.

Potential date tomorrow: 1.

Distance: About 90 minutes.

Mea culpas issued: 1.

Dates actually completed: Still 0.

That last number could finally change tomorrow.

First, however, I need to answer the most pressing question in The Hinge Experiment:

What the heck are we going to do?

Stay tuned.

Well...

Maybe don't stay too tuned.

I'm learning. 😂

The Hinge Experiment: No Matches. Maybe It’s Time to Delete the App?

Well, here we are again.

I opened Hinge, went to my matches, and was greeted by the same incredibly encouraging message:

“No matches right now.”

Thank you, Hinge.

I worried there might be a secret match hiding somewhere. Maybe someone had been trying desperately to reach me, but the app had misplaced her.

Nope.

Still nobody.

Since my last round of matches—Kelli, Missing Gina and Me—there have been no new matches.

Zero.

The Hinge Experiment has become less of a dating experiment and more of a controlled scientific study examining how long a bald man can stare at an empty screen before deleting an app.

At Least Somebody Is Interested in Me

There is some good news.

While my Hinge traffic is approximately equal to that of an abandoned shopping mall...

the traffic to NielFlamm.com is up substantially.

Apparently, people are much more interested in reading about me trying to date than actually dating me.

I'm not sure whether to celebrate or seek professional marketing advice.

On Hinge:

No matches right now.

On NielFlamm.com:

Come on in!

Maybe I've discovered my true calling.

Not dating.

Writing about the complete absence of dating.

At least one of those appears to have an audience.

Hinge Has a Solution, Naturally

The screenshot makes me laugh because immediately underneath “No matches right now,” Hinge offers two helpful possibilities:

Boost your profile.

Or...

Upgrade to HingeX.

Ahhhhh.

The problem may be solvable with a credit card.

I see.

Nothing says romance quite like:

“Congratulations! Nobody wants to talk to you. Would you like to purchase additional features?”

I'm not convinced.

I'm not desperate to meet someone, and I'm definitely not interested in spending money to make my dating life look more active than it is.

It would be nice to meet someone.

That's still true.

But if it doesn't happen on Hinge, it doesn't happen on Hinge.

Maybe It’s Time to End the Experiment

I'm starting to seriously wonder whether I've gotten everything I'm going to get from this app.

I started with Tinder.

That became an experiment.

Then I moved to Hinge.

That became another experiment.

There were matches.

There were messages.

There were “good mornings.”

There were unanswered questions.

There were almost-dates.

There were phone numbers offered.

There was silence.

There were unmatches.

And now we've arrived at the grand finale:

An empty queue.

Maybe Hinge really is “designed to be deleted.”

Just perhaps not for the reason I originally hoped.

Then There’s Thailand...

Another wrinkle in this story.

I've been exploring the possibility of eventually spending part of my life in Thailand, and I've had people tell me something interesting:

My dating prospects may look very different there.

We'll see.

I'm certainly not booking an international flight because somebody promised me a better dating pool.

I'm interested in Thailand for reasons much bigger than dating. If that chapter happens, it will involve figuring out where and how I want to live, healthcare, dialysis, cost of living, culture, food, and whether I can build a life there that I actually enjoy.

But apparently, I've been told that being me may not be quite the dating catastrophe that my current Hinge screen would suggest.

Let's review the merchandise:

Bald?

Yep.

One leg?

Definitely.

ESRD?

Check.

Eyes that have required enough work to qualify for their own frequent-patient program?

Also check.

And yet I've been told:

“You'll do fine in Thailand.”

Well, that's quite the sales pitch.

I don't know whether that's actually true, and I'm certainly not assuming women in another country are going to react to me in any particular way.

They're individuals, not a demographic dating guarantee.

But I admit...

I'm curious.

Maybe the Problem Isn’t Something That Needs Fixing

That's probably the biggest takeaway from this experiment.

I'm not interested in reinventing myself to generate matches.

I have a complicated life.

I have scars.

I have medical realities.

I have recovery.

I have boundaries.

I have one leg.

I have no hair.

I have questionable eyesight.

I tend to write about things on the internet that most sane people would probably keep private.

