'We tried the viral dating app hack to get better matches. We've lost the will to swipe.'

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Our mission was simple: to outsmart Hinge's mysterious matchmaking algorithm and lure those elusive, "top tier" matches out of the gated Standouts tab (affectionately known as "Rose Jail") and back into the wilds of our regular Discovery feeds. 

How would we do it? By utilising a "hack" going viral on TikTok, of course (how very Gen Z of us…).

Smart and slightly chaotic, it was part investigative journalism and part romantic delusion.

Naturally, we simply had to try it.

Watch: Chatfishing: The new AI dating trend. Post continues below.

Meet Jess, Managing Editor.

"Can you tell I've been emotionally scarred by dating?"

I'm 36 and in what I like to call my "thriving but emotionally delicate" era. My last relationship ended at the start of this year, and by August, I had ceremoniously deleted the apps "for good" — complete with a text to my group chat proudly declaring "I am finally free!"

I was living my best Hinge-free life. I'd made a few connections throughout the year (the kind that I thought were worth pursuing off the apps), but honestly, I was perfectly happy leaving it at that. 

Then this "assignment" landed on my desk. (Fine, I volunteered, but still…).

Pre-challenge, my app experience could best be described as "emotionally expensive with very little ROI". I was getting a handful of likes each week, mostly from men holding fish, wearing festival wristbands or hanging out with babies that may or may not have been theirs. 

Re-downloading the app for this challenge felt like reopening a portal to chaos, but for the sake of journalism (and perhaps because I was a little bit bored and enjoy some self-sabotage), I dove back in.

Meet Annaliese, Lifestyle Producer. 

"Second Sunday" - a fun nod to shared custody. Image: Supplied

I'm 42, a single mum and recently back from a self-imposed dating app exile after getting spectacularly stood up (you can read that disaster here).

Pre-challenge, I was getting about 15 likes a day, and I would say that I would have, on average, two people a week that I would consider matching back.

Not bad for someone who treats dating apps like a "build it, and they will come" situation. I never pay for boosts, never send roses to Standouts, and very rarely swipe in "Discovery" because endless swiping is my personal version of hell.

My strategy? Let them come to me. It's a time-saver and keeps my sanity intact. So diving into this algorithm-hacking challenge was going to be... interesting.

What is the "rose jail" hack?

TikTokers like Eve Tilley-Coulson claimed to have cracked the code on Hinge's Standouts feature — dubbed "Rose Jail" because it locks away your "hottest" (or, if you want to be classy, most compatible) matches behind a paywall. 

Where you can only send one rose a week…unless you cough up cash for more).

Listen to The Quicky discuss the viral 'Hinge' hack. Post continues below.

How to escape rose jail (according to the cool kids). 

• Delete your account or hit "Fresh Start" in settings.

• Wait for Sunday noon to recreate your profile from scratch. This is when Standouts refresh and the app is most active (probably because everyone is hungover and lonely).

• Optional but encouraged for chaos: drop $50 on a Superboost for 24-hour visibility, and do not touch the app while it's in effect.

• Play hard to get: spend the next week rejecting everyone — yes, even the hotties in both the standouts tab and your discovery feed. The goal is to train the algorithm to think you're picky and therefore highly desirable (not that we needed a hack to tell us that…).

• Then wait. The theory says Hinge will eventually "release" those premium matches into your regular feed in an effort to keep you engaged. 

Jess: First 24 hours post-Superboost — 226 likes and an existential crisis.

Three hours in and I'd already sent Annaliese a text that simply read: "I hate it here".

According to another text later that night (possibly fuelled by one or two wines), I declared that the "rose jail is full of hotties", which, in hindsight, feels like the kind of delusional optimism that can only be achieved by mild intoxication and algorithmic manipulation. 

By the 24-hour mark, I had around 226 likes, which sounds flattering until you realise that all of them were men who were simply… not my type. The Superboost worked, technically, but as the faces rolled in it became very clear, very quickly, that quantity and compatibility are not the same thing. 

Annaliese: First 24 hours post-Superboost — 181 likes and a reality check.

The Superboost delivered. 181 likes in 24 hours (less than Jess's haul, but I'm openly 42 with kids, so that's definitely a variable). 

As expected with paid boosts, quantity was high, but quality was... not. The silver lining? We weren't allowed to touch the app during this period, which was honestly my favourite 24 hours of the entire experiment.

When swiping at work is your literal job. Image: Supplied.

Jess: Day 3-7 — Lamenting the gamification of love (and a slow emotional decline).

By Wednesday evening, I'd hit 318 likes — and after going through every single one, I confirmed that there was not a single man I'd willingly match with. Not one. 

At some point during the week, Annaliese and I started spiralling over text. "Should we start liking people? What if we're missing out?" was immediately followed by "I want to quit" and "this hack is f***ed". 

(Also, a friendly reminder that I do have a degree and yet, somehow, this is what I am using it for.)

