Have you ever been stuck in a moment so vividly awkward that it burns itself into your memory, plays on loop like a cringe-worthy home movie, and—against all odds—ends up teaching you something big? For me, that moment happened on a rainy Thursday at Lacroix, an unassuming café tucked into a quiet street on Manhattan's Upper East Side (where the barista remembers your order and judges your life choices in equal measure). Sitting across from Elliott—the sharply dressed, art-collecting attorney who embodied the sleek charisma of a young Cary Grant—I had convinced myself that this was it. My “Serendipity” moment. The kind of magic encounter you scribble into your journal like a lovestruck Jane Austen character. At least, that’s what I told myself… until he leaned in and confidently referred to Monet as “that guy who painted all the bowls of fruit.”
Reader, I did not marry him.
What that moment did gift me, however, was a flash of self-awareness so sharp it was practically neon. I realized, sitting at that tiny Parisian marble table, that I had spent months contorting myself to fit into someone else’s life—dates filled with faint nods, excessive mascara, and nodding to conversations about tax law that I didn’t care to understand. And for what? A man who confused Claude Monet with a lesser-known produce enthusiast? My desire to be admired, to succeed at romance the way I measured success in everything else, had led me down a path to nowhere. That coffee date became a turning point—not just in what I wanted from a relationship but in how I saw myself. Call it my meet-cute with personal growth.
The Wake-up Call You Never See Coming
It wasn’t just Elliott’s questionable grasp on Impressionism that snapped me out of my dating stupor—it was the entire dynamic. See, I’d made dating into a kind of performance art. Raised on a steady diet of Nora Ephron plots and the persistent belief that romance should feel as cinematic as it looks, I had mastered the subtle quirks of dating like they were brushstrokes on a high-stakes portrait. Flirty but mysterious texts? Check. Picking the “perfect” restaurant where the lighting made me glow like Botticelli’s Venus? Obviously.
But none of it was mine.
That moment at Lacroix forced me to ask a tough question: Who was I tailoring myself to please? Honestly? I didn’t know. And while I’d never let anyone question my knowledge of art (or my ability to survive a gala without crying into my champagne—thank you, prep school), I’d quietly allowed myself to become a blank canvas in matters of love. My “profile,” online or otherwise, was little more than guesses about what I thought someone else wanted. I didn’t need to overhaul my image; I needed to meet the person staring back at me in the gilded mirror of my East Side dressing table.
Why Your Dating Profile Might Need an Impressionist Makeover
Here’s the thing—even though Lacroix-gate happened IRL, I realized the same lessons applied to my online dating persona. Step one: Stop trying to be the human version of a carefully staged Instagram post.
A good dating profile is like a well-curated museum collection: It tells the story of what makes you, unapologetically, you. When dating apps began creeping into the zeitgeist during my London grad school days, I approached them with the same spirit I’d approach creating a travel itinerary—overly calculated and deeply strategic. My lessons in letting go have since helped me craft profiles more like an open invitation than a marketing campaign, and I want the same for you. Here’s where to begin:
1. Pick a Profile Picture That Feels Like an Honest Snapshot, Not a Stock Photo
Yes, we all want to look good. But remember, there’s a difference between “good” and “you in 19 layers of flattering Instagram filters.” Instead of the usual vacation-by-the-sea-in-a-wide-brimmed-hat cliché, choose an image that tells a little story. Maybe it’s you laughing into your latte at your favorite café (yes, even Lacroix!) or teaching your nephew how to hula hoop at a family barbecue. One beautifully unposed moment will tell someone more than a dozen airbrushed headshots ever could.
2. Write A Bio That Reads Like an Invitation, Not a Résumé
I used to think a great dating bio needed an opening line so dazzling it belonged in a New Yorker cartoon. Turns out, relatable wins. Mention the things that light you up—the books you’ve been reading, your borderline unhealthy obsession with true crime podcasts, or—dare I say—your soft spot for 19th-century water lilies and artisanal croissants. Show the edges and quirks that make you more vivid.
Think of your bio as an elevator pitch for your life, not an achievement showcase. (Trust me, no one you actually want to date is swiping for your grad school thesis stats.)
3. Lead With Questions That Spark Real Conversation
So many of us treat dating apps with less finesse than a Postmates order. Why not infuse a little charm? Instead of “Let’s grab coffee,” give them something to chew on: “Favorite art movement—go!” or “Who’s winning in your fantasy dinner party: Dolly Parton or David Bowie?” Specific questions make swiping through profiles feel less like a dull marketplace and more like stepping into a lively soirée. Plus, it weeds out the people who think Monet painted fruit. (A dealbreaker, if you ask me.)
You’re The Masterpiece, So Act Like It
If there’s one thing I can tell you after recovering from my love-life wake-up call, it’s that transforming your approach to dating doesn’t mean reinventing yourself. Quite the opposite. It’s an exercise in becoming deeply—and gleefully—yourself. A Niña Simone-meets-Klimt, polka-dotted, sometimes-messy YOU.
Yes, the world of dating can sometimes feel like the Wild West of emotional vulnerability. There’s no perfect formula or gallery map guiding you to The One. But the moment I stopped trying to be someone’s dream girl and started being, well, me, something magical happened: My connections (romantic, platonic, and otherwise) felt genuine. Human. Alive. Spoiler alert: time and a decent sense of humor led me to a real match—someone who actually knew who Monet was, and more importantly, someone who knew me for me.
Parting Words: It’s Your Love Life—Curate It Thoughtfully
Just like art, dating is subjective, deeply personal, and at times a little mad. Whether you're swiping through profiles or sitting across from someone who can’t tell Monet from Manet, the key is to remember this: You’re the star exhibit. Your quirks, your dreams, your stories, even that mildly embarrassing K-pop playlist you’re hiding in your Spotify queue. Put them out there on display. The right audience will show up—and they’ll stick around.
