When I heard about these hacks, I figured it couldn't get worse. 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.
The first step was to sign up on a Sunday. 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. The third hack warns against too many pictures. People like to see you, just not too much of you, apparently. You're better off taking on a label. 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.
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. Open with "Hey" instead of "Hi. My first message on Her was this stunningly creative gem: Once I got over the initial fear of liking photos, I became a photo-liking fiend.
I scrolled through hundreds of photos of Her users, liking photos of a chef, a dancer, a medical student, and dozens of pet owners posing with their fur-babies. I also noticed many Her users were non-binary. In the week that I was hacking the app, Her announced a major change—an option to list your gender on your profile.
It came from a personal problem: But pretty quickly we realized how much bigger, broader and more diverse the community that Her should be for, was. Not just the people that were using it but how they were using. We added the social features and we opened up who the app was for. We updated our description to make it clear that we were now here for all the female and non-binary people out there, no matter what their sexuality was.
The majority of responses were supportive and positive, but some users wondered if a space that started as one for women should open their doors to other genders. The study found that, "after 44 messages you are most likely to get a positive response when you go for the digits. Not only did I spare myself the messages from hetero couples looking to spice up their marriages, I also took more chances.
When it comes to online dating, I can be a judgmental jerk-face. Oh, you liked the wrong book? I am a terrible coward who will use any excuse I can find to avoid interaction, so the lack of information available on Her worked for me. In the five days I used Her, I talked to 11 users, interacted with a global and local community, and drum roll here actually landed a date. If you want to try the hacks for yourself, download Her from the iTunes App Store , or request to be notified when Her is available for Android here.