When “About Me” Feels More Like “Terms and Conditions”
I posted a poll on Fetlife with over 100 replies. Real simple question: “Do you get turned on when someone’s ‘About Me’ reads more like an HOA contract than an actual personality?” You know the ones. Scroll-stoppers in the worst way.
Here’s how it shook out:
• 39% noped out immediately
• 29% said they skim and pray
• 13% had an identity crisis (“Wait, am I the HOA?”)
• 19% were weirdly into it (no kink shaming, but… huh)
And yeah—it tracks.
Some bios feel like you’re entering a gated community where the kink might be public humiliation, but only if you didn’t break any of the fifteen pre-listed rules about grammar, grooming, or god forbid… your zodiac sign.
And here’s where it gets messy. It’s one thing to have a type. We all do. No one’s asking you to be into everyone. But the issue is when people treat their type like a personality trait—and worse—when they parade their exclusions like they deserve a gold star for it.
Saying stuff like
“no fats, no femmes, no Asians, no Blacks,” “no single men,” “no trans,” or “fems only”
isn’t a preference. It’s a red flag with a Wi-Fi signal. That’s not about what you’re into. That’s about who you think you’re above. And it’s tired. Like, still-on-fetlife-with-a-decade-old-pic tired.
You can say what you like without shitting on what you don’t. It’s not hard. You don’t see people leading with “no short white fit girls” in their bios because when the power dynamic flips, it suddenly sounds different, doesn’t it?
At the end of the day, if your attraction requires someone else to be devalued, that’s not taste. That’s insecurity. And maybe it’s time to stop hiding behind “just my preference” and start asking why your preferences came with a hierarchy in the first place.
Somewhere along the way, a lot of folks started mistaking rigid control for clarity. Preference became policy. And now we’ve got an epidemic of personality-as-preamble. *Profiles that feel more like cease and desist letters than actual invitations. It’s giving
“this isn’t a kink profile, it’s a trauma response in Helvetica.”*
If you need a checklist to interact with strangers, maybe you’re not ready to meet them. If your About Me reads like a warning label, maybe you forgot this is supposed to be fun.
What actually lands: curiosity. Openness. Play. You can have standards without building a fence no one wants to knock on. You can be discerning without being dismissive.
What to Do Instead
Start with energy. Who are you when you’re turned on, lit up, in your element? Lead with that.
Talk about what pulls you in, not what you’re trying to keep out. Drop a line about what kind of connection hits. Is it bratty banter? Quiet dominance? A good cigar and no small talk? That’s a vibe, not a résumé.
For me, I’m drawn to grounded, masculine bro energy in guys I team up with—and I’ve got a soft spot for funny, feminine girls who know how to take the lead by giving it up. But I stay open. Chemistry’s chemistry. The real spark comes from presence, not a checklist.
There’s a difference between saying what lights you up and using your “type” to dunk on everyone who doesn’t fit it. Like yeah, I can say I’m into certain energies—but that’s a whole different thing than throwing up red flags like “no fat chicks lol” or “no soft doms with bad posture.” One is honest. The other’s just lazy cruelty dressed up like standards.
Real preference invites. Insecurity excludes. Know the difference.
Think less “rules of engagement,” more “invitation to explore.”
The real flex is knowing your type without needing to prove anything to anyone. Let people want to know more, not feel like they’re already being disqualified before the first message.
Because nobody’s falling in love—or into your lap—because your profile sounds like Trumps trade agreements.
