The first time I considered joining an online dating app, I was sitting on a boulder overlooking Jordan Pond, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The late-afternoon sun was painting Cadillac Mountain in warm reds and oranges. Around me, couples perched on adjacent rocks, chatting and laughing, their knees touching like the universe itself had nudged them into alignment. And there I was, third-wheeling Nature. Again.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve always loved the solitude of Acadia. There’s something magical about the crash of the Atlantic waves against jagged rocks, or the way morning fog can make even the tallest spruce trees feel like protectors of some ancient mystery. But this was the first time hiking alone started to feel lonely. As I swirled the last sip of lukewarm coffee in my thermos, I wondered: Could I, a person more comfortable analyzing tidepool ecosystems than texting "wyd" to a stranger, actually survive the realm of swipes and awkward bio-writing? Spoiler alert: Eventually, I did. But not without a pivotal lesson—and plenty of wrong turns along the way.

When Your Bios Says "I Like Long Walks" But You Actually Mean It

The first hurdle of online dating is crafting a bio that screams, "I’m intriguing!" without actually screaming. And if you're anything like me, you’ll make the rookie mistake of being way too literal. My first attempt read something like this:

"Proud Mainer. Nature nerd. Once touched a puffin (long story). Good luck beating me at Scrabble—seriously, I’ll try to win even if I like you."

I thought I was being quirky, painting the picture of a lovable small-town oddball. Turns out, most people don’t know (or care) what a puffin is, and I came off less "fun Scrabble rival" and more "unreadable wordsmith." My inbox was a ghost town. No, scratch that—it was less active than a Bar Harbor ice cream shop in winter.

I learned quickly that while authenticity is key, your bio should feel accessible to people who might not share your hyper-specific hobbies. Sure, you’re presenting the real you—but maybe the slightly breezier, highlights-reel version of you. Instead of mentioning puffins (I promise I’ll get to that in person), my second draft said:

"Mainer who loves adventure, coffee, and a little healthy competition. Swipe right if you’ve got a recommendation for my next road trip playlist."

Simple, inviting, curious—but still me. Sometimes it’s not about reinventing yourself but zooming in on the parts that make you someone others want to know more about.

Swipe Culture Demands Specificity

Here’s the thing about online dating in an age of endless options: it can feel like a midnight snack aisle in a convenience store. There are too many flavors. Who am I in this moment? Doritos-level casual? Artisanal dark chocolate serious? Your profile needs to cut through the noise. Specific details make you memorable—even amongst the Pringles and Oreos of Tinder profiles.

Once I got the hang of it, I swapped out the clichés. Instead of "I love travel" (who doesn’t?), I tapped into my Bar Harbor roots:

"Best decision of my life? Riding my bike through Iceland just to find the perfect hot spring. Worst decision? Forgetting my towel."

Or another favorite:

"Yes, I know the difference between a fir and a spruce tree. No, I won’t tell you (yet)."

These little nuggets did more than make me stand out—they gave future matches something specific to comment on. Meaningful connections start when someone can latch onto something in your profile beyond your favorite pizza topping.

Lessons From a Swipe Right (and a Swipe Wrong)

Not every profile you match with will be compatible, and sometimes that becomes hilariously clear on the first date. Take Ben, for instance. A promising match who described himself as “outdoorsy, adventurous, and always up for something new.” Naturally, I imagined us picnicking on Schoodic Point or paddleboarding at sunrise. Instead, he suggested meeting at a chain restaurant two towns over and had not one, but THREE vape pens. His idea of "adventurous"? Trying a new wing sauce.

The good news? These mismatches are inevitable but instructive. Each taught me to hone not just my profile but my deeper understanding of what I truly wanted. Now, I filter not based on the number of exclamation points they use but whether their photos and carefully chosen words reflect shared passions.

Abby’s Dos and Don’ts of Profile Perfection

Here’s what I learned the hard way—and what you can use to skip over the cringe-worthy trial-and-error phase:

DO:

  • Use conversation starters. Mention something unique and easy to comment on. "If you need a hiking buddy for Acadia, I’m your person" worked wonders for me.
  • Be positive. Avoid the Debbie Downer approach like “No hookups!” or “No drama!” A better vibe: “Looking for someone fun to explore bookstores and mountain trails with.”

DON’T:

  • Rely on group photos. Let people know who YOU are. If they need to play "Where’s Waldo" with your face, it’s a hard pass.
  • Overdo the filters. Sure, good lighting helps, but your profile should look like you on an average Tuesday—not a Hallmark movie extra.

BONUS PRO-TIP:

Who knew my favorite hiking sweater would snag so many compliments? Pick one outfit or setting that truly feels you—dogs, bookshelves, or yes, even puffins if they’re nearby.

One Hike, One Date, One Realization

So what was the moment that changed everything? Honestly, it wasn’t one groundbreaking swipe or jaw-dropping date. It was when I realized that putting myself out there, authentically but intentionally, was less about perfection and more about connection. Dating is messy, whether you’re navigating online apps or bumping into someone on a quiet Acadian trail.

Now, every time I hike Jordan Pond, I laugh at how anxious I once was to join the throngs of hopeful swipers. Who knew a peanut butter and jelly sandwich overlooking Cadillac Mountain would launch me into figuring out how to make stranger connections feel familiar?

In the end, the best part of dating—whether you’re in cozy boots or plunging into the Tinderverse—is discovering more about yourself. Trust me, even if the first date tanks (and it might), at least you’ll have a funny story and maybe even the push to write a better bio.