The Hinge Experiment: Behold, My Magnificent Collection of Absolutely Nothing
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the current state of The Hinge Experiment™.
Please try to contain your excitement.
As of this post, this is what my Hinge match queue looks like:
“No matches right now.”
That's it.
That's the update.
Thank you for coming.
Look at All That Room!
I mean, seriously.
Look at this magnificent screen.
Clean.
Uncluttered.
Organized.
Not a single pesky match taking up valuable digital real estate.
Marie Kondo would be proud.
After unmatching Kelli, Missing Me, and most recently Gina, I have achieved something few people have the courage to accomplish on a dating app:
Inbox Zero.
Except it's not email.
It's women.
Okay, that sounded significantly worse than I intended.
Moving on.
Hinge Has Some Suggestions
What I particularly enjoy is that Hinge doesn't simply tell me:
“No matches right now.”
It immediately follows that with what feels suspiciously like:
“Would you like to give us some money for that?”
There's a giant:
BOOST YOUR PROFILE
button.
And underneath that:
UPGRADE TO HINGEX
Ohhhhh.
I see how this works.
Hinge is basically standing next to my completely empty dating queue whispering:
"That's a shame. You know... perhaps your credit card could help."
Nice self-esteem you have there.
Be a shame if something happened to it.
But I'm Not Panicking
Here's the thing.
I'm actually okay with this.
Would I like to have a match?
Sure.
Would I like to be talking with someone?
Absolutely.
Would I like to meet someone, go out, laugh, have dinner, see a movie, take a drive somewhere, and eventually have someone special in my life?
Yes.
But as I wrote recently:
I'm not desperate.
There's a difference between wanting companionship and needing to manufacture it.
I'm not keeping conversations open simply so I can look at my Hinge account and say:
“See! Three women!”
If nobody is communicating, what's the point?
Kelli had her opportunity.
Missing Me almost became Meeting Me.
Gina had her opportunity.
Those conversations went nowhere.
So I cleaned house.
And now...
BEHOLD THE HOUSE.
It's extremely clean.
Possibly condemned.
But definitely clean.
“Matches Are More Intentional on Hinge”
The screen also informs me:
“Matches are more intentional on Hinge.”
Well, they are certainly being VERY intentional about not matching with me.
I respect the commitment.
There's no ambiguity here.
No mixed signals.
No “Good morning” followed by 72 hours of silence.
Just a giant empty screen saying:
NOPE.
In a strange way, it's refreshing.
So What Happens Now?
Nothing changes.
I'm still on Hinge.
I'll continue looking.
I'll continue sending likes when someone seems interesting.
Maybe tomorrow I'll get a match.
Maybe next week.
Maybe someone will eventually appear who actually wants to have a conversation.
And maybe—this is where we're getting wildly optimistic—we'll use this dating app to arrange an actual date.
Imagine the possibilities.
Until then, I'm not paying someone to pretend the empty queue isn't empty.
I'm certainly not going to become discouraged because an algorithm hasn't delivered my forever-after on schedule.
I've got plenty of other things happening in my life.
Dating would be an addition.
Not the definition of it.
Current Official Hinge Standings
Kelli: Unmatched.
Missing Me: Unmatched.
Gina: Unmatched.
Current conversations: 0.
Current matches: 0.
Upcoming dates: 0.
Hinge suggesting I spend money: Naturally.
Steve the Iguana's confidence level: Becoming absolutely unbearable. 🦎
I'm starting to picture him sitting next to me, looking at this screen with that smug reptile face.
"Told you, dude. Get me a leash and let's hit the beach."
Not yet, Steve.
Not yet.
The Hinge Experiment continues.
And for anyone interested in joining the cast...
Apparently, there are openings.
The Hinge Experiment: Gina Has Been Unmatched, and I’m Perfectly Fine With That
Another one bites the dust.
It's time for another update from The Hinge Experiment™, and today's roster move is official:
I unmatched Gina.
No dramatic confrontation.
No angry final message.
No lengthy explanation.
No sad music playing while I stared thoughtfully out a rain-covered window.
I hit Unmatch.
Because at some point, you have to ask yourself:
Why am I keeping this chat open?
There Was Nowhere Left to Go
Gina and I matched before “Missing Me,” so she'd actually been hanging around The Hinge Experiment for a while.
There were messages.
There were pauses.
There were more messages.
There were significantly more pauses.
I tried asking questions.
I asked about her day.
I asked about her meeting.
