Forever Alone | Bonus Chapter: Hinge & Hysteria (Part 2)
In which I don my coaching hat—beribboned bonnet? jaunty fascinator?—and dole out opinions, advice, and general musings on how (and whether) to use dating apps without losing your mind.
I published Forever Alone: One Introverted Millennial’s Half-Agonizing, Half-Hopeful Journey Through Singledom in 2021 as a 7-part podcast miniseries. I’m re-publishing it here on Substack for the first time in written form! Start reading from the beginning here.
That’s the thing that I think is often missed when we—very fairly and understandably—rag on dating and dating apps: When used responsibly, it can actually be a really helpful tool for honing your intuition, clarifying what you want, sharpening your discernment, and learning to trust yourself.
Obviously there are other ways to achieve all of those goals, without having to date. I mean, it’s what I do with my coaching clients every day. And … I also see the value of getting real-time, hands-on experience “in the arena,” so to speak. As a coach, I know that there comes a point where you’ve maxed out on all the progress you can make by just talking about something. The next level of growth requires action—testing your theories, instead of pontificating about them.
You heard me spiral in Chapter 7 about whether or not I should actively date again. I was annoyed at the very idea, because I was pretty sure I knew exactly what was going to happen. I was already someone with solid discernment and intuition; I was clear about what kind of man I wanted … did I really need to try an app to teach me things I already knew?
Well, as you know, I finally said, “Fuck it. I’m tired of wondering if this is something I should do. If I do it, at least I’ll know for sure if it was a bad idea.” And I’m SO glad I did. Because having to actually do it brought up things to heal that I had no idea were still there. In a matter of months, I released 15 years’ worth of self-inflicted trauma. And that month I spent dating Will? I burnt through so much anxiety that I know for a fact I won’t be bringing it with me into a relationship with the right man.
For a while, I did well on Hinge. And by “well” I just mean, it was serving my purposes. I was wielding it like a tool—one that gave me another opening through which I might meet the right person and one that helped me work through some old, crusty fears and beliefs.
And if it had stayed like that, I could have kept using it. But that’s not what happened. So now, at the risk of contradicting everything I’ve just said, allow me to walk you through why I deleted Hinge a couple weeks ago.
Thinking of dating apps as a tool is helpful and empowering. It implies that you’re using them, not the other way around. And in the case of real tools, that’s true. A knife, for example, is a helpful utensil for cutting up vegetables. You could also stab someone with it if you wanted to, but that’s not the knife’s fault. The knife is neutral. It’s what we do with it that makes it a tool or a weapon.
But what happens if the knife isn’t neutral? What if it’s semi-sentient? What if it’s programmed with an algorithm that is subtly but powerfully influencing how you use it? How long can it remain a helpful tool, under those circumstances?
I can only speak to my experience on Hinge, because it’s the only app I’ve used since I was on Match a few years ago. But I can tell you … something slightly nefarious is going on with that technology.
I’m convinced that dating apps employ some kind of facial recognition software. How else do you explain the Standouts section on Hinge? For those of you unaware, there’s a section on the app that curates people it thinks, based on your stated preferences and user habits, you’ll be most interested in. If you want to like one of those people, you have to send them a rose … because they’re extra special. And you only get a certain number of roses to send before you have to, you guessed it, pay for more.
It is egregious how much more attractive the men in the Standouts section are compared to the men I’ve seen in my normal feed. Across the board, they’re all way, way hotter than what I’m used to seeing. How does Hinge so expertly curate that degree of attractiveness, hmm? What qualifiers are programmed into an algorithm to determine hotness, exactly? And how likely is it that that algorithm is prejudiced in some way—ageist, sizeist, racist? We’ll never know, because that shit is highly proprietary, tightly guarded information.
I knew Hinge had become a weapon threatening my mental health when I started questioning how I see myself. For the last few months, across the board, the only people I ever received likes or messages from were men I found very unappealing. And when I saw someone on my feed I found intriguing—and I’m not even talking just about guys who were immediate hell yeses; but also the ones who were solid maybe’s—I rarely got a response.
Slowly, I started wondering, “Am I … ugly? There must be a reason that only the gross guys find me compelling, and the normal and hot ones find me repulsive.” I felt that hot, sickening sweep of shame wash over me more and more often.
To be fair, Hinge didn’t create those nasty thoughts. Nothing and no one can push buttons you don’t already have. And my issues aren’t everyone’s. I have a friend using the apps who doesn’t jump to assuming she’s unattractive, but who does find herself spiraling into scarcity quite often: She’s afraid that there are no good men out there; or that the good ones are already taken; or that someone might snatch up the right person for her before she does.
