Identity crisis, courtesy of Tinder

Did you know that writing a Tinder bio can evoke feelings of confusion, doubt and indecision?

I did not. At least, not until I tried to write one...

A Tinder bio is supposed to be a short, light-hearted summary. A few words to give a potential match insight into who you are. Bonus points for a pun or interesting fact. For me, Tinder is just a bit of fun, so it really, really shouldn’t be that hard.

However, even knowing this, for a long time the best Tinder bio I could manage was ‘5.10’. Aka, my height.

Here’s hoping that my photos would be enough to entice some attention because my bio was boring as hell.

So, why did I find writing a Tinder bio so hard?

Well, it requires you to know yourself. And, to be honest, I’m still in the process of figuring that out.

I’ve been in a bit of an identity crisis since I left school, I think. It just took writing a Tinder bio to realise it.

You see, at school, your identity is crafted for you. If you’re sporty, you’re in that box there. Smart goes over there. And funny, cool, awkward, there, there, and there.

During school I was in the sporty box. And the box had doors into serious and stand-offish and competitive and studious. But mostly, I was sporty. And I was more than happy for sport to define me. I clung to it, and stood behind it, and relied on it.

How I spent 90% of mornings before school - in a boat 🚣‍♀️

Leaving school, I started university and the context of who I was – which box I belonged to – vanished. Yet, the longing to be categorised remained.

In an effort to understand who I am, I started to absorb what was said about me.

Someone says I’m old for my age… Mmm – so serious still stands.

A Christmas note from a co-worker calls me a ‘ray of sunshine’. Ahh – I must be positive.

A new university friend said I am ‘always so enthusiastic’. Right – I’m excitable.

Mum says I need to seriously reassess how I respond to criticism. Grrr – I’m defensive... very defensive.

Tutor comments on a recent assignment say, ‘best I’ve read’. Ok – that just means you haven’t read very many.

Unknowingly, I started to hoard these throw-away remarks. They became the bricks I used to rebuild my box – my identity.

The ‘crisis’ emerges when these new bricks contradict my own ideas. These off-hand comments rupture my façade of self-assuredness, leaving me questioning who I am.

And yes, I know I know, I shouldn’t care so much what people think. But that’s easier said than done when you’re still trying to figure out who you are. I’m at this awkward stage where I’m learning so much about myself but still care deeply about what other people think of me.

Isn’t their impression of me as real as any other impression – even my own?

So I’ve taken all of this on board and updated my Tinder bio. It now reads, ‘Looking for someone to help caption my profile’.

That’s cute, right? Bit funny? Bit of a play on the whole reason for being on Tinder. Ha ha, right…?

But, in all honesty, in a weird/metaphoric/ironic way, it’s the truth. I’m looking for someone who can teach me about myself. Someone who knows that I am fluid and learning and growing and ever-changing. That understands that I don’t fit into one box. Just as I can’t be summarised into the recommended word count (<500 characters) of a Tinder bio.

Whether I meet this person on Tinder or not, one thing will happen:

Eventually, I’ll learn so much about myself that my perception of who I am will be the only one that matters.

In the meantime, there’s no harm in swiping right.