I asked whether she was available.
Finally, I went with the incredibly complicated, deeply philosophical question:
“What's your number?”
And...
Nothing.
Could she still have responded eventually?
Sure.
Tomorrow?
Maybe.
Next week?
Possibly.
November?
Who knows?
Perhaps in 2032 I'll receive a carrier pigeon carrying her phone number.
But I'm not waiting.
An Open Chat Isn't a Relationship
This is something I'm starting to realize during this whole experiment.
There's no prize for accumulating matches.
I'm not collecting Pokémon.
A match sitting in my inbox isn't evidence that my dating life is thriving.
If we're not talking, we're not getting to know each other.
If we're not getting to know each other, we probably won’t meet.
And if we're never going to meet, what's the point of leaving the conversation sitting there?
Unmatch.
Next.
Not out of anger.
Not because I think she owes me anything.
She doesn't.
It's simply recognizing when something isn't going anywhere.
Here's the Bigger Thing: I'm Not Desperate
I think this distinction matters.
I'm not desperate to find someone.
Would I like to find someone?
Absolutely.
It would be nice.
I want someone to go to dinner with.
Someone to see a movie with.
Someone to take a completely unnecessary road trip with.
Someone to laugh with.
Someone who can carry half a conversation without me feeling like I'm conducting a deposition.
Someone who occasionally asks me a question.
Crazy standards, apparently.
But there's a big difference between:
“I'd like someone in my life.”
and
“I need someone in my life.”
I don't need to force something simply because I don't want to be alone.
I don't need to keep dead conversations alive just because they're technically matches.
And I certainly don't need to convince someone to be interested in me.
If someone wants to talk to me?
Great.
If someone wants to meet me?
Even better.
If someone isn't interested?
That's okay too.
I'm Looking for Mutual Effort
Maybe that's what The Hinge Experiment has actually taught me so far.
I'm not looking for perfection.
I'm not looking for someone who immediately reorganizes her entire life because we matched Tuesday afternoon.
I'm looking for reciprocity.
I'll ask questions.
Ask me some.
I'll make an effort.
Make one too.
I'll suggest meeting.
If you're interested, help me make that happen.
Scheduling coffee shouldn't require a project manager, three status meetings, and a Gantt chart.
And if I'm doing all the work to keep a basic conversation alive?
That's probably not the conversation I'm looking for.
The Hinge Roster Is Getting Awfully Small
Let's check the historical standings.
Kelli: Unmatched.
Missing Me: Unmatched.
Gina: Unmatched.
New matches: Well...
About that.
The Hinge offices aren't exactly overwhelmed processing my incoming requests.
But that's okay.
I'd rather have zero matches than stare at three conversations that aren't going anywhere and pretend something is happening.
I'm still on Hinge.
I'm still open to meeting someone.
I'm still hopeful that eventually I'll match with someone where the conversation doesn't feel like I'm trying to start a lawn mower that's been sitting in a garage since 1987.
Pull.
Nothing.
Pull again.
Nothing.
Prime it.
Pull.
GOOD MORNING!
And then silence.
Would It Be Nice?
Yes.
That's really where I am.
Would it be nice to find someone?
Absolutely.
Someone funny.
Someone smart.
Someone interesting.
Someone who wants companionship but already has a life of her own.
Someone who actually wants to meet instead of becoming my longtime digital pen pal.
But I'm not racing against a clock.
I'm not trying to fill a vacancy.
I'm not going to turn every match into something it isn't because I desperately need The Hinge Experiment to have a happy ending.
If it happens, it happens.
Until then, I have a life to live.
And apparently...
an increasingly unemployed imaginary iguana named Steve. 🦎
Although given the current match statistics, Steve probably shouldn't make any long-term plans.
The Hinge Experiment continues.
The roster is currently accepting applications.
The Hinge Experiment: Missing Me Is Missing, and Gina Is on the Clock
It's time for another episode of The Hinge Experiment™, where I continue attempting to understand how two adults who supposedly joined a dating app eventually get to the part where they actually...
DATE.
I know. Radical concept.
We have a departure, a returning character, and another bold move from yours truly.
Missing Me Is Now Officially... Missing
Let's start with Missing Me.
I unmatched her.
I think the appropriate statute of limitations has expired.
We had discussed going out. She said Sunday could work. I suggested a place. I gave her my number. Sunday came and went. I followed up afterward.
Nothing.
At some point, you have to stop staring at the microwave waiting for something to cook when there isn't any food inside it.