And somehow I've also acquired an imaginary iguana named Steve.

This is the package.

I'm not everyone's cup of tea.

That's okay.

I'm not looking for everyone.

I'd eventually like to find one woman where the interest, effort, attraction, humor, and conversation go both ways.

If that happens in South Carolina, wonderful.

If someday it happens in Thailand, wonderful.

If it happens somewhere completely unexpected, even better.

And if it takes a while?

I have a life to live in the meantime.

So, Is Hinge Getting Deleted?

I haven't decided yet.

But for the first time since starting this experiment, I'm seriously considering it.

The current standings are difficult to misinterpret:

Matches: 0.

Conversations: 0.

Dates: 0.

NielFlamm.com traffic: UP.

Maybe that's the universe telling me something.

Or maybe it's just an algorithm telling me to buy HingeX.

Either way, I'm listening.

And Steve?

Don't start packing for Thailand yet. 🦎

How Did the Date Go?

Remember the big news?

After weeks of The Hinge Experiment™, endless “Good mornings,” unanswered questions, Kelli being sent to the unmatched graveyard, and Steve the Iguana patiently waiting for his opportunity to become my wingman...

I HAD A DATE!

Well, potentially.

Sort of.

Maybe.

Okay, fine.

So, Niel... How Did the Date Go?

Great question. I would like to know.

Because...

She never responded.

Yep.

Welcome back to online dating, everybody!

Last time we checked in with “Missing Me,” things had taken an almost unbelievable turn.

I asked:

“Whatcha doing this weekend? Can I take you out?”

Eventually, she responded:

“That would be nice.”

Holy crap!

We did it!

Two people matched on a dating app and were potentially going to use the dating app for its alleged intended purpose:

GOING ON A DATE.

I asked about Saturday.

She couldn't do Saturday.

But then came the magical words:

“Sunday I could be.”

SUNDAY IT IS!

I suggested Tydz because it kept appearing in my algorithm. I'd never been there. I've barely explored Myrtle Beach or Surfside. It seemed like a fun place to grab something to eat and actually meet each other.

And then...

Nothing.

Houston, We Have Lost Contact

Saturday evening arrived.

Still nothing.

So I decided to eliminate another obstacle.

I sent her my real number.

Basically:

Here's my number. If you'd like to grab a bite, call or text me.

Easy.

No pressure.

No carrier pigeon.

No Morse Code.

No requirement to solve a CAPTCHA proving she could identify all the motorcycles in nine squares.

Just...

Call or text.

And then I waited.

Sunday morning came.

No response.

Sunday afternoon?

Nothing.

Sunday evening?

Still nothing.

At some point, Schrödinger's Date stopped being both alive and dead.

The cat was dead.

Wait... Weren't We Going Out?

This is the part of modern dating I genuinely don't understand.

She said:

“Sunday I could be.”

I responded:

“Ok, Sunday it is!”

That seems like progress!

Now, yes, we hadn't agreed on a time. She hadn't confirmed the restaurant. Technically, we didn't have a fully confirmed date.

But I wasn't exactly being subtle about my intentions.

Would you like to go out?

Yes.

Are you available?

Sunday.

How about this place?

...

Hello?

Anybody?

Bueller?

One Last Message

Yesterday morning, I sent one more message:

“I hope you are well. If you aren't, what can I do? When you are ready to meet, you have my number. Hope to hear from you.”

And that's where I'm leaving it.

She has my number.

She knows I wanted to meet her.

She knows I was willing to drive.

She knows I wanted to take her out.

There really isn't anything else for me to do.

I'm certainly not going to keep sending:

Good morning!

Good afternoon!

Good evening!

Good night!

At some point I'd stop being a potential date and become a talking grandfather clock.

Maybe Something Happened

I also want to be fair.

I don't know what happened.

Maybe something came up.

Maybe she got nervous.

Maybe she changed her mind.

Maybe life happened.

Maybe she's talking to someone else.

Maybe she opened Hinge, saw the message and thought, “I'll answer that later,” and then forgot.

So I'm not angry.

I'm not offended.

I'm mostly...

confused.