Some personal development gurus might tell you that, in cases like these, the apps are shining a light on something you need to heal. That you might even thank them for revealing those fears to you.
Let me assure you, in case you’ve ever heard someone suggest something like that—that’s complete and utter bullshit.
That’s like saying, “Oh, you’re in a toxic relationship where your partner is constantly implying, overtly or subtly, that you’re not that attractive and aren’t worthy of someone better? That’s an opportunity to work through those feelings. You should definitely stay with that person!” That’s not a fucking opportunity. It’s gaslighting. And it’s abusive.
Whether the dating apps are purposefully or unintentionally gaslighting us … they are. Or at the very least, they are very capable of making us feel gaslit.
If your mental health is starting to suffer—if you find yourself feeling down or depressed or anxious or fearful—you’ve become the canary in the coal-mine. The environment has become a weapon threatening your health and safety. You’re breathing in the toxic air, you’ve stopped singing, and it’s time to get the hell out before it’s too late. And in that moment, the canary isn’t asking, “What’s wrong with me that I can’t make this work?” It isn’t beating itself up or thinking it deserves the poison. Instead, it’s lifted up and out—into the fresh air and sunlight—so that it can heal. And in the stark contrast, it feels just how unhealthy and toxic it was down there.
If you’re a robust canary, then by all means, use the apps. Wield them like a tool with intention and precision. But the moment that tool becomes a threat to your health; the moment it starts using you, rather than the other way around, put it down. Walk away.
Because I assure you, with every fiber of conviction I possess, that the way to find the kind of love you and we all want is not by harming yourself. No benevolent Universe would ever ask that of you. You aren’t ever going to cut yourself off from what’s meant for you by choosing not to stay in an environment that can so easily turn toxic.
So, will I ever use a dating app again? Maybe. I’ve never tried Bumble, and I’m more open to using it now than I would have been a year ago. At first, I’ve got to be honest, I didn’t like the idea of having to be the one who initiated contact. As someone who values healthy feminine energy, I would prefer to be the one receiving the contact.
But after getting a little debrief about how it works, it feels more reasonable. The thing about Hinge I don’t like is that you can reach out to anyone you see, and anyone who sees you can do the same. Most likes and messages go completely unacknowledged, which wears on you over time. At least with Bumble, you can’t even try to have a conversation unless both people have swiped right—as in, both people have expressed interest in having a conversation. And if a guy has already indicated he’d like to chat with me, then me being the one to start the conversation doesn’t feel so weird.
But if I do try Bumble, or get back on any app, it won’t be unless and until I feel mentally prepared for it. And it’s not going to be for any reason other than because I want to, once again, hang my proverbial shingle up. I’m “open for business,” but I’m not out on the street handing out fliers or free samples. I’m in the back, stocking my shelves or, let’s be honest, pretending to work while actually reading a book. And if I hear the bell chime and I’m interested in seeing who it is, I can if I want to.
At this point, the main value I see in dating apps is just that it gives the Universe one more avenue through which to connect you with the right person. Maybe you also sharpen some useful skills, like your intuition and discernment, while you’re at it. And as long as you feel relatively neutral about the app, then by all means, throw that avenue open and see what happens.
But if you can’t feel anything for the apps besides dread or hate or resentment or depression … then please, don’t force it. You’re going to have a MUCH better chance of getting what you want if you’re not stewing in those kinds of emotions all day long.
What I know to be true is that your bus is coming, friends. What I don’t know is when. But the Universe knows where you are, and it knows where the bus is. And it can and will direct that bus to you. If the Universe needs to make that bus circle you 30 times before you see it, it will. If your bus is kind of dumb for a while and can’t see you standing there, the Universe will keep having it do drivebys until it wises up. If you leave one street corner and show up at another, it’ll redirect the bus to pick you up there. If someone else tries to get on your bus, they will be removed, because it’s not their bus. There’s no bus stop you have to find; no right place you must be standing in order to catch your bus. Because the secret is … you’re the bus stop. Wherever you go, the bus can find you. So live your life. Do what you want, go where you want. Be free. And then, when that bus does find you, probably in a place you weren’t expecting, just pause for a second, smile to yourself, and imagine me saying, “Told you so.”
This was Part 2 of Hinge & Hysteria, the special Bonus Chapter of Forever Alone. This post completes Season 1 of Forever Alone! Season 2 will be coming … eventually. Until then, subscribe to enjoy all of my current musings on singledom, dating, and relationships!