An Ode to Hinge

As an intelligent, beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, Amanda wrote her personal journey on the dating apps: An Ode to Hinge

Hinge is the only dating app I use because I’m convinced their model of “hearting” a specific component of someone’s profile—be it a photo or witty answer to one of their dozens of asinine prompts—will eventually lead to a semi-fruitful relationship. Tinder is gross and Bumble is too much pressure, but Hinge is my goldilocks app. I’ve been on Hinge for all of my twenties (more than five years, less than seven) and it’s a love-hate relationship. I hate the app and it has never once led me to love. It certainly hasn’t been the “designed to be deleted” dating solution it’s touted it to be. But truth be told, I’m okay with that. I don’t want to delete Hinge. Every time I muster up the strength to dive back into the world of online dating (or just dating for that matter--I don’t even know what it would look like offline at this point) it’s the only app I’ll use. That’s because Hinge represents a deep well of possibility. Sure, I’ve never actually found love but I could at any moment. It’s comforting knowing there’s a sea of Chads at my fingertips who want to show me their Labradoodle puppy, who love The Sopranos and are overly competitive about “Everything”. The endless swiping and occasional small talk makes me feel like I’m doing the work. I’m playing the field, shopping the scene, and shooting the shit! Of course, I rarely ever meet these guys in person but that doesn’t matter. Hinge allows me to say “Hello, World! I DATE!” It reassures me the absence of a serious adult relationship in my life is simply because I don’t want one at this moment, and not due to any underlying commitment issues as my therapist likes to imply. As soon as I’m ready to put down the yoke of single-hood Hinge is there with a buffet of clean-cut boyfriends-to-be. Their manageable six-photo-three-answer profiles are the perfect semi-blank canvases for my tamest romantic projections. Before I even open the app I always know who I’m going to find and it’s Chad. He’s looking for the best tacos in LA, his simple pleasures are clean sheets and a good book, this year he really wants to leave his house, and that girl in his picture? That’s his sister, silly. Chad is boring, at least on screen. But that’s okay, because when I wake up in the middle of the night from yet another panic attack because four more of my college friends got engaged over Christmas, I know my future with Chad--in any of his near-identical variations--is only a swipe away. And, unless you’re a Jesus-type, isn’t this very anxiety the foundation for many twenty-something marriages anyway? So, at least for the time being, I have no plans to delete Hinge. Keep showing me your big fish, Chad, and maybe one of these days I’ll show you mine.