So, I unmatched.
There is no anger. No hard feelings. No dramatic breakup montage accompanied by an Adele song.
Besides, she has my number.
If she wants to reach me, she can.
If she doesn't?
That's an answer too.
And thus concludes the Missing Me Era of The Hinge Experiment.
She came.
She matched.
She almost dated.
She disappeared.
Frankly, the screenwriters could have given that character a better ending.
Meanwhile... Remember Gina?
Gina actually predates Missing Me in the Hinge Cinematic Universe.
We've communicated sporadically, but we're still stuck in that strange dating-app purgatory where two people have matched and occasionally exchange words without getting anywhere near an actual date.
Yesterday morning, I asked:
“Good morning, Gina! Whatcha up to today? Are you available this weekend?”
She responded!
She was traveling to a 9 o'clock meeting in Shallotte.
Look at that!
INFORMATION!
A location.
An activity.
A complete sentence!
Naturally, I wished her a safe drive and asked what the meeting was for.
Later that evening, I followed up:
“How was your meeting?”
And today I decided enough was enough.
It was time for another bold maneuver.
I Asked for the Number
Yep.
I sent:
“What's your number?”
That's it.
No essay.
No speech.
No Morse Code.
No interpretive dance.
No 17-part explanation of why exchanging phone numbers might eventually facilitate two adults meeting somewhere for food.
What's your number?
Four words.
I'm trying to move this thing along.
I'd like to talk.
I'd like to get off the app.
And ultimately, I'd like to go on an actual date.
Remember dates?
Two people meet at a predetermined location at approximately the same time.
They sit down.
They talk.
Perhaps they eat.
Nobody ghosts anybody halfway through appetizers.
At least that's how I remember them.
Gina Is Now on the Clock
I'm not expecting an immediate response.
People work.
People have families.
People travel to meetings in Shallotte.
People have lives that don't revolve around checking Hinge every seven minutes to see whether some bald guy has asked another question.
I understand that.
But I'm also changing my approach to this experiment.
I'm not collecting matches.
I don't care whether my profile says I have one match, ten matches, or 100 matches.
A match that never becomes a conversation isn't particularly useful.
And a conversation that never progresses toward meeting isn't really what I'm looking for either.
So I'll give Gina a few days.
If something comes of it?
Fantastic.
Let's exchange numbers.
Let's talk.
Let's make a plan.
Let's meet.
If nothing happens?
Another match will be removed.
No drama.
No hostility.
Just...
Next.
Maybe That's the Lesson
I'm beginning to think online dating requires a strange combination of patience and knowing when to stop being patient.
You have to give people time.
But you also can't spend three weeks trying to extract a conversation from someone like you're interrogating a hostile witness.
“How was your day?”
Silence.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
Silence.
“Would you like to go out?”
Silence.
“What's your number?”
At some point I'm going to need a desk lamp, a windowless room, and two detectives playing good cop/bad cop.
I'm looking for someone who actually wants to participate.
Someone who asks questions back.
Someone who wants to talk.
And, eventually, someone who wants to meet.
That doesn't seem unreasonable on an app specifically designed for people to meet each other.
But I've been wrong before.
Current Hinge Standings
Kelli: Gone.
Missing Me: Officially unmatched. She has my number if she ever changes her mind.
Gina: Still alive! The latest pitch has been thrown:
“What's your number?”
Now we wait.
Again.
But only for a few days.
And somewhere, probably stretched out in a tiny imaginary beach chair wearing sunglasses, Steve the Iguana is watching this entire experiment unfold.
He's beginning to look awfully confident.
Don't get comfortable, Steve.
But...
keep Sunday open.
BREAKING NEWS: The Hinge Experiment May Have Produced an Actual Date
I don't want anyone to panic.
Remain calm.
Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.
Because after weeks of conducting what has increasingly resembled a federally funded research project into why people on dating apps refuse to actually date, something extraordinary has happened.
I MAY HAVE A DATE.
Yes.
A date.
With another human being.
In person.
I don't think cryptocurrency is involved.
“Missing Me” Is Apparently Not Missing Anymore
Those following The Hinge Experiment™ may remember contestant number three, appropriately named “Missing Me.”
We've had an interesting communication journey.
There have been messages.
There have been gaps.
There have been “good mornings.”
There have been questions I've asked that apparently entered the same mysterious dimension where missing socks from the dryer live.
But I continued the experiment.
Eventually, I decided to try something radical.
