“Becca,” my mom said, with the kind of dramatic pause only a seasoned Hollywood producer could pull off, “you’re officially out of good men you can meet at Shabbat.” She wasn’t wrong. At 28, I’d gone on an accidental cross-country tour of single Jewish guys named Josh. Some were none too shabby! But even the most charming ones tended to remind me of distant cousins… or at least neighbors my mom would insist had impeccable résumés as investment bankers (yawn).
Still, the idea of moving my dating life online felt daunting. It was 2015, after all, and admitting you were “on the apps” felt about as shameful as telling someone you’d auditioned for a role on a soap opera and didn’t get the part. But as my mom sipped her second glass of Pinot and listed the temple’s upcoming charity auction as my next opportunity, I realized: if I wanted a rom-com-worthy meet-cute, I might have to write it myself.
That night, I downloaded my first dating app. And though I didn’t find “The One” right away (spoiler alert: it wasn’t until my sophomore season on Bumble), I stumbled onto something far better — a moment so clarifying it changed how I understand more than dating. And, yes, I’m about to share it.
The Shaky Start — AKA, My First Online Dating Profile
Picture this: me, perched cross-legged on my childhood bed, scrolling through photos from a summer in New York, trying to decide which one screamed, “I am funny and cute — but like, not trying to be cute.” (Answer: none do. It’s a trap.)
My first bio was all over the place. I combined the breeziness of someone who grew up rubbing elbows with B-list celebrities with the awkward intensity of someone hoping people couldn’t tell she’d Googled “What makes a good dating profile?” That early draft included such gems as:
- “Sarcastic in a charming way. Loves bagels more than most New Yorkers.”
- “Will definitely convince you to order dessert (for me).”
- “Here for a good time but also a meaningful one?” (!!! Who was she?)
Spoiler: It was bad, dear readers. That bio seemed designed to scream, “I’m trying to be everyone’s everything, and in failing, no one will love me.” For several less-than-successful weeks, I was every rom-com plot’s quirky side character — swiping with abandon while becoming steadily more disillusioned.
What finally changed? An innocuous match with a guy named Adam. (In case you’re keeping count: not a Josh.) The conversation was flirty-fine for about five minutes, but just when I thought, “Ooh, maybe!” he said something that stopped me cold.
“You know,” he wrote, “it’s obvious from your profile you’re trying. But not enough to let people see the real you. Who are you, though? Not just the highlights, but the good, the goofy, and the real-life messy parts?”
Did Adam have Oprah-level insight or access to my therapist’s notes? No clue! But his comment hit harder than a bagel with the schmear slipping off. Who was I, beyond the carefully cropped vacation pics and cheeky one-liners? And why wasn’t that girl showing up to her dating life?
I didn’t reply to Adam, by the way. I blame nerves for the ghosting, but his words haunted me in the best way possible.
My Second Shot at Honesty
I spent an afternoon thinking about what I really wanted from a relationship—and from myself. Sure, it was terrifying to imagine putting the deeper layers out there. But I realized dating profiles (and, frankly, relationships) aren’t about impressing strangers—they’re about inviting the right someone to understand you.
Spurred by my mini-existential crisis, I rewrote my profile using three simple principles anyone can steal:
1. Be Specific, Not Perfect.
Instead of vague, performative flexes, I aimed for vivid slices of real life. For instance:
- Old Bio: “I’m into movies and travel.”
- New Bio: “I once missed a flight because I couldn’t leave Sutton Foster’s Broadway curtain call early — no regrets.”
Specificity isn’t just more interesting; it helps potential matches see (and imagine) what life with you might be like.
2. Embrace the Quirks.
Here’s the thing about quirks: people think they’re flaws, but they’re actually the good stuff. Instead of sanding down your edges, lean into them. I rewrote my bio to mention my genuine skills (e.g., “I will destroy you in Scrabble”) and my more lovable inefficiencies (e.g., “Once cooked a frozen pizza while the box was still inside — yes, we had smoke alarms.”).
3. Write Like You’d Text Your Best Friend.
Think about what makes you laugh or feel intrigued when scrolling social media: odds are it’s relatable language with a human touch. I ditched formal clichés like “seeking a partner to share life’s adventures” and kept the vibe chill: “Looking for someone who wants to join me at outdoor movie nights — bonus points if you’ll hold the popcorn; we all have our strengths.”
Lessons That Still Apply (Even Offline)
Here’s where that fateful moment changed more than just my dating matches: by forcing me to remember who I am and why that’s enough, it informed how I engage with people everywhere — from first dates to family reunions to awkward Trader Joe’s cashier conversations.
Letting people see the parts of you you’re scared to show is courage light, my friends. It’s playful risk-taking, a wink to the universe that says, “This is me. Let’s see who winks back.”
PS: Was Adam Right?
Kind of! After launching my “real me” version of an online dating bio and being unapologetic about wanting something meaningful, I saw results fast. But even more critically, I noticed something that hit me harder than any rom-com montage: Being authentic attracts more than matches — it brings clarity to whether you even like the people you meet. Spoiler: some pass the vibe check, but plenty do not.
So, as your trusted peanut-butter-preferring, Nora-Ephron-loving friend of the internet, here’s my takeaway: online dating doesn’t have to be cringey. It can be an exercise in unpolished, self-loving brilliance—and if that scares off some folks, good. Authenticity makes room for the ones who will show up, not just swipe by.
Or, in the immortal words of Sutton Foster (whose advice I now take as holy writ), “Anything goes.”
