Recently on Menopause & Malarkey … (click the cowboy)
Quite possibly a contender in the Peekaboo Olympics.
When crafting my last post, “The Photos Mom Warned You About,” I considered adding the following PSA on profile pics that purposely hide the peepers. Instead, jump right into this mini post! Enjoy!
The Photos Mom Warned You About 🚩 Dating App Edition Menopause & Malarkey
Whilst perusing through Match profiles, I landed on one that caught my eye. Not because he was, as my daughter says, “not ugly.” Not because his bio was charming. (It consisted of one sentence. That’s it.) Not because my heart skipped a beat.
It was because if you looked up “The most overused profile pictures men use on the dating apps” in M&M’s Guidebook to Swiping Left — this gentleman would be the poster boy.
The Fish 🐟
All I can think is, “Teach a man to fish.” I have no clue as to how that relates to dating.
The fish is not the problem. The grip, the pose, and the “this defines me” energy are.
If your personality requires gills, we are not compatible.
The Flex 💪
Yes, we see your biceps. No, we do not see your eyes.
Mirror. Tank top. Lighting from the underworld.
Sir, I did not ask to attend your workout performance review.
The Fedora 🎩
Was it too bright outside? Did you forget your sunglasses? Have pinkeye?
Ah yes. The fedora.
Often paired with: • a bathroom • a vest • confidence disproportionate to reality
This hat has seen things. None of them were good decisions.
The Combo Meal Nobody Ordered ☠️
The unholy trifecta … bless his heart.
When The Fish, The Flex, and The Fedora appear in the same profile…
That’s not coincidence. That’s a warning label.
The Real Issue
This isn’t about looks. It’s about self-awareness.
If every photo screams “Please be impressed,” I already know I’ll be tired.
M&M Rule
If you wouldn’t send the photo to your daughter, your sister, or your mother…
Maybe don’t make it your dating profile.
In Conclusion …
Dating apps are not a costume party. You do not need props.
Just clarity. Effort. And at least one photo in which I can see your eyes.
Welcome back to Menopause & Malarkey, where it’s Friday night, dinner’s been eaten and dogs are sleepin’, and once again… the internet has audacity.
Tonight’s specimen arrived wrapped in good looks, thoughtful prompts, and the emotional vocabulary of someone who clearly owns at least one throw pillow.
He laughs at inside jokes. Believes in loyalty. Loves deeply. Builds real connections. Even listed The Grapes of Wrath as a favorite book. I paused. I considered. I adjusted my glasses.
Then I saw his employment.
Government.
Just… Government. Not city, not state, not federal.
Not “I work for the county and complain about meetings.” Just Government—like a manila folder with secrets inside.
🚩 Flag raised.
But wait—there’s more.
Within moments, I received a message that read (and I paraphrase only slightly):
“Hello Heather, I would love to get to know you better and maybe become friends or more. Please contact me immediately via Gmail or WhatsApp.”
Ah yes. Ye olde eHarmony-to-WhatsApp migration. A classic move straight out of the Scammer Starter Kit.
Red Flag Friday reminder: nice photos don’t equal nice intentions.
Let’s review the Red Flags, shall we? 🚩 Employment listed as “Government” 🚩 Immediate request to move off the platform 🚩 Email + WhatsApp combo platter 🚩 Phone number typed like a Sudoku puzzle 🚩 Not a single reference to my actual profile 🚩 Polite, generic, emotionally fluent… and entirely hollow
This, my friends, is why the phrase, “Not today, Satan” was invented.
Here’s the thing: We are not cynical—we are experienced. We are not bitter—we are efficient. And we are no longer entertaining men whose profiles read like romance novels but whose intentions collapse under basic scrutiny.
So tonight’s Red Flag Friday reminder is this: ✨ If his employment could not be verified by Google, LinkedIn, or common sense… ✨ If he wants to flee the app faster than a bra at the end of the day 🏆 ✨ If his message could have been sent to 47 other women named Heather —then bless him, block him, and move on.
Because we are not lonely. We are discerning. And our BS detectors are fully operational.
Happy Red Flag Friday, ladies and gents. See you next week—same sass, fewer scams. 😏🚩
You and I have been in a relationship for a while now. I give you my clicks, my scrolls, my late-night searches for boots and bookcases. In return, you’re supposed to get to know me.
But lately? You’ve been getting a little too familiar… and somehow still wildly wrong.
Exhibit A: BBW Cupid
You slid into my feed whispering: “Looking for a man who will accept you just the way you are?”
Bless your heart, someone out there will love you!
Sir. Ma’am. Binary-system of baloney.
Why are you talking to me like I just admitted my darkest insecurity into your algorithmic confessional?
You’re not uplifting me. You’re patting me on the head.
“Oh sweetheart, don’t worry, someone will love you.”
Women don’t need pity served in a stock-photo romance wrapper. We need honesty. We need respect. We need you to stop acting like we’re projects, not people.
Exhibit B: WooPlus Gym-Bro Energy
Then came the lumbering wall of muscle proclaiming: “Dear plus size girls… You are appreciated by gym bros.”
All this could be yours, sweetie.
Appreciated. APPRECIATED???
Algorithm, be serious.
This man looks like he drinks creatine like communion wine and benches jet skis recreationally. He has never once in his life typed the phrase “plus size.”
But you want me to believe he’s waiting to sweep me off my curvy feet?
No. Stop it. Be so for real.
Exhibit C: The Copy-Paste Casanova
This morning — the SAME day I wrote about false advertising — you delivered a message from a man 900 miles away who:
speaks in Victorian run-on sentences
wants to “use me as a model of beauty”
and sounds like ChatGPT’s Renaissance-fair cousin
No. Caption. Needed.
Even Chapter 2 went: “We will investigate this and he sounds beyond creepy.”
When the dating site itself is concerned? That’s when you KNOW.
Here’s the part I need you to hear, Algorithm:
These ads… they don’t hurt because I’m lonely. They don’t land because I’m insecure. They don’t sting because I think I’m unlovable.
They hurt because they treat plus-size women like we need special permission to hope.
Like we need reassurance. Like we should be grateful. Like love is something available — but only if we accept a pity narrative wrapped in fake empowerment.
You take the most vulnerable demographic — women who have survived loss, divorce, trauma, disappointment — and you sell them a fantasy rooted in condescension, not connection.
You dress it up in Hallmark cinematography: Thin pretty girl = mean. Curvy bakery owner = warms the lumberjack’s heart. Roll credits.
But real life isn’t a Christmas movie. And curvy women are not consolation prizes.
So listen closely, Algorithm:
I am a plus-size woman. I know who I am. I know what I offer.
I don’t need your curated pity campaigns. I don’t need validation from an ad. And I certainly don’t need fake “appreciation” from a gym bro.
If a man wants me, he will want me — my mind, my humor, my history, my heart — not because an app “targets” me, but because I’m worth targeting on my own merits.
And so are millions of other women who deserve real love, real honesty, and real dignity.
You don’t get to define our worth. You don’t get to diagnose our loneliness. You don’t get to prey on our scars.
So knock it off. Do better.
Signed, A woman who is Too wise for ghosting, Too tired for games, And way, WAY too caffeinated for your nonsense today.
— Menopause & Malarkey 🔥💙
What about you? Have you gotten an ad that made you say, “EXCUSE ME, ALGORITHM??” Drop it in the comments — this is a safe space, and your stories deserve to be heard (and laughed about).
Menopause & Malarkey 