“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.
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.
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.
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.