If People Were Honest on Dating Profiles

There is a bright circle in the top right corner of my Instagram page, which is signaling to me once again I have received a DM (direct message) from someone. My stomach churns because it’s never anyone I want to talk too.

Is it the guy way back from high school that can’t get a clue? My friend who always has something rude to say about every aspect of my life, including my Insta stories? Or is it a random guy that wants to send me a dick pic or asks to see my boobs? Or my personal favorite–let’s me know he saw me last night and couldn’t take his eyes off of me.

Saw me where? I don’t go outside!

Yeah…I’m not a fan of DM’s. If I was social media savy I would figure out how to turn them off but I still can’t figure out how the hell to Boomerang.

Stop laughing. I’m pushing thirty (read: twenty-six). Why are people dancing with green aliens online? How are they doing this? I’ll never know. Things are changing too quickly and it couldn’t be happening at a worse time.

For the first time in years I’m single. I mean really single. Not the kind of ‘single’ I used to be when I was on and off with one my boyfriends. It was easier to meet someone when I was in school. I used to turn to my left during history class and there was a guy there. I used to turn to my right in journalism and there was a guy there (who coincidentally later became my boyfriend). When I was twenty-one and innocent there was always a guy there.

That’s not to say guys were lining up to date me. God, no. I’ve always been shy, quiet, and fluffy (and ugly! apparently I am a solid 4 and always have been). I’m not outgoing either but I don’t like being reminded that. People don’t understand I feel like I’m suffocating when I’m in a crowd of people or around a new person. Everyone gives me anxiety.

The mere thought of dating today makes me want to bury myself into a deep hole. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been on a date since…well, I can’t remember when but the word ‘date’ gives me goosebumps.

Of course my biggest fear is rolling over in bed ten years from now and there isn’t anyone sleeping next to me. The loneliness has been getting to me. Yet as much as I want to go on a date I seem unable to muster up the courage to actually go on one.

I’ve had offers but they’re not from the guy on my left or right any more. Now they’re from the guy in the app on my phone.

Match.com, OkCupid, Bumble, Tinder, Coffee Meets Bagel….you name the app I’ve probably downloaded it. If you search hard enough you might be able to find one of my profiles.

If you do find me, do me a favor and don’t bother swiping right (or left; whatever it’s supposed to be) or messaging me because there is a 110% chance I won’t respond.

What’s the point then, right? I’ve tried. I have. I mean not very hard but I have tried. My heart raced at the ding of my phone when message after message came in on Match.com.

Spoiler alert: They were messages from men old enough to be my father. 

That is not what I’m looking for.

I had to swallow the bile down that was rising in my throat when I started to read messages from guys on Tinder.

You wanna do what to me now? 

Sorry, I’m not an Olympic gymnast.

Bumble has by far been my favorite app. If you’re a sad single like me, Bumble is where the most attractive men are. I’m serious. Download it and prepare to swoon.

You’re welcome.

Bumble is where firefighter Joe is, policeman John and Chef Dave. It is filled with men in uniform. Plus a plethora of other successful men instead of the boys you find on Tinder (seriously, what the hell is with the dick pics on Tinder? WHY?!).

It’s also the only app to my knowledge where women have to reach out to the men. This is a great concept for someone who is shy like me and would never make the first move in real life.

I feel like a badass woman messaging a guy first.

I feel like a wimp blocking them when they ask me out to dinner or drinks.

I have an irrational fear of going out with a stranger online and he turns out to be a murderer. I do not want to get chopped into a million little pieces. Since I’ve now put that out in the universe with my luck my next boyfriend will be Dexter.

It isn’t just the fact I’m afraid of putting myself out there. What bothers me about dating apps–and social media in general–is everyone is a liar.

Kudos to the men who put on their profiles: don’t swipe if you’re a fatty, have tattoos, smoke, etc.

Put the pitch forks down. I’m kidding. Those guys are awful.

Yet a part of me is like: at least you’re being honest. I’ve seen guys with profiles that read: I love long walks on the beach. I’ll treat you like a Queen. Blah, blah, blah, I’ll give you roses every day.

Yeah, okay. First off, a bouquet a day is expensive. Second, I don’t like sand.

Look, I know they’re not being literal but why can’t we be honest when it comes to ourselves and what we’re looking for? I get wanting to show the best version of yourself but why does that version have to be a complete lie?

Why can’t we reveal the worst version of ourselves too? Why isn’t it okay to be honest and tell people our inner truths? I’m not saying I want you to reveal all of your baggage from the get-go but I am saying taking off part of your mask would be extremely refreshing.

Especially when someone like firefighter Joe and I match and all I can think is this man is near perfection and I am not.

