It started with a lie. Not one of those big, tragic lies that ruin marriages or make for juicy reality TV confrontations, but a small, silly fib—the kind you barely notice, the kind you tell yourself to keep moving forward. Mine came mid-scroll one Friday night, thumb jogging through what felt like a sea of plaid-clad men holding fish (I see you, Pacific Northwest dating apps), and it went something like, “I’m totally fine trying online dating.”

Spoiler: I wasn’t. At least, not yet.

You see, I grew up in Boise, a city where meeting people meant passing them on a hiking trail or running into them at your favorite brewery—literal and metaphorical small towns. I wasn’t prepared for the gamified chaos of dating apps. The curated photos. The cryptic two-word bios. The endless possibility that sometimes feels more like endless uncertainty. And yet, it wasn’t the bearded guys with Labrador puppies or the ones asking “pineapple on pizza?” in their prompts that gave me pause. It was the realization that I had no idea how to present myself in this strange new world—or truthfully, who I even was in it.

Let me back up.

A Flopped First Attempt

My first dating profile, looking back, was pure panic disguised as personality. I agonized over the photos—was kayaking too “outdoorsy”? Did my favorite brewery selfie make me look like I worked there? And don’t get me started on my bio. After several glasses of wine and a lot of syllable math, I landed on: “Writer. Brewery aficionado. Pretending I don’t hate running.”

If that phrase had a soundtrack, it would be the sound of crickets. Deafening ones. Within days, I was bombarded with generic messages like, “Writer, huh? Cool,” and “Beer’s awesome.” It became clear that my profile wasn’t sparking meaningful conversations; it was more like a soggy match that wouldn’t light.

Cue the existential crisis: Was I boring? Was I trying too hard? Did I even like kayaking? I logged off feeling defeated, but what stuck with me later wasn’t the lackluster response to my barely-there bio. It was this nagging thought: I hadn’t been honest. Not really.

The Moment That Changed Everything

Fast forward a few weeks to a conversation with my best friend, an ex-roommate from my Chicago days who, in true big-city style, knows her way around a Bumble profile. She called mine out over FaceTime with the brutal honesty only a best friend can deliver: “Leslie, this is just surface-level you. Where’s the weird? The wit? The stories only you could tell?”

Her critique stung at first, but it was the wake-up call I needed. She was right. In my rush to seem charming and cool, I’d forgotten the golden rule of dating—or life, really: authenticity. The most important person who needed to love my profile was me.

So, I scrapped everything and started over, this time following one guiding principle: be unapologetically me. Instead of listing pastimes, I wrote what I was actually thinking: “Yes, I love hiking, but mostly for snacks with a view.” Instead of carefully curated shots, I included one where I’m holding a giant potato at Boise’s annual Spuddy Buddy festival. You know—the one that makes my Idaho roots blush. I laughed the whole time I built it, suddenly realizing that dating should be fun, not a job application.

And that, my friends, is when things started to change.

How to Craft the Dating Profile of Your Wildest (or Most Relatable) Dreams

Revising my profile taught me a lot—not just about swiping, but about owning who you are. If you’re staring at your about section like it’s an essay for a grade, here’s what I’ve learned to help you get unstuck:

1. Tell the Truth, Even the Weird Stuff

The best profiles are the ones that make you stop and think, “I have to know more about this person.” That doesn’t mean you have to be quirky for the sake of quirks, but let the details shine. Everyone loves tacos, but not everyone can say, “I’m actively searching for the best taco in Boise and take this very seriously—suggestions welcome.”

Leave enough breadcrumbs for someone to want to ask follow-up questions. Generic phrases like “Love traveling and music” don’t cut it. Tell us where you went that changed your life or who you’ll listen to on repeat (in my case, The Decemberists, with zero regrets).

2. Get Specific with Your Photos

Your photos should act as little snapshots of your life, not just your face. Yes, have one clear solo close-up where you’re not rocking a sunglasses-and-hat combo. But beyond that? Show me who you are. Post the picture from that time your friends convinced you to karaoke and you absolutely nailed the Shania Twain impression. Have the courage to look silly or slightly imperfect if it tells a story—because stories, not selfies, are what turn matches into messages.

3. Be Honest About What You Want

This is big. If you’re not into hook-up culture or you know you want something serious, say so. If you’re figuring it out as you go but open to possibilities, be upfront about that too. It saves everyone time and sets the tone for meaningful connections. Think of it as putting yourself on the same page as whoever’s on the other side of the screen.

4. Embrace (Just a Little) Humor

Fun fact: sarcasm doesn’t translate in texts or profiles—not easily, anyway. Humor does, but keep it light. Say something memorable that doesn’t need decoding. “I’m here for dogs, craft beer, and that one moment where the awkward first-date energy gives way to something real.”

5. Aim for Connection, Not Perfection

Perfection is intimidating. Connection is magnetic. This is why your bio doesn’t need to catalog every accomplishment or hobby, but it should give people a reason to relate. Maybe you’re trying to learn to bake bread but keep creating “baguette bricks.” Or admit the One Direction concert that secretly changed your life. In a sea of profiles striving for perfect in all caps, the lowercase version of you is what stands out.

The Lesson in the Potato Photo

Here’s the thing: It wasn’t about whether people liked my goofy festival picture or my snack-centered hiking bio (but, for the record, they did). The moment my dating life shifted was the moment I liked me. The moment my profile reflected not just the version I thought people wanted, but the one that made me laugh until I cried every time my friends roasted me about that year I owned bedazzled skinny jeans.

If there’s one takeaway, it’s this: dating feels different—and easier—when you stop editing yourself. Who you are right now is enough, potato festival picture and all.

So, go ahead. Swipe on the guy with three shirtless fishing pics; message the girl quoting Taylor Swift lyrics. Let flirting be what it’s supposed to be: playful, a bit messy, and maybe even real enough to surprise you.

Because the truth is, one honest profile—and one tipping point moment—really can change everything.