Right before graduating college (on Cinco De Mayo 2021, to be exact), I was dumped by my first real boyfriend. Now, this guy is a lovely person I (mostly) have no ill feelings towards. But being broken up with meant that I would be starting my adulthood single, without a significant aspect of stability that I was, to be honest, relying on.
Like everyone, I loveeee romantic and sexual validation. So, I decided I would embrace my newfound singleness and set a goal to go on one Hinge date a week when I first moved to Chicago. So there I was, in my brand new city, with this mission. And, for the first month, I was successful. But, after four dates, school and work got busy, and I no longer had the time to go on dates during the week. And suddenly, I realized Hinge stopped showing me the solids 7’s and 8’s I was used to and started serving me guys that just were simply not for me. I’m not even talking about physical appearances. I’m saying that 80% of the guys on my feed were 5’8 Republicans who went to the Kelley School of Business and grew up in Highland Park. So before you’re like, “wow, Reagan is so shallow and delusional,” shut up. It’s called having standards, and I am entitled to them.
I recently realized that my lack of interest in going out with any of my Hinge matches had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the app. As a proud, paid member of Hinge (for research purposes), I am, frankly, disappointed with the app. Seriously. I don’t know a single person whose expectations have been met by their dumbass algorithm that, I shit you not, literally earned a Nobel Prize.
The issue with the Hinge algorithm is that it’s not just based on your information but on how you use the app and engage with other users. If you like a specific type of person, even for a joke or because you had four glasses of red wine and your standards hit the floor, you’re going to get served people like them again. If you message someone a certain way, accidentally ghost a good match, or go on an actual date with someone, that’s going to influence who you see. The thing is, I don’t want any of my actions to have real consequences, especially not my activities on a dating app that I usually use after taking an edible or having a drink.
That’s not even my only problem with Hinge. They do this sneaky ass thing where they hide all the people who are actually your type in that rose section where you can only match with them if you send them a rose. To be very clear, I would rather tie my feet to cement blocks and walk into Lake Michigan in February than send a rose. That isn’t even hyperbole.
With Omicron taking over everyone’s lives, it’s not like it’s precisely practical for me to meet a cute guy who respects me at a bar. So, this winter, the girlies will have to rely on apps. And, what’s a girl to do when the only dating app she semi-tolerates (besides Lox Club, I thoroughly love them, they just aren’t in Chicago yet) becomes a hellscape? She starts fresh.
I deleted my Hinge account and started fresh with almost all of the same pictures and slightly different prompts. Not to sound dramatic, but this worked almost immediately. Suddenly, Hinge was showing me guys who are not only my type, but who are also interested in me. They’re people who, for the most part, I don’t want to ghost. While I’m defiantly still trying to maintain my ice queen status, I have seen that interacting with them means that I see other, similar profiles.
For now, I’ll keep going with this experiment until I get overwhelmed and report back after my first post-isolation date. In the meantime, I still hate Hinge and think it’s time that Gen-Z gets a good dating app. A place where we can be obnoxious that doesn’t require us to grovel for dates with cute love interests by sending the most embarrassing thing known to man, a rose.