By continuing to use our site, you agree to our Private Policy and Terms of Use. When I heard about these hacks, I figured it couldn't get worse. I am terrible at online dating. I need all the help I can get. So, when Robyn Exton, the CEO at Her stylized as HER , a dating app centered on lesbian, bi, and queer women, asked me if I was interested in their latest study on the best hacks for their app, a small, scathing, and very single voice inside me hissed, "You need this.
So, last Sunday, I bought myself some stress ice cream, downloaded Her, and waited. You sign up for Her through Facebook or Instagram. I chose Facebook, because my Instagram is 80 percent dog pictures and 20 percent meals for one. You also have to allow Her to access your location, but if you have a phone someone already knows exactly where you are all the time anyway, so with that pleasant thought in mind, I hit "Allow. The profiles receiving the highest number of Likes had on average 8 pictures, with clear images of face and a full body photo.
I compromised and took one new horrible picture and used two old pictures that kind of still look like me. People like to see you, just not too much of you, apparently. So, with my ideal eight pictures uploaded, and my sexual orientation labeled, I waited for the likes to roll in.
And, oh my God, they did. About two minutes after I finished signing up, someone wanted to chat, which meant she liked one of my photos. Unsurprisingly, it was the photo of my dog trying to lick my face. Thanks, buddy.
I went to her profile, and she was incredibly attractive, which made me think, "Wow, I am so blessed to be queer. While I was messaging her, I scrolled through other profiles. But as I was scrolling, I accidentally liked someone who was clearly out of my league. I will never stop feeling like my thumbs are too big to navigate an iPhone. Then, a tiny miracle happened. She liked me back. My first message on Her was this stunningly creative gem: "Hey how was your weekend?
