The Tinder Experiment Is Over. Welcome to The Hinge.

Well, it happened.

The Tinder experiment is officially over.

I deleted my profile. Hopefully.

I say “hopefully” because deleting anything from the internet feels less like destroying evidence and more like politely asking a multinational corporation to maybe stop showing it to people eventually.

But Tinder and I have parted ways.

After the swiping, the matching, the questionable conversations, and the recurring suspicion that I was less likely to find a date than I was to receive an exciting new investment opportunity, I decided it was time.

So naturally, I did the sensible thing.

I joined another dating app.

Welcome to The Hinge.

Yes, I know it's just called Hinge. But “The Hinge” sounds more dramatic, like a nightclub, a medical procedure, or something at Home Depot.

Apparently, Hinge is “designed to be deleted.”

Challenge accepted.

The question is: why will I delete it?

Will I actually meet someone?

Will I get any matches at all?

Will I match with someone, have a perfectly normal conversation, and then hear:

“I don't check this app very often. Do you have WhatsApp?”

🚩🚩🚩

Will someone want to take the conversation offline almost immediately?

Will she suddenly have an incredible business opportunity?

Will cryptocurrency somehow enter the conversation?

Will she own a thriving import/export business that requires absolutely no physical location?

Will we talk for three days and then she mysteriously disappear?

Or—and I realize this is an absolutely insane possibility—will someone actually want to meet me in person?

Coffee.

Dinner.

A movie.

Two human beings occupying the same physical location without anyone trying to sell the other one something.

Imagine that.

I'm going into The Hinge with an open mind. I'm going to swipe—or like, or comment, or whatever terminology we're using over there—and see what happens.

I'm not expecting perfection.

I'm not even expecting normal.

I'm just hoping for an actual human being who wants to have a conversation, laugh a little, eventually meet in person, and doesn't need me to download another messaging app before revealing that her uncle has taught her a proprietary cryptocurrency trading strategy.

The bar is low, people.

Very low.

So begins the next dating experiment.

How long will The Hinge last?

How many matches will I get?

How many will turn into conversations?

How many conversations will turn into actual dates?

And how many will end with me staring at my phone thinking:

“Oh, for God's sake. Not again.”

Only time will tell.

Until then...

Pray with me, Forest.

Pray with me.

Why I’m Still Single: An Investigation Nobody Requested

I’ve noticed that stories about the horrors of my dating-app experience get a bunch of views. Apparently, my romantic suffering is your entertainment.

You’re welcome.

I know what some of you are thinking because I have X-Men-like abilities:

“Niel, not only are your unique looks incredibly handsome, but you’re also smart, innovative, and funny! You CAN’T be single.”

It’s all true. Every descriptor. Thank you very much.

And yet, I am single.

Let me explain.

I’m not much for “game.” I don’t approach women in the grocery store and say, “Oh my, look at that sweet potato! Can you believe the amazing fries we could make with that?”

I know. Shocking. That line is basically irresistible.

I also meet women at recovery meetings who are smart, funny, and inspirational—and who have great heads of hair. But I’m not the kind of guy who will just roll up—we said that in the ’90s—to a shorty—also a ’90s reference—and say, “Let me holla at ya!”

Guess which era that one came from.

It’s simply not my style. In the interest of transparency, most of my real-life dates—the ones that didn’t begin with an app asking me to select my preferred radius—have been initiated by the woman.

So, ladies, the historical data is clear. Draw your own conclusions.

Anyway, I’m still trudging along. Apparently, “trudging” means moving forward with purpose, although it also sounds like walking through wet cement while carrying emotional baggage.

Either way, I’ll keep moving forward and see what Cupid has in store for the rest of 2026.

Hopefully, Cupid has improved his aim. And updated his profile pictures.