Remember when meeting someone meant bumping into them in a café or being introduced by a friend?

Now it starts with a profile that reads:

“6’4″, Michelin-star chef, part-time brain surgeon, RAF pilot, property developer, model, philanthropist and dog whisperer.”

Really?

If dating apps reflected real life, every hospital in the country would have closed because all the surgeons are apparently busy swiping.

And where are all these pilots flying? Every other profile claims to own a private jet, yet half of them mysteriously can’t afford a coffee on the first date.

The builders are an interesting species too.

“I own a successful construction company.”

Translation: He once helped his mate put up a garden fence in 2018.

Then there’s the entrepreneur.

No one actually knows what they do.

“I work for myself.”

Fantastic. So does the man who sells old lawnmowers on Facebook Marketplace.

Of course, no dating site would be complete without the world traveller.

“Currently in Dubai. Usually Monaco. Home is wherever my yacht is.”

Yet every photo is taken in exactly the same bathroom mirror.

And the profile pictures…

One looks like George Clooney until you meet him and realise George has apparently had a very difficult decade.

Filters have become so advanced that some people arrive on dates looking like they’ve been returned by Amazon because they don’t match the description.

Then there are the love bombers.

Day one:
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Day two:
“You’re my soulmate.”

Day three:
“I’ve told my mum about you.”

Day four:
“Can you lend me €2,000 until my offshore account is unlocked?”

The catfish are everywhere too.

The handsome army officer who is somehow stationed on an oil rig.

The millionaire doctor who only communicates through WhatsApp.

The widowed architect who has fallen hopelessly in love after three messages but needs you to buy gift cards because his bank is frozen.

What a coincidence.

And yet, despite the players, the pretenders, the serial love bombers and the professional heartbreak hobbyists, genuine people are still out there.

The trick is simple:

If someone seems too perfect, they’re probably fictional.

If they declare eternal love before you’ve learnt their surname, run.

If every photo looks like it belongs in a perfume advert, ask for a video call.

And if they claim to be a brain surgeon, a pilot, a chef, a builder and a Navy SEAL all at once…

Congratulations.

You’ve found the CEO of Imagination Ltd.

Happy dating—and remember, the biggest green flag is someone who is exactly who they say they are.