It happened on a Tuesday. Not a dramatic, movie-worthy Tuesday where the skies crack open and everything suddenly makes sense. No, it was a regular, slightly overcast Vancouver day, the kind that feels like the city is perpetually between playlists—indecisive but consistent. I’d just polished off an oat milk latte at my parents’ café, scrolling through my dating app matches like flipping through old CDs at a thrift store: hopeful, cautious, and wildly uninspired.

That’s when I saw him—okay, his profile, because this is the 21st century. He looked…normal. (To Vancouverites, that means he owned at least one flannel shirt and probably knew how to kayak.) His “About Me” was witty but not try-hard, and he listed his dream dinner guests as David Suzuki, Anthony Bourdain, and—plot twist—Cate Blanchett. I was intrigued. But the pivotal moment in this story wasn’t meeting him.

No. The moment that changed everything, ironically, wasn’t about him at all. It was the realization that led me to reconsider the way I approached online dating—and myself in the process. Spoiler alert: one of us didn’t survive the transformation, and it was my painfully boring, overly curated dating profile.

Here’s how that Tuesday sent me spiraling into self-discovery and taught me the unsexy truth about getting real in a digital world.

Section 1: The "Everyone Else" Trap

Let’s start with the embarrassing part: my dating profile wasn’t really me. It was, instead, an avatar of who I thought would be swiped right on. You know, the calculated “cool but quirky” version of yourself: a glaringly sanitized bio that screams, Yes, I’m spontaneous AND emotionally stable!, paired with overly filtered photos of scenic hikes you didn’t actually enjoy.

In my case, I’d listed obscure indie bands I listened to twice during finals week and implied I was a seasoned paddleboarder (I fell twice on my one and only attempt). I even threw in a fake “love” for yoga, which was really code for: I own yoga pants and sometimes sit in them while watching Bake Off. My whole profile was the digital version of ordering kale at brunch when all you want is the waffles.

I was stuck in what I now call the “Everyone Else” trap. Instead of letting my real personality shine, my profile mirrored what I thought “everyone else” wanted. And judging from the matches (read: minimal), it wasn’t working.

Section 2: My Profile Wake-Up Call

Back to Mr. Cate Blanchett Fan. Armed with a clever opener (something about loving David Suzuki but not having a compost bin), I instinctively re-read my own bio before messaging him. It felt…flat. Flat like those day-old, post-rain puddles in Gastown. Where was I in all of this? My humor, my sarcastic edge, my love for mini-golf and thrift stores and French fries eaten in a parked car at sunset?

Suddenly, I felt like I was trying to introduce someone else to this stranger—someone who didn’t quite exist. Which was wild, because wasn’t the whole point of dating to actually connect? I paused, thumb hovering over my phone, and thought: Would I even swipe right on myself?

And wow, what a humbling thought. Would I actually want the person I was projecting to others? That was the first aha moment. So, I decided to do something utterly terrifying: rewrite my profile entirely. Not the self I thought would impress someone, but a profile so me it practically smelled like salt air and coffee.

Section 3: How the Rewrite Changed the Game

As I sat with my phone, staring at the blinking cursor like it was daring me to be vulnerable, I vowed to be real. Not curated or strategic, just real. Here's how I overhauled my profile:

  1. Ditching the Fluff Bio: Instead of vague lines like “Just a girl who loves hiking and trying new restaurants," I wrote: “Binge-reader, thrift store enthusiast, and shameless amateur mini-golfer. I’ll probably beat you, but I’m open to a rematch." (Because let's be honest, I take mini-golf a little too seriously.)

  2. Swapping Stock Photos for Joyful Memories: Gone were the polished group shots where I was indistinguishable from four other smiling women in similar hats. In came a photo of me laughing into my latte because my best friend made me snort it (just slightly—it wasn’t Instagram-worthy, but it was authentic). Another was from a solo trip to Tofino, where I stood mist-soaked by the ocean, beaming.

  3. Owning My “Weird”: My new bio included my weird quirks: “I’m weirdly good at remembering birthdays and bad at remembering to water plants. Bonus points if you can guess my karaoke go-to (it’s embarrassing, but I crush it).”

  4. Taking Cue from Real-Life Banter: I imagined how I’d describe myself to a stranger over coffee and ran with it—not too serious, not too cheeky. (This meant admitting things like my undying devotion to pineapple on pizza. Sorry not sorry, internet.)

The result? Permission to stop filtering myself into oblivion.

Section 4: The Ripple Effect

I wish I could say that changing my profile immediately landed me a meet-cute moment straight out of a rom-com, but life is not directed by Nancy Meyers. It did, however, do something much cooler: it helped me connect with people who actually got me.

Within a week, I was messaging someone who opened with, “Mini-golf? I need lessons—what’s your price?” (Reader, I laughed.) Someone else commented on the pineapple pizza controversy, and even the ones that didn’t lead anywhere felt more personable, less transactional. My profile went from generic to a digital version of that warm, post-sunset glow Vancouver gets in summer. Still imperfect, but distinctly me.

Even more surprising? The ripple effect it had on how I approached IRL relationships and conversations. I stopped feeling the need to “perform”—on dates, at work, even in friendships.

Section 5: Your Plot Twist is Waiting

So, if you’re stuck in a dating rut—swiping endlessly, ghosting, or shrugging through uninspired small talk—here’s the unfiltered truth from the trenches: we make it so much harder when we hide. Crafting a dating persona is exhausting. Being yourself? So much lighter. Trust me, if David Suzuki can sit next to Cate Blanchett in your dream dinner lineup, someone out there will adore your quirks too.

If you’re ready to rewrite your profile like I did, start here:
- Ask yourself, “Would I date me?” Be honest. - Focus on joy over perfection. Share the moments you feel happiest. Picture yourself in each photo or sentence—are you proud of it, or cringing on the inside? - Own your quirks. Your weird karaoke hit or love for pineapple pizza could be someone else’s dream icebreaker.

And lastly—don’t wait for a Tuesday wake-up call to realize it’s okay to not be everyone’s cup of tea. Because that’s the point. You’re better than a stale, one-size-fits-all bio. You deserve someone whose eyes light up at your story, not what you think it should be.

Now go write yourself into your own rom-com. Flannel shirts optional.