“Don’t You Meet Single Women at Recovery Meetings?”
As I've continued documenting The Hinge Experiment™, I've had a thought that I'm sure some people reading along have had too:
“Niel, don't you meet single women at recovery meetings?”
Well...
Yes.
There are women at recovery meetings.
Some very smart, incredibly funny, interesting, and great-looking women are at the meetings I attend.
But there's a pretty significant difference between noticing that someone is attractive and treating a recovery meeting like Hinge with folding chairs and bad coffee.
And I'm very intentional about that.
There's This Thing Called the “13th Step”
If you're unfamiliar with recovery culture, you may have heard of the 12 Steps.
There is no official Step 13.
The “13th Step” is a slang term commonly used when someone—particularly someone with more time in recovery—pursues a romantic or sexual relationship with someone who may be new or vulnerable in recovery.
That's something I have zero interest in doing.
I'm not going to a meeting looking for dates.
I'm not scanning the room thinking:
Single? Married? Divorced? Hinge? Tinder? Is it complicated?
That's not why I'm there.
People walk into recovery meetings dealing with all kinds of things. Some are having fantastic days. Others may be having one of the worst days of their lives.
The last thing I want is for a woman to wonder whether I'm being friendly because I'm genuinely welcoming her or because I'm trying to get her phone number.
I don't want to be that guy.
I Don't Even Know Who's Single
There's also one tiny problem with the theory that I should simply meet someone at a meeting:
I have absolutely no idea who is available.
I don't ask.
Someone could be married.
Dating.
Engaged.
Recently divorced.
Separated.
Happily single.
Not interested in men.
Not interested in dating.
Or perhaps interested in dating, just very specifically not interested in me.
All perfectly legitimate possibilities.
Unlike Hinge, nobody arrives at a meeting with a little sign above her head saying:
“Single. Looking for long-term relationship. Likes dogs, tacos and communication.”
And I'm certainly not walking around afterward conducting a relationship census.
“Hi, great share tonight. By the way, are you seeing anybody?”
No.
Absolutely not.
I'd like to continue being welcomed back.
But Yes, I Notice
Now, I'm also not going to pretend I've suddenly lost the ability to see.
There are women I've met through recovery who are smart, funny, attractive, interesting and genuinely enjoyable to talk to.
Of course I notice.
I'm sober.
I'm not dead.
Sometimes you meet someone and think:
Wow, she's really funny.
Or:
She's incredibly smart.
Or, yes:
She's really attractive.
And then I do something truly revolutionary:
I go to the meeting.
Because there's a time and place for everything.
Then There's One Other Minor Problem
I'm shy.
Yes.
Me.
The guy who writes about his dating life on the internet.
The guy who publicly chronicles getting ghosted.
The guy who invented an imaginary iguana named Steve as an alternative dating strategy.
Shy.
Put me behind a keyboard, and apparently I'll tell the internet everything.
Put an attractive woman six feet away from me and suddenly my brain starts buffering.
Loading...
Loading...
Still loading...
Eventually:
“Hey.”
Outstanding work, Niel.
Absolutely crushed it.
Maybe that's part of why dating apps appealed to me in the first place. There's an obvious context.
We're both on Hinge.
We matched.
Presumably, there is at least some mutual interest.
At a recovery meeting, none of that information exists.
And I don't want to make assumptions.
Could I Ever Date Someone I Met in Recovery?
Sure.
I'm not saying I have some absolute rule that I could never date anyone I've met through recovery.
Life isn't that black and white.
If two people have established recovery, get to know each other naturally, discover they're both available, and there's genuine mutual interest, that's entirely different from going to meetings hunting for dates.
Intention matters to me.
I want women to feel comfortable around me at meetings.
I want someone to be able to talk to me without wondering whether I'm interpreting basic friendliness as romantic interest.
And I especially never want someone who's vulnerable or early in recovery to feel like I'm circling.
That's a boundary I'm comfortable having.
So Back to Hinge We Go...
