I've read the articles criticizing HSVpositive. I've seen the claims that it “reinforces stigma,” “monetizes fear,” or “isolates people with HSV or other STIs from the real dating world.” And as someone who has actually lived with herpes and used this platform—not briefly, not casually, but intentionally—I feel compelled to speak up.
Because my experience does not align with that narrative at all.
I'm not writing this as a brand partner. I've never collaborated with HSVpositive. I'm writing this as a real person who once sat on the edge of their bed after a diagnosis, staring at their phone, wondering if dating—or being desired—was over.
HSVpositive didn't end stigma for me.
But it gave me space to breathe when stigma felt unbearable.
That matters more than critics are willing to admit.
There's a big difference between how dating should work in an ideal, stigma-free world and how it actually works when you've just been diagnosed with an STI.
In theory, yes—dating should be about integration, normalization, and open communication. In theory, STI status shouldn't define dating eligibility. In theory, everyone should be educated, compassionate, and mature.
But right after diagnosis, most people are not living in theory.
They're living in fear.
They're living in shame.
They're living in grief over the version of themselves they think they've lost.
That's where I was.
When I downloaded HSVpositive, I wasn't thinking, “This app represents a sociological problem.”
I was thinking, “I don't want to explain myself tonight.”
And that difference is everything.
One common criticism is that browsing HSVpositive feels “desperate” or uncomfortable.
I want to challenge that framing.
What some people interpret as desperation, I recognized as honesty.
Unlike mainstream apps—where everyone curates perfection—HSVpositive users are often more upfront about vulnerability. People talk about real fears. Real experiences. Real boundaries. That can feel jarring if you're used to polished dating culture.
But honesty isn't desperation.
It's just unfamiliar when we're conditioned to hide anything uncomfortable.
For me, seeing people openly acknowledge their status didn't make me feel trapped. It made me feel less alone.
One of the strongest arguments against HSVpositive is the idea that STI-specific dating platforms “force people into isolation” or “separate them from the general dating pool.”
But here's the truth:
HSVpositive doesn't remove your ability to date elsewhere.
I still used other apps.
I still dated outside the platform.
I still disclosed to partners who didn't have HSV.
HSVpositive was not a prison. It was an option.
Critics often frame this as a false binary: either you're “brave enough” to date in mainstream spaces, or you're “hiding” on a niche platform. That's unfair and unrealistic.
People use different tools at different stages of healing.
Needing a break from stigma doesn't mean you accept it.
It means you're human.
Let's talk about pricing—because that's another major criticism.
Yes, HSVpositive charges for premium features.
So do almost all dating apps.
The idea that charging money automatically equals exploitation ignores something important: maintaining moderation, privacy tools, reporting systems, and community features costs money.
1. Is HSVpositive perfect? No.
2. Are the benefits always communicated clearly? Probably not.
But calling it unethical simply because it charges people with STIs is a stretch.
What I paid for wasn't “fear.”
I paid for control—over privacy, visibility, and communication.
And after experiences on free mainstream apps where my status became gossip or ammunition, that control felt worth it.
One critique that genuinely shocked me was the implication that privacy shouldn't be a premium feature.
For people disclosing an STI, privacy isn't optional. It's foundational.
HSVpositive allows users to:
1. Control who sees their photos.
2. Limit profile visibility.
3. Interact without being searchable on mainstream platforms.
That's not “basic dating privilege.”
That's harm reduction.
Mainstream apps were never built with STI disclosure in mind. HSVpositive was.
Another argument I often see is:
“You can find better herpes community on Instagram, blogs, or social media.”
That may be true for some people.
It wasn't true for me.
Online content creators are valuable, but they're not interactive dating environments. They don't offer mutual vulnerability, one-on-one conversations, or shared intent to connect romantically.
Community doesn't only mean education.
Sometimes it means mutual understanding without explanation.
HSVpositive gave me that in ways no blog ever could.
1. Yes—of course disclosure still matters.
2. Yes—people with HSV can still get other STIs.
3. Yes—testing and communication are always necessary.
But critics often misrepresent what users actually believe.
Most people on HSVpositive are not saying:
“I don't need to talk about sexual health anymore.”
They're saying:
“I don't want my diagnosis to be the opening argument for my worth.”
That distinction matters.
Dating someone who shares your status doesn't eliminate responsibility—but it does reduce fear. And reducing fear can make conversations healthier, not less important.
There's an underlying assumption in many critiques: that stigma is best fought by constant exposure, disclosure, and confrontation.
That approach works for some people.
It breaks others.
Not everyone wants to be an educator.
Not everyone has the emotional bandwidth to normalize their trauma publicly.
HSVpositive doesn't claim to dismantle stigma on a societal level.
It helps individuals survive it.
And sometimes, survival comes before activism.
Here's what actually happened when I used HSVpositive:
I had conversations without rehearsing disclosure scripts
I dated people who saw me as a person first
I rebuilt confidence I had lost elsewhere
I learned what kind of partner I wanted again
Did every match work out? Of course not.
Did I feel instantly healed? No.
But I stopped feeling disposable.
And eventually, that confidence carried back into my broader dating life.
HSVpositive is not a utopia.
It's not meant to replace societal change.
It won't magically erase stigma.
But judging it for not solving everything misses its actual purpose.
It's a tool.
For a specific moment.
For specific people.
And for many of us, it worked exactly as intended.
If HSVpositive didn't work for someone, that's valid.
If someone prefers mainstream apps, that's valid too.
But dismissing an entire platform as harmful because it doesn't align with one ideology ignores the diversity of real experiences.
Dating with an STI is not one-size-fits-all.
Healing is not linear.
And support doesn't always look revolutionary.
Sometimes it just looks like relief.
HSVpositive gave me that.
And for that, I won't pretend it failed me just to fit a narrative.
Everyone deserves the right to choose the tools that help them move forward—without being told they're reinforcing stigma simply by trying to survive it.