It started, as most transformative moments do, with a plate of soggy fries and a Wi-Fi connection. Picture this: I’m sitting in a tiny café on Calle de Velarde, a Madrid street that smells like churros and adventure. It’s raining, my book is open (but unread), and I’m catastrophically late to the world of online dating. My friends had been begging me for months to ditch my outdated repertoire of bookstore meet-cutes and see what the digital gods had to offer. Finally, one stormy afternoon, I gave in. With a bold swig of café con leche, I downloaded the app that would simultaneously terrify and mesmerize me: Tinder.

As my fingers hovered over the keyboard, I realized I was embarking on a modern quest I had zero tools to navigate. How do you shrink your entire human essence into three photos and a bio that isn’t an existential crisis? Shakespeare could summarize emotion in 14 lines, but I was spiraling over a 150-character limit. The stakes felt absurdly high for something involving a selfie. Still, I persisted, because what else is a girl to do when her fries have gone cold?

Swipe Left on Uncertainty: Finding My Voice (and Face)

Creating that profile turned out to be both a literary and existential challenge. My first draft? A train wreck. I opened with a Neruda quote that, in hindsight, made me sound like I was recruiting cult members. This wasn’t a poetry anthology—it was a digital flirting zone! I deleted, rewrote, channeled my inner Isabel Allende, panicked, and repeated the process until I exhausted myself.

Finally, I landed on:
"Chilean bookworm. Professional overthinker. Can be bribed with tiramisu or travel tips. Let’s talk stories—real or made up."

Was it Pulitzer-worthy? No. But it felt real. And that was the first lesson learned: authenticity beats over-curation every time. While carefully crafted profiles work for LinkedIn, online dating demands you pull back the curtain and let people see the quirks.

Oh, and the photos? Equally important. My friend Paula, who was the unofficial CEO of swiping success, firmly vetoed my “thoughtful, staring into the abyss” headshot. “This isn’t a Gabriel García Márquez novel, Carmen,” she said. “Keep it light!” Her tips:
- Always include at least one photo where you're smiling (science says you’ll seem friendlier).
- Full-body shots help people know you’re not a floating torso IRL.
- Avoid group pics unless you want them falling for your hotter friend.

Enrique vs. The Algorithms

The real turning point—the moment that “changed everything”—came weeks later, when I matched with Enrique. Enrique was a lawyer with a world-class eyebrow raise, and his opening line was a surprisingly clever pun involving Kafka, which my inner book nerd deemed worthy of a response. But here’s where things took a turn: after five minutes of back-and-forth banter, he ended the conversation with, “So, Carmen, are you a catfish?”

Excuse me?

I stared at my screen in offended disbelief and then realized…he wasn’t wrong to ask. You see, my carefully chosen photos had all been taken during a particularly glamorous trip to Buenos Aires. I looked sophisticated. Glowy. One might even say editorial. Problem was: they didn’t reflect the real me—the woman currently wearing a 10-year-old hoodie and fighting her way through Madrid’s humidity. Was I lying? No. Was I over-representing? Maybe. And Enrique’s question forced me to confront that.

So, I went back to my profile and did some ruthless editing, swapping out the glammed-up snapshots for photos that were a little more "everyday Carmen." A candid shot at a local feria. Me hiking a hill in Santiago, sweaty but thrilled. And my favorite: one hilariously timed shot of me holding a churro while side-eyeing a seagull. Was it polished? No. But it was me—and to my surprise, the matches flooded in anyway.

Lesson two: perfection isn’t attractive—authenticity is. You don’t need to look like you walked out of a Vogue spread to foster genuine connection. Real people want real people. Bonus points if you’re holding pastries.

Learning the “No, Gracias” Dance

One of the unexpected perks of online dating was learning to set boundaries. When I tell you that apps turn your notifications into a circus, I’m not exaggerating. Between enthusiastic “Hey, hermosa” texts and the occasional bizarre pickup line (pro tip: telling someone they “look like their mom would make good empanadas” is NOT the flex you think it is), I quickly learned that politeness had to have its limits.

If someone’s first message is a red flag, you’re under no obligation to respond. Ghosting may not be the noblest option, but sometimes it’s necessary for your sanity. And if you find yourself stuck fielding unsolicited commentary about your height, hobbies, or whether you pronounce GIF as “jif” (I refuse to debate this), it’s okay to unmatch. Rejection is part of dating, on both sides.

Between Swipes: What Really Changed

Here’s the funny—and slightly magical—part of this story: the biggest transformation didn’t come from swiping on Enrique (we didn’t even make it to a first date; long story) or any specific match. It was the process itself.

Creating that profile, despite the initial panic, taught me to articulate my own value. What do I love about myself? What makes me me? For someone who’s spent a lot of her life editing and analyzing others’ words, this was a shift. It forced me to get intentional about celebrating my quirks instead of apologizing for them.

The photos and bios were just surface-level stuff. The real beauty of online dating came in the way it reframed my own narrative. It reminded me that dating isn’t about getting someone to like you—it’s about finding someone who’s into the real, complete, slightly chaotic version of you. Not everything has to be a Neruda poem to be meaningful.

Rewrite Your Dating Story

Now, let me leave you with a few nuggets of advice that dating apps—and soggy-fries reflection sessions—taught me:

  1. Embrace the Quirks: Put your defining weirdness on display. Whether it’s a love of anime, an obsession with 80s power ballads, or a ridiculous talent for karaoke, the right people will find it endearing.

  2. Keep it Balanced: Three photos minimum, five max. Show enough to let someone get a glimpse of your life, but leave room for curiosity.

  3. Open with Curiosity: Swipe and message with intention. A question like, “What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?” beats “Hey!” every time.

  4. Don’t Overthink It: Your dating profile is not a global referendum on your worth. It’s just a snapshot—one that will evolve as you do.

  5. Know When to Say No: Remember, you’re not on these apps to collect random admirers. You’re filtering for the real deal.

Dating apps, believe it or not, aren’t just for meeting people—they’re for meeting yourself. They’re an oddly poetic mirror, reflecting what you value, how you communicate, and yes, how you handle rejection. Sure, sometimes it’ll feel like a reality show where you’ve been cast without your consent. But if you show up as yourself and stay open to the journey, the experience might just surprise you.

And if all else fails? There’s always tiramisu.