What's worse: being ghosted on Hinge or being ghosted by Hinge?
It’s June, lockdown has been a long one, I’m restless, I’m bored, I’m single. I’ve been aired by 3 boys and I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to get back in the saddle, but I do it anyway because I need a boost. A risky starting point. After at least two weeks of dedication to the cause – swiping through Hinge until the small hours and thinking up witty one-liners in response to mediocre profiles – I have not one single like, comment or match. It’s been over a year since I was last active on Hinge, so I wonder if I’m just a bit out of practice or trying too hard and decide to chill out and let the likes come to me. Nothing happens. Then I wonder if the only way to get noticed on the app it to be as active as possible. My screen time goes from 3 hours a day to 7.5. It’s almost too embarrassing to bring up when friends ask me if I’m dating.
One particular day I feel brave enough to confide in two friends and both decide to give my profile a makeover and turn off my dealbreakers just to see if that makes a difference. I try to suppress the deep embarrassment that accompanies the literal lowering of my standards by physically sliding the age range to start at 18 and finish at 50, increasing of the mile radius from 10 to 100+ and changing my neighbourhood every other day just to see if that helps. Nothing changes and soon I’m googling “why is my Hinge broken” and “how does the Hinge algorithm work”. Before I know it, I’m watching youtubers complain about not receiving likes or matches on Hinge after spending time off the app. I wistfully recall the many dates and matches I had the previous summer. One a Shoreditch DJ, another a reality TV star (The Apprentice, not Love Island) and one whose texts I submitted to @beam_me_up_softboi.
Enough is enough. I decide not to delete Hinge but give it the full reboot like the PC-masquerading-as-a-Mac that it really is. I deactivate my account, wiping myself clean off the face of Hinge, and delete the app. Five seconds later I’m redownloading, ready to reactivate. With a Youtube army of similarly confused users cheering me on I’m unstoppable, I’m a phoenix rising from the ashes, this is Lara 2.0, back and better than ever! On opening the app I’m met with this message: You have been banned from using Hinge for violating our Terms of Service. I am positively nonplussed.
Immediately I scour Google for Hinge customer service numbers – none exist. Instead of being able to emotionally manipulate an unassuming Customer Service person, I have to turn to a computer-generated chat box for help. Surprise, surprise, no solution. It gets worse. I decide that there must be a human who can help me with this very personal problem so, thinking this is a genius idea, I go to LinkedIn and scroll through the Hinge employees. I privately message two Customer Service assistants and get no response. A day later I receive an email asking me not to contact multiple members of the Hinge team and that they will respond to my query in due course.
And I quote:
“If we accept your appeal, you will receive an email confirming your account access has been reinstated. You will also receive an email if your request to reinstate your account is denied. If we deny your appeal request, know that our decision is final and subsequent appeals will not be considered. After an account is closed, your data will be deleted.”
So, I’m powerless and inexplicably on trial for misconduct on an app that I have barely used over the last year. Great. Days, weeks, months pass, and I hear nothing from Hinge. I know they are the app designed to be deleted but I never imagined Hinge would delete me. I’m no stranger to getting ghosted on the app, but have I just been ghosted by the app? Fast-forward to December – a whole 6 months without using any dating apps at all – and I decide to try and hack my way back in. 3 attempts later, using my Mum’s phone, Dad’s phone and finally my Dad’s work phone, it seems I have succeeded at circumventing Hinge’s blocks on me. I am reborn into the Hinge community. After a mere 48 hours, I received over 50 likes and then a steady 5-7 every day since.
A far cry from receiving zero over numerous weeks in the summer, even if quantity is now exceeding quality. What have I learnt from this bizarre experience? Hinge’s algorithm will remain one of life’s great mysteries. And the second I notice my likes are dwindling, I’m going erase myself just as before, assuming aunty Dot doesn’t mind me using her phone number to create Lara 3.0.
