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: Gina Is Silent, the Matches Have Stopped, and Steve Is Getting Nervous

It's time for another update from The Hinge Experiment™.

Unfortunately, this update won't take very long because...

NOTHING HAS HAPPENED.

Remember Gina?

I made what I considered another bold move in the world of modern dating.

I asked her:

“What's your number?”

Four words.

Direct.

Simple.

No ambiguity.

No 900-word explanation.

No discussion of cryptocurrency.

No request to move to WhatsApp.

No smoke signals.

Just:

What's. Your. Number?

And the response?

Absolutely Nothing

No number.

No message.

No “I'd rather keep talking here.”

No “I'm not comfortable giving you my number yet.”

No “Thanks, but I'm not interested.”

Not even one of those increasingly familiar:

“Good morning.”

Nothing.

The Hinge communication department is apparently closed for renovations.

Now, to be fair, it hasn't been an eternity. People have lives. People work. People get busy. People don't necessarily check dating apps every 13 minutes.

I understand all of that.

But this is becoming a familiar pattern in The Hinge Experiment.

Match.

Say hello.

Attempt conversation.

Ask questions.

Try to move things toward an actual meeting.

And then...

WELCOME TO THE VOID.

And There Aren't Any New Contestants

Here's the other exciting development:

I haven't gotten any new matches either.

None.

Zero.

Nada.

The Hinge bullpen is empty.

Apparently, the greater Charleston-area female population collectively looked at my profile and decided:

“We're good.”

Fair enough.

I can't force the algorithm to love me.

But it's funny when you consider how this experiment started.

I joined Hinge after ending my Tinder experiment. Almost immediately, I got a match.

I thought:

OH! HINGE IS DIFFERENT!

Look at this!

People actually match here!

Maybe the whole “designed to be deleted” thing is real!

Well...

Technically, an app can be designed to be deleted for multiple reasons.

Let's Review the Starting Lineup

We've had quite the roster.

Kelli.

A promising beginning that evolved into a fascinating study of how many different ways two people can say “Good morning” without actually having a conversation.

Unmatched.

Then there was Missing Me.

She asked questions!

We communicated!

I asked her out!

She said Sunday could work!

For approximately 36 glorious hours, I thought The Hinge Experiment was about to produce its first actual date.

Then Sunday arrived.

Missing Me lived up to her name.

Missing.

Unmatched.

And then...

Gina.

Gina and I matched before Missing Me, so she's practically a veteran of the program.

We've exchanged messages.

I've asked about getting together.

I've tried moving the conversation forward.

Finally, I threw the pitch right down the middle:

“What's your number?”

And now I'm standing at home plate wondering whether the catcher, umpire, and entire opposing team quietly went home.

Am I Doing This Wrong?

I keep coming back to the same question:

How do people actually meet?

Because I'm beginning to suspect dating apps may not be the answer.

At least not for me.

I'm not expecting someone to fall madly in love after three messages.

I'm not asking anyone to update her Facebook relationship status before appetizers.

I don't have a U-Haul sitting in the driveway.

I'd simply like to get from:

MATCH

to

CONVERSATION

to

PHONE CALL

to

“Hey, want to grab something to eat?”

That progression doesn't seem completely unreasonable.

Instead, I'm discovering an entirely different dating funnel:

MATCH → GOOD MORNING → GOOD MORNING → QUESTION → SILENCE → UNMATCH

I should put that on a PowerPoint.

Meanwhile, Steve Is Watching

For newer readers, Steve is my imaginary iguana.

Steve was created as my contingency plan.

If dating apps don't work, I'm getting a reptile and becoming that guy walking around the beach with an iguana on his shoulder.

Everybody talks to that guy.

Nobody knows his name.

Nobody understands his life choices.

But everyone wants to meet the lizard.

At first, Steve was a joke.

Then he became a recurring character.

Now?

I'm starting to think I should research iguana ownership.

Because here's the uncomfortable truth:

Steve would probably generate more conversations in one afternoon on the beach than I've generated through weeks of Hinge.

And Steve doesn't even have a profile.

So Where Does The Hinge Experiment Go From Here?

For now, I'm still on it.

Gina is still there.

She can respond.

Maybe she will.

Maybe another match will suddenly appear.

Maybe someone will shock me by asking a question, answering one of mine, having an actual conversation, and agreeing to meet.

I'm open to being surprised.

But as of today's official standings:

New matches: 0

Response from Gina: 0

Upcoming dates: 0

Iguanas currently owned: 0

That final statistic is the most likely to change.

The Hinge Experiment continues.

For now.

Steve...

start stretching.

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.