Because we're right back to the question I've been asking throughout this entire experiment:

How do people actually date anymore?

If you're not interested, that's okay.

If you've changed your mind, that's okay.

If you're not ready to meet, that's okay.

Just communicate.

Even:

“Hey, I've changed my mind.”

That's a complete sentence!

I'll survive.

The Hinge Experiment Continues... Somehow

So, for anyone eagerly awaiting the first official date report from The Hinge Experiment:

There isn't one.

No dinner.

No awkward first-date conversation.

No debating who pays the check.

No wondering whether there will be a second date.

No opportunity for me to completely overshare and tell her about this blog.

Nothing.

“Missing Me” lived up to the name.

She went missing.

And somewhere along the South Carolina coast, I can only imagine Steve the Iguana staring out toward the ocean, thinking:

“You should've called me from the beginning.”

You're right, Steve.

You're right.

The Hinge Experiment continues.

But the reptile plan is looking better every day.

The Hinge Experiment: Kelli Is Out, Gina Is Alive, and Who Is “Missing Me”?

Another day, another update from The Hinge Experiment™.

We have movement.

We have casualties.

We have new contestants.

And I still have absolutely no idea how modern dating works.

Kelli Has Left the Building

Let's begin with Kelli.

I unmatched her.

I tried.

I asked questions. I tried to start conversations. I suggested getting together. I even gave her my Google Voice number.

The baseball game is officially over.

She struck out.

Or I struck out.

Maybe everyone struck out.

Either way, she has my number. If she suddenly wakes up one morning and thinks:

"You know who I really need to talk to? That bald guy who kept asking me actual questions."

She knows how to reach me.

Do I expect that to happen?

No.

But I've been wrong before.

Meanwhile... Gina!

Remember Gina?

Match Number Two?

SHE SENT ME A MESSAGE TODAY!

That's right.

An unsolicited communication!

I didn't have to poke the conversation with a stick to see if it was still alive.

She sent a message.

I responded.

And now we'll see what happens.

At this point, my expectations have been recalibrated to the point that receiving a message on a dating app feels like winning a scratch-off ticket.

I'm not buying a yacht yet, but...

WE HAVE COMMUNICATION!

And Then There's “Missing Me”

We also have Match Number Three.

Her name—or at least her Hinge name—is:

“Missing Me.”

Okay.

That's mysterious.

She asked me:

“How was your weekend?”

Now THAT is a question.

A real question!

Something I can answer!

So naturally, because I apparently don't understand the concept of brevity, I wrote a freaking diatribe.

I told her about going to New York City.

The trip.

What I did.

What happened.

Basically, she asked how my weekend was, and I responded as if she had commissioned an autobiographical essay.

But here's the thing:

I gave her material!

Lots of it!

There were approximately 47 directions the conversation could have taken.

Ask me about New York.

Tell me about your weekend.

Ask why I went.

Tell me you love New York.

Tell me you hate New York.

Tell me you've never been to New York.

Ask about the food.

Ask about the flight.

Tell me I'm insane for writing that much in response to a simple question.

ANYTHING.

Then this morning...

“Good morning.”

Oh.

We've been here before.

GOOD MORNING!

I'm starting to wonder if Hinge is actually a dating app or an extremely inefficient morning-greeting service.

Don't get me wrong.

“Good morning” is nice.

It's friendly.

It's polite.

But what happens after good morning?

COMMUNICATE WITH ME!

This is the part of online dating that I genuinely don't understand.

I see Facebook Reels.

I see TikToks.

I see dating profiles.

Over and over, women say they want a man who:

“Communicates.”

Excellent!

SO DO I!

But apparently, we need to establish what “communicates” means.

I don't need a 37-page PDF outlining your thoughts and feelings.

I don't need hourly status updates.

I don't need:

10:42 AM — Going to Publix.
11:17 AM — Purchased bananas.
11:32 AM — Returning home.

But if you ask me a question and I give you an actual answer, maybe grab onto something I said.

Ask a follow-up question.

Tell me something about yourself.

Give me something to work with.

Conversation is supposed to be a tennis match.

Hit the damn ball back!

Am I Expecting Too Much?

