Dating apps: the modern marketplace of love, lust, and men holding up fish. If Jane Austen were alive today, she’d write Pride & Profile Pic and swipe left on Mr. Darcy for listing “Not here for drama” in all caps. But until the future invents holographic personality previews or makes ghosting punishable by law, we’re left decoding bios like CIA operatives trying to determine whether “Sapiosexual” means intelligent or just pretentious. So, I’ve created a handy guide to the most common dating app bio tropes, clichés, and unintentionally hilarious red flags. Think of it as Rosetta Stone for romantics—or at least people who are extremely bored at 1:17 AM.
First, let’s talk about the checklist bios. These are the folks who write like they’re ordering a sandwich at Subway. “Must love dogs, be tall, go to the gym, eat tacos, not have baggage, and love to travel!” Cool. So basically, you’re looking for a Labrador retriever who moonlights as a flight attendant. Everyone “loves to travel,” Jessica—we’re just not all documenting it with beach yoga and fake-candid photos on Santorini cliffs like we’re auditioning for The Bachelor: Planet Earth Edition.
Then there’s the “No drama” crowd, which is, ironically, 87% likely to be walking drama tornadoes in human skin. The more someone insists they hate drama, the more I assume they once threw a blender at an ex. Bonus points if they follow it with, “Just be real.” Oh, we’re being real? Okay, here’s my real opinion: if you’re over 35 and still referring to women as “females,” your therapist is either failing you or being held hostage.
Let’s not ignore the “family first” guys, who are absolutely allowed to love their families—but the way it’s said can get… ominous. “Family is everything” sounds wholesome until you realize he means his mom is still folding his laundry and must approve your haircut. You’re not dating a man, you’re applying to be his new big sister-wife. Swipe accordingly.
Now, on to the “Here for a good time, not a long time” bios. Translation: I am not going to learn your last name. You will not meet my friends. We will spend exactly three hours together—two of which I will spend quoting Joe Rogan—and then you’ll get an unsolicited shirtless mirror selfie six months later on a Tuesday. These guys are less interested in dating than they are in reenacting a cologne commercial that ends in an STD test.
And what about “Work hard, play harder”? What are you playing harder than? Did I just match with a toddler hyped on Capri Sun? This guy thinks “the grind” is a personality trait. He posts gym selfies with captions like “Beast Mode” and calls himself a “go-getter” even though he sells Herbalife in a group chat.
Speaking of red flags, let’s talk about “Just ask”. If your entire bio is “Just ask,” what you’re really saying is “I couldn’t be bothered to write a sentence about myself, but I’d like you to initiate, carry the conversation, and schedule the date.” That’s not a partner. That’s a chatbot with abs.
Then we have the poets. You know the ones—“6’2 because apparently that matters,” or “Fluent in sarcasm,” or my personal favorite: “My mom thinks I’m a catch.” I bet she does, Trevor. Moms are contractually obligated to believe that, even if you’re 38 and still think Axe body spray counts as cologne. If you’re going to be ironic, at least make it funny. Give me a bio that says “Taller in person, worse in group chats” or “Will definitely ask you to split the bill but offer to Venmo you for emotional damages.”
There’s also the “Must love [insert oddly specific thing]” crowd. “If you don’t love The Office, it won’t work.” So my compatibility with you hinges on whether I enjoy watching grown adults flirt awkwardly while filing paperwork? Maybe this is your litmus test for humor, but if your entire personality is quoting Michael Scott, I promise you’re not as funny—or as original—as you think. That show has been out since the Bush administration. Let it go.
We can’t forget the zoo crew either. You know—the ones holding baby tigers, sedated iguanas, or seductively posing next to a dolphin. What is the message here? “I respect nature… but also feel entitled to grab it for Instagram clout”? Unless your name is Steve Irwin (RIP, legend), maybe don’t base your romantic appeal on groping sedated wildlife.
And let’s take a moment for the group photo offenders. If your main pic is you and four other guys, you better be ready for me to fall in love with one of your friends. Bonus cringe if you blur their faces like some low-rent witness protection program. Is this Tinder or an escape room?
And don’t even get me started on the gym bros. Shirtless car selfies, protein shake in hand, flexing so hard it looks like they’re passing a kidney stone. Bio says “Fitness is life,” but if I’m reading it right, what it really says is “I will wake you up at 5:00 AM to talk about macros.” Which is not a euphemism. I wish it were.
Oh, and if your bio includes your Snapchat handle, I’m calling the FBI.
Of course, women aren’t immune either, but let’s be honest, the men’s section is a rich, untapped vein of self-unawareness, and I’ve brought a pickaxe. If I had a dollar for every “alpha male” who lists “alpha male” like it’s a tax bracket, I could afford therapy for both of us. Some bios are so unintentionally revealing, they might as well say: “I will explain crypto to you without being asked and call it foreplay.”
So, what makes a good bio? Honestly, just be a human. Say something real. Show me you’ve read a book or at least watched RuPaul’s Drag Race once. Tell me you’ve cooked something that didn’t involve a microwave or a protein bar. Don’t list your height like it’s a redeeming quality—this isn’t Build-a-Boyfriend. And for the love of all things swipable, leave the damn fish out of it.
Dating is hard enough. Let’s at least stop making it harder by turning our bios into résumés for mediocre behavior. Somewhere out there, your perfect match is also rolling their eyes at these tropes and wondering why everyone wants to hike on the first date. Find them. And please—don’t make “just ask” your whole personality.