By Thursday, I'd reached 353 likes and there was still not a hint of a man I liked. I have genuinely had better luck just using Hinge like a normal person. You know, the old fashioned way of liking people and actually talking to them. 

Somewhere, in the depths of my Notes App, I wrote, "Bro, why am I doing this?"

Because that's what it felt like — pointless. It was like playing a game I didn't sign up for, and it required more admin than actually going out and meeting someone. There were more rules than real dating. And the whole thing? It felt… ick.  We'd turned something that's supposed to be spontaneous and flirty into strategy. 

By Friday, I was finally being served a few genuinely good guys, but alas, I had to reject them all in the name of "following the rules". The irony was not lost on me. The whole point of Hinge is chatting, flirting, and finding those weird little prompt-based connections. And this experiment? It had stripped all of that away. 

By the time Saturday hit, I was sitting at 405  likes and I was spiritually unwell. 

Annaliese: Day 3-7 — A plot twist when the "Rose Jail" serves up the ghost himself. 

As fate would have it, the very dude who stood me up, and the final straw for me checking myself into dating app exile appeared in my Rose Jail. I thought that was hilarious.

Then, a week later, he liked my 'refreshed' profile with a message "let's go out this time." Are. You. Kidding? 

Sir, you stood me up, and I mean a proper textbook: "me waiting at a venue," like waiting for a bus that never came standing up. Then ghosted.  

And he has the audacity to approach me, again? Like I would be all "yeah cool, forgive and forget."

I would not have thought so. Buckley's chance buddy. 

Coming off an app break straight into this intensive challenge was exhausting. The mindless swiping felt cold and clinical, exactly what I hate about dating apps. It was so time exhaustive, and exhausting. 

It was like "Hunger Games, Hinge edition," completely stripping away the fact that these are actual humans.

The worst part? Other than the tax on my time. Swiping "no" on genuinely gorgeous guys because I was "following the rules" to hack an algorithm.

When I asked fellow challenger Jess if we were basically teaching the algorithm the opposite of our preferences, she explained we were showing "high standards" so attractive matches would be "served back to us" and like us instead.

Spoiler alert: They didn't. They haven't.

Jess: Final tally — 429 and an algorithm in crisis. 

By Monday morning, just over one week in, I'd hit 429 total likes. And, in a moment of pure chaos (or clarity, depending on how you want to look at it), I rejected every single one. What had occurred was a full-blown identity crisis: not mine, but Hinge's. The algorithm had no idea what to do with me. My feed turned into a frantic guessing game: gym bros, artsy softboys, finance guys in boat shoes, and one man posing with a lizard (??). I witnessed the app spiral in real time as it desperately tried to decode my "type" as I rejected everyone it put in my path. 

Rose Jail, once mysterious and exclusive (and the very point of this "hack") was throwing itself at me, begging me to connect. It felt like the algorithm was standing outside my house with a boombox, yelling, "PLEASE! Just pick someone!"

I will admit, I stayed on for an extra day or two post-experiment because my Discovery feed finally started serving up some people I actually might want to match with. But was that genuine algorithmic process, or was Hinge just trying to lure me back in like a toxic ex begging, "Wait! Don't go! I can change!"?

I guess I'll never know. 

Annaliese: Final tally — 209 likes, 3 matches, and some hard truths. 

After 10 days, I hit 209 total likes, but the numbers dropped off post-Superboost. I only got 28 new likes outside the boost period over 9 days, which is way less than I would get pre-challenge. (Classic move trying to tempt me into another $50 splurge. Not happening).

209 likes but only 3 matches. The maths is not mathing. None of these matches have made contact since either. Classic WOT (waste of time).

Jess: The final verdict.

If this challenge proved anything, it's that I do not have the patience for dating apps, nor do I possess the emotional stamina required to "train" an algorithm like it's a Golden Retriever. 

Sure, the hack worked in theory. But somewhere between the swiping, the spreadsheets and the emotional whiplash of being rejected by a robot, I realised… I actually don't care. 

Hinge has been fun in the past. It's chaotic, occasionally romantic and often very entertaining, but I do not genuinely believe "my person" is hiding in my Discovery feed. And this experiment sucked every last bit of fun out of pretending he might be. 

So, I'm out. No more swipes, no more boosts, no more digital delusion. 

The only algorithm I care about now? My Spotify trying to understand whether I am cleaning, crying, or both. 

Annaliese: The final verdict. 

The superboost was not successful for me from a "match back" perspective. If anything, it punished me. But Rose Jail is no longer brimming with only the most desirable rose-prison bachelors. 

And, my Discovery feed quality did improve. So yes, the algorithm can be hacked, kind of. But it doesn't suit my "build it and they will come" approach. 

If you're someone who loves the grind, doesn't mind serious app admin, and can stomach rejecting everyone during the discovery phase, this could work. 

But for someone like me who's genuinely unbothered about being on apps? And does not allocate much time to them? Let sleeping algorithms lie.

Keep the hotties locked up, it's less work for everyone.

Have you ever attempted a dating app hack? Share in the comments below!

Feature Image: Supplied.