I just wish we could say, “I’m crazy. A little crazier than what you may or may not consider normal.” 

If only we could put it out there:

I may slash your tires if you break-up with me. I may not. You’ll never know with me! At least I keep things interesting.

The pictures of me working out at the gym? Yeah, I realize I look like a tool flexing in the mirror but I think I’m hot, don’t you? I workout because kids used to make fun of me in middle school.

My nickname in high school was skid mark. It’s exactly what you’re thinking.

Well…maybe don’t put the last one out there. It’s okay to keep some things a mystery.

I shouldn’t be so judgmental (but it’s my speciality) because I’m a liar too.

One of the photos on my dating profile. Expectation: I’m athletic and outgoing. Reality: Eating an entire bag of chips in one sitting is my favorite sport. 

First of all, let’s take a look at my profile. I have one line and one line only:

I’m looking for something real.

Really? Come on. No one is real on social media.

My photos always have a filter. I smooth my skin, give myself a nice tan, whiten my teeth, under eye bags? Yeah, not revealing those online. I blur those out, along with any other blemishes. It also isn’t beneath me to photoshop my thighs. Though I’ve only ever done that once because it takes too long and I’m not Beyonce.

Also: #thickthighssavelives

If I was being honest with the world my profile would read something like this:

Looking for something real but probably won’t respond to the real thing. Who am I kidding? Definitely won’t respond to the real thing…or anyone for that matter.

If you’re more than ten miles away you’re automatically eliminated. I might talk to you but the moment you ask me out I’m going to ghost you.

It’s not you–it’s your location. Don’t expect me to drive over a bridge and pay a toll to see you. I’m cheap. I’m lazy. I’m also afraid of driving on bridges.

You think I sound crazy? Crazy doesn’t even begin to define me. I’m afraid of escalators but that just means I’ll never force you to go shopping with me. I expect the same in return. I don’t want to walk around the mall with you for hours picking out your skinny jeans (especially if they’re a size smaller than mine).

I’m afraid of heights but still love to travel. As much as I’d love to go with you and your family on vacation I’m lying through my teeth when I say this. I don’t want to go. Don’t invite me. Even if we end up dating for five years there’s nothing worse than a family vacation.

I don’t even want to go on vacation with my own family. I do, however, want to go on vacation with you. Unless you don’t like museums because then I’d rather go with my mom.

Going out after work doesn’t appeal to me because I work twelve hours a day. So don’t expect me to have dinner with you each night. Or even text you each night. I’m bad at texting. I’ll respond eventually but I expect you to respond right away because I am an irrational human being and will think you are dead lying in a ditch somewhere.

And then I will go to bed crying thanks to my overactive imagination. If I don’t respond I expect you to not overreact. I’m the only one allowed to overreact in this relationship.

You’re not. You’re only allowed to love me.

For the record I am also self-conscious. I have cellulite and no matter how many articles I’ve read online that says guys don’t care and it’s the last thing they notice when they’re looking at you naked the lights will still need to be off. I’m talking total darkness. All I’m thinking about is how out of shape my ass looks and I probably should’ve had a salad instead of the chicken sandwich when we were out to lunch or dinner. No matter how many squats or lunges I do it just won’t go away. Neither will my fear of you possibly thinking I’m fat.

I’m not all bad. I’ll cook for you. I’ll help you clean. I’ll even drive your mother to her appointments if I like her and she likes me. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on when you’ve had a bad day or your pet passes away. I’ll even pretend to be into whatever sport you like and I’ll pretend to like your obnoxious best friend from high school. However, if you expect me to watch football keep in mind I expect you to watch The Wendy Williams Show and have an opinion about Hot Topics.

Because this has been my role in every relationship I’ve had (except one, because homeboy was a douche) I’ll love you more than you love me.

So if you break-up with me prepare for the weepy texts begging you back and the selfies on Instagram of my boobs pushed up in some revealing dress all the way up to my neck. I’ll have a hard time letting you go and might contemplate egging your car.

I probably won’t do it because it sounds like a waste of a baby chicks life but know if I do it’s just because I care.


Alright, so reading this back I can see why people lie on their dating profile. Real me is pretty harsh. I come off as hard to handle but in reality that’s who I am. I normally don’t reveal my ‘crazy’ until three to six months in.

Is it right? No. Still…I think I’ll keep up with the rest of the masses and edit my photos until I look like a poor version of Selena Gomez and lie about how thoughtful I am.

Are you just as crazy as I am? Are you having a hard time dating through social media apps? Let me know your story and what you think about dating apps and social media in general below. 


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Pop culture and political junkie sharing her travels with the world.

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