And that's my legitimate question.

Am I expecting too much?

Maybe I am.

Maybe dating apps aren't supposed to produce immediate, flowing conversations.

Maybe people are cautious.

Maybe they're talking to five other matches.

Maybe they're busy.

Maybe some people are terrible at texting.

I understand all of that.

But I'm not asking someone to pick out china patterns after three messages.

I'm trying to have a conversation.

Ask me something.

I'll ask you something.

Tell me something ridiculous.

Make me laugh.

Tell me about the weird person you saw at Walmart.

Tell me you spent Saturday watching terrible movies and eating cereal.

I don't care.

Just give me something beyond:

“Good morning.”

Current Hinge Standings

So here's where we are:

Kelli: Unmatched. She has the number. If she wants to use it, she can. I'm not holding my breath.

Gina: Sent a message today! I responded. This one remains officially in play.

Missing Me: Asked about my weekend, received the extended director's cut of my NYC adventure, and followed up the next morning with “Good morning.”

And me?

Still here.

Still asking questions.

Still attempting to communicate.

Still wondering how the hell people meet each other in 2026.

And yes...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby. 🦎

At this rate, he's going to have his own Hinge profile before I have an actual date.

The Hinge Experiment: Pop Quiz, Hotshot. What Do You Do?

Well, yesterday I decided to put it out there.

My phone number.

Okay, technically not my real phone number.

It's a Google Voice number, which I highly recommend for anyone navigating the wonderful, confusing, occasionally terrifying world of online dating. I'm not immediately handing over my primary number to someone I just met on an app.

I'm optimistic.

I'm not insane.

But after several rounds of “Good morning,” unanswered questions, and my increasingly desperate attempts to determine whether we're actually going to have a conversation, I finally sent Kelli:

“Hey! If you want to chat/text...”

And then I gave her the number.

The ball—or perhaps the bomb—is officially in her court.

Pop Quiz, Hotshot

This whole thing is beginning to remind me of one of my favorite lines from Speed:

“Pop quiz, hotshot.”

There's a bomb on a bus. The bus goes over 50 miles per hour; the bomb is armed. It drops below 50, it explodes.

What do you do?

Except this isn't Keanu Reeves trying to save a bus.

This is online dating.

So...

Pop quiz, Kelli.

A guy you've matched with has tried starting conversations.

He's asked questions.

He's suggested going on an actual date.

He's attempted humor.

He's even offered Morse Code as an acceptable means of communication.

Now he's given you a phone number.

What do you do?

Actually, let's change movie genres.

Bottom of the Ninth

Kelli, it's the bottom of the ninth.

Three men on.

Full count.

For my non-baseball readers, that means three balls and two strikes.

The next pitch matters.

There's a stare-down happening between you and the pitcher.

The crowd is silent.

The pitcher gets the sign.

He comes set.

You're standing in the batter's box.

Here comes the pitch...

What are you going to do?

Swing?

Take the pitch?

Step out of the box?

Call time?

Go home?

Download WhatsApp and ask me if I've ever considered cryptocurrency?

At this point, all possibilities remain on the table.

I've done what I can do.

I put the number out there.

If she wants to text or call, she can.

If she doesn't?

Well...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

Just when you thought The Hinge Experiment was becoming a one-woman scientific study...

I MATCHED WITH GINA!

Yes!

MATCH NUMBER TWO!

We have officially doubled the number of matches.

That's 100% growth!

If this were a quarterly earnings call, I'd have a PowerPoint deck prepared, and we'd be discussing our extraordinary year-over-year performance.

So now we have two separate storylines.

Kelli: The number has been provided. The pitch has been thrown. We're waiting to see whether she swings.

Gina: A brand-new match. A completely blank canvas. Unlimited possibilities.

Could Gina be the one who actually communicates?

Could there be a conversation?

Could there be a date?

Could I finally retire my plans to become the weird reptile guy walking the beaches of South Carolina?

I have absolutely no idea.

But suddenly, The Hinge Experiment has a sequel.

Let's see what happens.

And Gina...

No pressure.

But there is currently an imaginary iguana whose future depends on you.