Which brings us back to my current dating situation.
Hinge isn't exactly setting the world on fire.
Gina has gone silent.
The new matches have dried up.
The dates remain theoretical.
But at least on Hinge, there's one thing everyone has presumably agreed upon:
We're there to meet somebody.
At recovery meetings, I'm there for recovery.
And if someday I naturally connect with someone through that community and something develops outside the rooms?
Wonderful.
Until then, I'm not turning a meeting into singles night.
Besides, my shyness would probably ruin the entire plan anyway.
And if Hinge continues at its current pace...
There's always Steve.
The iguana has no problem approaching strangers. 🦎
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.
I Thought I Was Supposed to Be My True Self? Another Adventure on The Tinder
After approximately 2 billion swipes left (nope) and right (why not?), I finally got another match on the Tinder.
Her profile name?
"Hopeful."
Well, that's already one more hopeful person than I expected to find on the Tinder.
Hopeful is a straight, 5'8" woman who describes herself as:
"Down to earth, laid back woman that is looking for something real..."
Excellent.
She also wants:
"Someone that can be just there true self, no lies, no games no drama just your true self no matter what and I will be the same!"
First, I believe we're looking for their true self.
But this is the Tinder, not the SATs. I'm not grading anyone.
More importantly:
Great! Imma be my true self.
Because I don't know how to be Matt Damon.
Her profile also provides some important intelligence. She doesn't like receiving nude selfies—which seems like an extremely reasonable policy—works out sometimes, smokes, which I don't, and drinks on special occasions.
Fine.
So I start the conversation:
"Good evening, Hopeful!"
I had a sneaking suspicion her parents didn't look at their newborn daughter and say, "She's beautiful. Let's name her Hopeful."
Turns out I was correct.
Her name is Chrissy.
We start chatting. I throw in some humor. She seems to like it.
Excellent.
I tell her that I think I'm actually funnier in person.
Also excellent.
We're talking about what we're doing Thursday. I mention some completely innocuous stuff about my day. Nobody has attempted to sell cryptocurrency to anyone. Nobody claims to be conducting "market research" in Augusta.
We're making progress!
Then I mention my sobriety.
Record scratch.
The conversation takes a turn.
She asks:
"So is that you drink now or no"
I explain that no, I don't drink. I've been sober for a little over 17 years.
But I also explain that I don't care if other people drink—as long as they're responsible about it.
I'm sober.
I'm not the Soup Nazi.
NO CHARDONNAY FOR YOU!
Drink your wine. Have your cocktail. Order a beer.
I'm not going to leap across the table and slap a margarita out of your hand.
This conversation happened Thursday at around 4:30 p.m.
I sent a few more messages afterward.
I even asked if she'd like to talk on the phone, since her profile said that's her preferred method of communication.
And then...
Crickets.
Not even Tinder crickets.
Those crickets have probably unmatched me too.
Which leaves me slightly confused.
Wait a minute, Chrissy.
I thought you wanted someone who could be:
"Just their true self."
That's exactly what I did!
I didn't lie.
I didn't play games.
I didn't create drama.
I didn't pretend to drink.
I didn't pretend to be Matt Damon.
I showed up as my true self, just like the advertisement requested.
Apparently there were terms and conditions.
And here's what really makes me laugh:
Her profile says she drinks "on special occasions."
Is having someone who drinks booze really that important when you only drink sometimes yourself?
Maybe there's an annual Cabernet Festival I don't know about.
Maybe Valentine's Day requires tequila.
Maybe I'm supposed to hold the wine glass while she drinks it.
I have questions.
Of course, maybe she just got busy. Maybe she'll respond eventually. Maybe she met somebody else. That's dating.
But if the sobriety conversation is what killed it, that's pretty funny.
Because after dealing with fake profiles, scammers, crypto investors, mysterious 6'6" women named Hamit, and everything else I've encountered on the Tinder, I finally did exactly what a profile asked:
I was my true self.
