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If my dating app profile were made with A.I., my nose would be smaller, my teeth whiter. My eyes would be equally hooded, or not hooded at all, and my skin smoother. Men wouldn’t make a game out of guessing whether I’m neurodivergent or Jewish. My gaze would be coquettish, my aura obvious, my entire essence ratcheted down a notch or several.
I take great pride in knowing that no one would think I’m the creation of A.I., even if that means acknowledging that I’m an acquired taste at best, “Hava Nagila” played on kazoos at worst. In the world of online dating, obvious imperfections have started to become a kind of authenticity signal. And as the desire for sincerity increases, so does the distrust in those who seem too good to be true.
Whether it’s someone who’s too toned, too well traveled, too rich, or too symmetrical, the ones to beat are indiscernible from the ones to bot. Which puts those of us whose profiles are works of creative folly at an advantage; no one will doubt our identity because if we were fake we’d have made ourselves exactly what the general consensus once asked for.
It’s the arrival of the next phase of online dating evolution. Call it survival of the quirkiest.
According to Match.com’s 2025 Singles in America survey, conducted in partnership with the Kinsey Institute, 53 percent of singles report having dating burnout as evidenced by Bumble’s significant revenue tumble, straight men’s laziness when it comes to dating, and the growing number of apps designed to have A.I. do the work for you. The survey also found that 61 percent of surveyed singles believe that profiles have become less authentic. Regardless of whether it’s due to an overreliance on A.I. for crafting bios alone resulting in a catalog of nearly identical prospects or the current cultural flattening and erasure of difference permeating every facet of society, what was once paradise is now a parking lot. (Ooh, bop-bop-bop.)
My actual dating profile reeks of neuroticism. It is maximally calculated, casually A/B tested, destined to attract at least a few guys every week who are finally able to move past the trauma of having Rachel/Sarah/Lizzy/Sophie/whoever of Westchester County reject their invitation to slow dance at summer camp.
Cosmopolitan editor Helen Gurley Brown called it “plain-girl power.” The verbal dexterity, the charm, the wit, the amiability that the always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride kind of woman used to impress and dazzle. It wasn’t an insult—she called herself a mouseburger, after all—merely a trick up the sleeve of her Sex and the Single Girl readers whose eyebrows were more Groucho than Garbo, and whose style more basement than Bergdorf’s. She knew where her strengths lay and was judicious in wielding them.
Make no mistake: the “plain girls” of Brown’s world were an equally exclusive set, ones whose “plainness” lay atop stratum upon stratum of white, heteronormative, able-bodied privilege. I am entirely aware that my ability to be fully myself on a dating app is a luxury afforded to me by my status as a cis, straight, thin, white woman in New York City. However, at face value, “plain-girl power” is an acknowledgment that superficiality can get you only so far and that with enough endearing idiosyncrasies and a tolerant crowd, anyone could cut to the front of the line. Apples with spots included.
A.I. may be able to ape our sense of humor or respond to our thoughts coherently, but its words are hollow and visionless; just as homebuyers covet original crown moldings, daters are no longer impressed by sleekness and sheen when there’s nothing to be revealed underneath. People fall in love with the gunk that differentiates us from one another.
It’s qualities like shared values, loyalty, a compatible sense of humor, and emotional availability that keep couples together. The Gottman Institute, a relationship research organization, also lists respectful communication and conflict management abilities among the attributes needed for relationship longevity, two skills that LLMs struggle to mimic given their sycophantic tendencies.
Just as texture is now the telltale sign of a real photograph, finally giving pores and wrinkles the promotion to a customer-facing role they deserve, linguistic variety and uninhibited honesty will become certificates of authenticity.
A 2022 study looked into the impact of originality of dating bio text on perceived attractiveness among Dutch dating-app users. Researchers found that those with higher originality ratings based on stylistic and self-disclosure patterns were perceived as having a greater intelligence and sense of humor. As both qualities are positively associated with attractiveness, the profiles perceived as more original were by extension perceived as more desirable.
Sure, there are arguments for using A.I. to write bios. It can help people who don’t know how to talk about themselves cobble a few sentences together about their hobbies or spit out some ideas to replace “Bios aren’t my thing.” And, sure, you could say that daters have long been relying on second opinions, asking friends and family for final approval on printed classified and Craigslist posts before sending them out into the world. But even those betray an iota of human-made whimsy, a sparkle of vulnerability.
As app users become even more desperate for human connection and worse at identifying what’s written by bots, they’ll be pulled toward profiles that are overtly unconventional to avoid being led astray. Brands are already making a show of rejecting A.I. in their advertising. Likewise, daters will turn A.I. hate into a trait in and of itself, incorporating silly little details, foolish bons mots, and out-there references, not only as signs of life, but as trail markers for the like-minded.
Fingers crossed, we’re on the brink of individuality overload.
Yes, I’ve bemoaned my nose since I knew that other noses were possible. Yes, I included seltzer among casual sex and cuddling in my bio under “interests.” Yes, it also says that I have “big camp counselor energy” and am “not afraid of the Brooklyn Costco.” But with perfected blandness and prompt feedback nearing total ubiquity, quirky may soon become the most valuable currency on the market.