Something perhaps unprecedented in the history of online dating.
I asked a woman on a dating app to go on a date.
I know.
Crazy.
My message was simple:
“Whatcha doing this weekend? Can I take you out?”
Then...
Nothing.
Thursday passed.
So naturally, I deployed the internationally recognized symbol for:
HELLO? IS THIS THING ON?
“?”
Elegant.
Sophisticated.
Shakespeare would have been proud.
And then last night...
A RESPONSE.
“That would be nice.”
WAIT.
WHAT?
WE HAVE ENTERED UNCHARTED TERRITORY
I immediately asked:
“Are you available Saturday? Tomorrow?”
She replied:
“Sunday I could be.”
Ladies and gentlemen...
WE HAVE A DAY.
This is no longer theoretical dating.
We have moved beyond:
“Good morning.”
We have advanced beyond:
“How was your weekend?”
We have smashed through the seemingly impenetrable barrier known as:
Actually answering a direct question.
Sunday.
SUNDAY!
At this point, I feel like NASA Mission Control.
Houston, we have verbal confirmation of Sunday.
Of course, Sunday isn't enough.
Now we need a location.
I've never really been to Myrtle Beach or Surfside, so I suggested Tydz, which keeps appearing in my algorithm.
Because apparently the same technology that has spent months showing me scammers, bizarre Facebook Reels, and random videos I never requested may finally be useful.
So I wrote:
“Ok, Sunday it is! I have not been to MB or Surfside before. Tydz keeps coming up on the algorithm for me. Work for you?”
And...
Sent.
Now we wait.
Again.
Naturally.
Steve, Don't Pack Your Bags Just Yet
Longtime readers know I had already developed an alternative strategy for meeting women.
Steve the Iguana.
The plan was simple.
If online dating completely failed, I'd acquire an iguana and become that guy walking down the beach with a giant reptile on his shoulder.
You know the guy.
Everybody talks to that guy.
Nobody approaches a random bald man walking down the beach and says:
“Hi! Tell me about yourself!”
Put a four-foot iguana on his shoulder?
Suddenly:
“OH, MY GOD! CAN I PET HIM?”
Steve was going to be my wingman.
But Steve, I've got some news.
You may not be needed on Sunday.
Don't get too comfortable, though.
We still don't have a confirmed restaurant.
We don't have a time.
We haven't physically occupied the same ZIP code.
And I've been doing this long enough to understand that there is an enormous difference between:
“Sunday I could be.”
and
two people actually sitting across from each other at a restaurant on Sunday.
So Steve remains on standby.
What the Hell Do I Do Now?
Here's the really funny part.
I've spent so much time writing about trying to get a date that I haven't adequately prepared for the possibility of actually getting one.
What happens now?
Do I need clothes?
Obviously I need clothes.
But which clothes?
How early do I arrive?
Five minutes?
Ten minutes?
Thirty minutes?
Do I bring flowers?
That seems like too much.
Do I open the door?
Absolutely.
Do I tell her I've been documenting this entire dating experiment on my blog?
Probably not in the first seven minutes.
Do I mention Steve?
Steve is probably a second-date conversation.
And what do two people on a first date even talk about in 2026?
Maybe I'll start with something safe:
“So... how are you coping with the stupid heat and humidity?”
Wait.
I've tried that one before.
The Hinge Standings Have Changed
Let's review how far we've come.
Kelli: Unmatched. She has the Google Voice number. The phone has not exactly been ringing off the hook.
Gina: We communicated. Still part of the greater Hinge cinematic universe.
Missing Me: Has potentially accomplished the impossible.
A DATE.
Sunday.
Possibly Tydz.
Potentially two actual humans meeting face-to-face after initially encountering each other through a rectangle of glass connected to the internet.
What a time to be alive.
But I'm not declaring victory yet.
Until I'm sitting at a table across from her, this remains Schrödinger's Date.
The date simultaneously exists and does not exist until Sunday arrives and somebody opens the restaurant door.
So...
Will Missing Me become Meeting Me?
Will Sunday actually happen?
Will we have a great time?
Will she take one look at me and suddenly remember an emergency dental appointment?
Will I finally have to write a blog called:
“Holy Crap, I Actually Went on a Hinge Date”?
Or will Steve the Iguana receive an emergency call-up from the minors?
We'll find out.
For the first time in The Hinge Experiment, however...
I might actually need to make plans for Sunday.
Pray with me, Forest.
Pray with me.
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.