Estimated reading time: 8 minutes

The Myth of the Finished Product

For the better part of a decade, my dating life was non-existent. I ran my romantic life like a high-security construction site, with yellow caution tape wrapped tight around my heart and a strict “Do Not Enter” sign posted at the perimeter.

I wasn’t just hiding; I was genuinely committed to doing the heavy lifting on myself. There was this quiet, driving goal: try to become the kind of person who would actually come looking for me. I kept asking myself, How do I become that person? Deep down, there was a part of me that believed as long as I was still a work in progress, I simply didn’t deserve a partner. If I wasn’t completely whole (unable to have more children) or if I wasn’t showing up fully for myself yet how could I ask a man to do it? So, I treated my own heart and body like some historic landmark under indefinite repair, waiting to be a perfectly finished product before I allowed anyone else to cross the threshold.

But eventually, indefinite repair just becomes a really convenient excuse to stay hidden. Am I perfect? God, no. Heavens, no. But as someone who spends her life analyzing effort, I finally realized something: the discipline, the grit, and the raw work capacity I possess right now are not a rough draft. You don’t wait to step onto the floor until your form is flawless; you step out because you know how to suffer and how to work. I realized that I can continue working on myself without punishing myself. I can keep evolving for the rest of my life, but I don’t have to stay hidden while I do it. Where did this idea even come from?

So, I decided one morning to take down the tape, move forward, step back into the arena, and be seen.

establishing the baseline

The problem is that the arena is currently being hosted on Match.com, and the contenders are tripping over their own shoelaces before the clock even starts.

If I am being completely honest, there was a quiet prayer lurking in the back of my mind during that entire 40-day fast and even before that. I wasn’t praying for a savior; I was already doing that work myself and I have for a long time. I was praying to eventually find an equal.

The necessity of that prayer became clear on a day when the reality of the dating landscape felt particularly uhhg. After being contacted by two people with felony convictions in one day who recently were paroled from prison, I almost didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I remember that day I looked up at God and I was like, “this is not funny *shaking head* not at all“!

I wasn’t looking for a hero either; I was looking for a Stoic Sentinel. I could have mapped the entire architecture of his internal operating system. He was a man with profound humility and a quiet grace that feels like an old language I forgot I knew. I knew the exact caliber of character required for the role.

the key fob flex

Then I opened the app and met “Mike.”

Mike is a heavy practitioner of what I’ve started calling the Key Fob Flex. In his primary photo, Mike is standing in front of a midsize luxury sedan with his keys hanging prominently out of the pocket of his khakis. He isn’t just showing me his car; he is presenting a BMW logo as a substitute for a personality. He genuinely seems to believe that a remote start feature is going to trigger some rudimentary biological response in me that bypasses my need for an actual conversation.

Honestly, the guys holding up a largemouth bass in their photos don’t bother me. Catch your dinner, man good for you by the way, I would love some of that fish. What completely baffles me are the men who present an absolute void and expect me to be mesmerized.

It’s the men who think a half-naked bathroom mirror selfie is enough to carry the weight of a human connection. It’s the guys with entirely empty profiles; no words, just a picture or two of them squinting on a boat, as if their mere physical existence on Earth is a compelling opening argument. You are a 43-year-old man, Mike. Use your words.

the “fit but broken” delusion

If they aren’t hiding behind a bathroom mirror, they are hiding behind a barbell. And this is the one that actually makes me pause, because it’s a language I speak fluently.

Having spent years in the CrossFit space, I have seen this archetype a thousand times. I scroll past the endless stream of shirtless mirror selfies, the heavily curated abs, the physical fortresses built from hundreds of hours of grueling discipline. I know exactly the sweat equity it costs to build that body and believe me when I say I respect the hell out of it.

But the longer I look at these photos, the less I want to roll my eyes, and the more my heart just quietly aches. I look at these men who have spent years hardening their exteriors, and I find myself genuinely curious: Who convinced you that your armor was the only thing of value you had to offer? I’m sorry that happened to you.

It is the fit-but-broken illusion. They possess elite physical work capacity, but emotionally, they can’t even pick up an empty barbell. They’ve spent all this time building a spectacular, bulletproof house, but they are completely terrified to let anyone sit in the living room. When you strip it down to the studs, it isn’t arrogance; it’s self-preservation. They are hoping their physical strength will be so loud that no one will ask them to be vulnerable. When I see these profiles I just feel a profound sense of compassion. They learned how to move all that heavy weight, but somewhere along the line, they forgot to build the man underneath it.

the “just ask lol” epidemic

That emotional self-preservation spills right over into the written testimonies. If the shirtless selfie is a shield for the heart, the bio is a shield for the mind. Which brings me to the absolute worst offenders: the ones who answer the profile prompts with, “Just ask. LOL.”

It’s the battle cry of the intellectually bankrupt. You have a blank profile and you want me to initiate the deposition? You want me to play investigative journalist just to uncover that your favorite movie is Gladiator and you like tacos? No, thank you.

Then there are the men who actually do write a bio, but it is entirely rooted in fiction. One of my favorite recent messages started with, “Hi. You’re beautiful. Your hair is just amazing.” Flattering, sure. But I never reply before reading the profile; that is always step one of the vetting process. I clicked over to his bio, and it read: “Divorced. 2 kids, they live at home part time. Zero drama, zero baggage.”

I just sat there, slowly nodding my head and smiling at my phone, not quite sure what to do with that. First of all, everyone has some kind of baggage. Everyone. You are a divorced man in your forties with two kids; you don’t have “zero baggage.” You have a matching Samsonite set.

But it’s the “Zero drama” claim that really makes me giggle. What exactly does this mean? Because, respectfully, life is drama. Life is not a 24/7 lo-fi chill beats YouTube channel. It is a wildly unchoreographed series of disasters, tragedies, low moods, sudden job losses, and unfulfilled dreams. We are dealing with broken hearts, illnesses, leaky bathroom plumbing, and the sudden breathtaking arrival of property tax bills.

And then there is the “Partner in Crime” request. Apparently, every single man over forty is looking for a woman to help him execute a heist. Buddy, I have shot hamstrings from heavy squats and a strict 9:00 PM bedtime. We are not robbing the Bellagio. The absolute closest we are getting to a crime spree is me helping you navigate the self-checkout scanner at Home Depot.

((she laughs and pauses))

refusing to scale the workout

I find myself staring at these notifications throughout the day, watching this tide of lukewarm effort roll in. There I am…sitting back with my coffee, deeply amused, wondering if dating with high standards just means I am being too picky. I wonder if I should scale the workout. Maybe I lower the bar from “Stoic Sentinal” to “Man Who Can Complete the Profile”.

I could. But I know what a good rep looks like; I’ve seen it. Therefore… I know its not a myth.

I am standing squarely in the arena. But as I look out at the gallery of empty bios and “Just ask LOL”s, I realize that being “seen” by the world is a hell of a lot funnier than I expected it to be.

I know exactly what I’m looking for. But for now, the men of Match.com are failing the baseline test, and honestly?

*Smile shrug*

That’s all I got.