Have you ever felt like you’ve been endlessly scrolling on dating app profiles, and it’s just one ick after the next? Well, you’re not alone. Swiping has basically become a part-time job before the real career — minus the paycheck, plus emotional jump scares. One minute it’s a normal bio, the next it’s a blurry mirror pic, a cryptic quote about loyalty, or a man holding a fish (???). Suddenly, you’re not looking for love anymore. You’re conducting investigative journalism.
Dating is hard enough, and there are still oddly specific, sometimes irrational dealbreakers that can turn any promising profile into an immediate left swipe. Maybe it’s a group photo where you can’t identify the main character or someone who lists their height like it’s a personality trait. The list is getting long. The patience is getting short. Lindsay*, 22, puts it bluntly, “I always hate it when someone uses a photo with them and their friends as the first slide. Who are you? I don’t feel like figuring it out. Then it’s frustrating when it’s not the person you wanted it to be.”
Dating apps were supposed to make meeting people easier, but they’ve become a masterclass in digital red flags, niche pet peeves, and secondhand embarrassment. Everyone has at least one profile detail that instantly ruins the vibe, and these college students have a lot to say. From harmlessly cringe to immediate dealbreakers, these answers are painfully relatable, slightly ruthless, and proof that the bar is on the floor — and somehow still missed.
The first photo is a group shot, and they’re not who you hoped.
If you’ve ever scrolled through a dating app, you know the pain: the first picture is supposed to introduce someone. Instead, it’s a squad photo — friends in the back, friends in the front — and suddenly you’re playing detective, trying to figure out who you’re judging.
Part of the problem is expectation. People want clarity immediately, not after a few investigative swipes. A group shot delays that recognition, forcing someone to piece it together. And sometimes, when they finally do, there’s a second shift: the quiet disappointment when the person you noticed first isn’t the profile owner. “A group photo being the first slide is an epidemic,” says Noah*, 20. “It’s also typically the biggest heartbreak one endures.”
They’re trying way too hard.
Dating apps are overflowing with gestures meant to impress, but often doing the opposite. Profiles are stuffed with clichés and generic statements that say nothing about the person behind them. “I’m tired of generic bullshit like, ‘I love the ocean,’” says Lindsay. “OK, so does 99% of the human population. Let’s get original.” In the crowded swipe world, subtlety and specificity win far more than big declarations.
Some attempts at boldness backfire completely. Grace*, 21, recalls one recent awkward encounter. “I had this guy comment on one of my pics and call me out for not shaving,” they say. “Then he tells me he really doesn’t care, ‘at the end of the day.’ Like… what? That was hypothetically a bold choice of mine, and he made it weird instead of interesting.”
Even the app mechanics themselves — super likes on Tinder, giving a rose on Hinge — can feel performative. “To me, it just comes off as desperate,” Lindsay admits. What’s meant to be charming often reads like someone shouting ‘look at me’ instead of starting a real conversation. Keep it real, skip the theatrics, and save the roses (preferably not digital ones) for when they actually matter.
There’s little to no information on their profile.
There’s little that kills the vibe on dating apps faster than a profile that’s basically a black hole. Missing photos, blank prompts, or one-word answers leave people scrolling past confused or even on edge. “This is Grindr specific, but I truly hate when a guy has no profile picture or any pictures,” says Carter*, 22. “It’s such a red flag, and while I can respect gay men might be closeted, it’s often men on the down low that present a threat.”
Every prompt is filled out with a flirtation like, ‘My interests include: you.’ Like, no. Tell me if you like to rock climb or something.
Veronica*, 20
It’s not just Grindr, though. Hinge, Bumble, even other swipe apps have their own version of ghost profiles. “I also hate when a profile provides little to no information,” Veronica*, 20, points out. “Every prompt is filled out with a flirtation like, ‘My interests include: you.’ Like, no. Tell me if you like to rock climb or something.” On apps where first impressions matter, empty profiles don’t just feel lazy. They can come off as straight-up “sus.”
The “flex” energy is at peak levels — and not always in a good way.
Scrolling through profiles can feel less like meeting someone and more like flipping through a highlight reel designed to impress. The giant fish you caught. The gym mirror selfie. The random pet that doesn’t even belong to you. The “casual” travel shot that somehow includes a luxury watch, a rooftop bar, and a caption pretending it’s no big deal. It’s not just bragging — it’s the humble brag that isn’t really humble at all.
Sure, there’s a “look at me” vibe. But most of the time, some photos cross into full show-off territory. What’s meant to read as impressive often lands as overproduced. “Honestly, anything that just seems inauthentic [is a turn-off],” says May*, 19. “Like, I’d want to get to know you, not a persona you think I’d want to know. It shouldn’t feel like a resume with buzzwords. Just be yourself, and if you’re for me, then we’ll match.”
And it’s not just the photos. The same energy shows up in the details — the curated prompts, the name-dropping, the strategic location pin meant to make life look cooler than it is. “I’m so sick of people who set their hinge location to somewhere they aren’t from,” Noah adds. The more profiles try to sell a lifestyle, the more “real” becomes the flex.
Their politics don’t align.
Lately, it feels like personal politics haven’t just stayed in the news or at the dinner table. They’ve fully moved into our romantic lives, too. Dating apps, once mostly about hobbies, music taste, and whether you like dogs or cats, are now packed with political signals, deal-breakers, and not-so-subtle warnings. For many people, ideology isn’t a minor difference anymore; it’s a core compatibility issue.
Any time someone’s profile says they’re ‘unvaccinated’ is an immediate turn-off.
Lindsay*, 22
When someone’s beliefs clash with yours, it stops feeling like an ick and starts looking like a fundamental mismatch in values, priorities, and even lifestyle. “Any time someone’s profile says they’re ‘unvaccinated’ is an immediate turn-off,” says Lindsay. “Go get your shots.” Her reaction isn’t just about one issue; it reflects a broader frustration that politics now shapes how safe, understood, and aligned someone expects to feel with a partner. Whether it’s bios listing political affiliations or hardline stances on hot-button topics, swiping has quietly become a values filter. Attraction still matters, but shared worldview increasingly determines whether a connection gets a chance at all.
Dating app icks aren’t proof that people are too picky. When a personality gets squeezed into six photos and three prompts, every detail suddenly feels make-or-break. For Gen Z college students especially, the endless stream of tiny turn-offs might seem ridiculous, but in an app built on first impressions, even a hunting photo or “just ask” can decide everything.
*Names have been changed