It started with a typo.

At least, that's what I'll tell my grandkids someday when they ask how I ended up rethinking everything I thought I knew about love, connection, and myself. A single typo marked the beginning of one of those quietly monumental moments in life—the kind that feels like an earthquake wrapped in a whisper. And strangely enough, it all began with an online dating profile.

Love’s Labors (Auto)Corrected

Here’s the setup: I was 26, optimistic-ish, and freshly out of a long-term relationship that had unraveled like an old sweater—slowly, then all at once. Coasting back into the dating world felt like being a baby giraffe learning to walk: awkward, wobbly, and alarmingly visible in its vulnerability. Being raised in a tight-knit Latter-day Saint upbringing, my track record with dating felt as traditional as it gets: dinner, mutual friends, rinse, repeat. But this time, someone suggested, “Why not try online dating?”

If you’ve ever wrestled with writing a dating profile, you know it’s like drafting a résumé, except instead of selling your professional skills, you’re branding yourself as someone who’s capable of being loved. That’s no small task. Armed with shaky confidence and far too much invested in heartfelt emojis, I dove in.

But in my haste to deliver a witty opening line, I mistyped. My profile bio, which was supposed to read, “Hiker and hobbyist baker who loves deep convos and cinnamon rolls,” instead declared, “Hiker and hobbyist baker who loves deep convos and cinnamon souls.”

I didn’t notice until days later.

And readers—I cringed. Soul? Really? What kind of mystical, ghost-befriending RomCom protagonist was I accidentally marketing myself as? I very nearly deleted the whole account, but I didn’t. What happened instead was... surprising.

The Accidental Icebreaker That Worked

As it turns out, people loved it. What I saw as a horrifying slip-up ended up being the most talked-about line in my DMs. “Are cinnamon souls gluten-free?” one match joked. “Does Pillsbury make those?” quipped another. Multiple strangers messaged to tell me it was the most relatable thing they’d read.

Here’s the kicker: That typo opened the door to something I hadn’t expected. It made me seem approachable—flawed in an endearing way, human in a way my overly curated, polished attempts at humor hadn’t. The mortification I felt morphed into a strange kind of relief. I’d accidentally let my guard down, and instead of being judged, I was welcomed.

It made me reflect on how often we try to package ourselves into pristine little boxes, terrified of mismatched corners or stray tape. Dating profiles, specifically, are where we flex our best selves, dodge our scars, and pray that no one sees where the seams are just holding it all together. But what if the seams—the typos, the quirks, the parts that remind us we’re just figuring it out—are the very things that make us loveable?

Lessons in Authenticity: How Not to Overthink Your Dating Profile

After that cinnamon-soul misstep, I began taking a whole new approach to my profile—and dating in general. I realized the same principle could probably help anyone feeling overwhelmed by the tightrope of self-representation. If you’re currently staring at a blank profile wondering how to cram your entire personality into three to five sentences, repeat after me: It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.

Here’s what worked for me, plus a few extra tips from the bumpy trail I’ve since walked:

  1. Start with a Hook, but Don’t Overthink It
    The first line should draw people in, but that doesn’t mean you have to sound like a professional comedian. It can be something as simple as, “If loving bread is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Short, quirky openings have an approachable vibe—and if it’s something people can respond to, even better.

  2. Skip the Sequins—Aim for the Real
    Sure, your dream self might backpack across Southeast Asia while maintaining a sourdough starter, but let your day-to-day life shine. If, like me, you spend more evenings binge-rewatching Ted Lasso than scaling canyons, own it. Honesty is the foundation of connection, and a little humility goes a long way.

  3. Be Specific, Even If It’s Silly
    There’s magic in the details. Instead of saying, “I like music,” mention your favorite Spotify playlist for moody autumn walks. Instead of “I enjoy movies,” admit your irrational fear of The Brave Little Toaster. These anecdotes tell stories and give potential matches room to say, “Me too!” or “Tell me more.”

  4. Don’t Treat It Like a Résumé
    Nothing grates more than reading a profile that feels like a brag parade. You’re trying to build a human connection, not convince someone to hire you for a C-suite. Instead of listing accomplishments, share how those accomplishments make you feel or what they’ve taught you.

  5. Leave the Typos (…Sometimes)
    Okay, maybe not every typo. But don’t agonize over perfection. A slip-up or a goofy line might be more charming than a perfectly polished description—it’s another way to let your personality peek through.

  6. Ask a Great Question
    Including a simple question in your bio can be a playful way to stand out—and spark replies. Think, “What’s your irrationally favorite snack?” or “Rank your top three Billy Joel songs. Bonus: why?” People love to chime in when the question is fun and low-pressure.

On Love, Imperfection, and the Cinnamon Souls We All Are

Funny enough, the typo that launched my soul-searching (pun intended) never ended up leading me to The One. That first round of online dating eventually wound down, as all good experiments do. But what it gave me was better than any individual connection—it gave insight into myself.

Since then, I’ve thought a lot about why we feel the need to create such high-gloss versions of ourselves. For me, some of it stemmed from growing up in a world that valued perfection—as a student, a son, and later as someone navigating relationships within the structured idealism of LDS culture. But no one connects with perfect. No one cuddles up to careful. Real intimacy, I’ve realized, forms in the cracks—the typo moments where your guard slips and your truest self breathes through.

So, to anyone out there hesitating as they type and delete and retype their bio for the twelfth time, looking for the magic formula to connect: Stop. Hit save. Let your cinnamon soul shine, and trust that the right people will get it.

And if they don’t? Well, Pillsbury should invent one.