And apparently my true self got left on read.
Maybe next time I'll try being Matt Damon.
Help Me Get Off the Tinder… Set Me Up With Someone (Even Someone You Don't Like)
If you're reading this and you're happily married, dating, or know someone who is...
Please set me up with someone.
At this point, I'd even consider someone you secretly can't stand.
Why?
Because it would get me off the Tinder for at least a little while.
A few days ago I wrote about my exciting fictional career as an international drug cartel leader. If you missed that masterpiece, it's over at NielFlamm.com/blog.
Today, I bring you Episode 2 of "As the Scammer Turns."
Like most guys, I don't spend 20 minutes analyzing every profile. It's the 5 Second Rule. Mel Robbins probably didn't intend for it to be used on dating apps, but here we are.
Swipe left.
Swipe right.
Move on.
Being completely transparent, my decision is usually based on whether there's an initial physical attraction. That's online dating in about five seconds.
Then I matched with... let's call them...
"This person."
I use the word person very intentionally.
The first thing that caught my eye?
Height: 6'6".
Now, I'm not opposed to dating a taller woman. I'd happily embrace my Short King era.
The second thing?
The name.
Hamit.
Not exactly a name I hear every day, so I consulted The Google (because I'm old enough to still call it The Google).
According to The Google:
Hamit is a masculine given name of Turkish origin, derived from the Arabic name Hamid, meaning "praiseworthy" or "one who praises."
Well...
That was unexpected.
Then came the line I had been waiting for.
"What's your experience using this dating app like?"
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
I've seen enough YouTube videos and scam exposés to recognize that one.
It's one of the classic setup questions before they eventually pivot to crypto, gold, forex, or some magical investment opportunity that somehow guarantees 4,000% returns while they're conveniently gorgeous and single.
This one added a new wrinkle.
"I often encounter people trying to sell me products. Have you ever met similar strange people?"
Nice try.
That's basically a scammer asking if I've already met scammers.
It's like a burglar knocking on your door asking if you've had any recent break-ins.
Unfortunately, I forgot to screenshot my response, but I replied that the only things I've been offered so far were some version of a crypto or gold investment.
Then the funniest part happened.
A few hours later, I opened the Tinder again. I don't allow it to send notification alerts to my phone, so I only check it when I feel like it.
The entire conversation...
Gone.
Poof.
Vanished.
Either someone reported the account, or—far more likely—the dude on the other end realized I wasn't going to be an easy target and decided to move on to someone else.
I like to think I failed the scammer interview.
Mission accomplished.
So once again, I'm asking for community support.
If you know a nice, funny, emotionally stable woman somewhere around my age...
Introduce us.
Even if she's someone you've been trying to get rid of.
Let's save everyone involved from another season of The Tinder Files.
Because at the rate I'm going, my next match is going to ask if I'd like to diversify my retirement portfolio before asking what my favorite movie is.
Back on Tinder... Pray for Me
Against my better judgment, I downloaded Tinder.
It's free.
My expectations? Somewhere between "maybe I'll meet someone nice" and "I'll probably be talking to a guy named Igor pretending to be Jennifer."
I matched with someone who gave me the standard:
"I'm looking for honesty, loyalty, emotional maturity..."
Sounds promising.
Then came the question:
"What is your profession?"
I decided to run a little quality assurance test.
My answer?
"I sell heroin. Not on a corner... I'm a cartel leader."
It was obviously a joke.
I figured one of three things would happen:
She'd unmatch me immediately.
She'd laugh.
She'd call the DEA.
Instead...
Nothing.
No "Seriously?"
No "That's not funny."
No "You're weird."
Just... nothing.
I'm beginning to think the bots don't have a sense of humor.
At this rate, I'll probably delete Tinder before it figures out whether I'm Pablo Escobar or just a bald guy with a prosthetic leg who likes Coke Zero and movie theaters.
So, serious question...
How do people over 50 actually meet now?
Asking for a friend.
The friend is me.