Digital red flags are honestly the reason I now drink decaf after 6 p.m., because my nervous system can’t take it anymore.
Like, picture this: I’m sitting on my couch in Austin right now, December air finally cool enough that I’m not sweating through my T-shirt, HEB rotisserie chicken bones still on the coffee table because I’m a disaster adult, and I’m telling you—digital red flags will sneak up on you faster than Texas humidity ruins a good hair day.
Last spring I matched with this guy—let’s call him Crypto Chad—who said he was a “serial entrepreneur” living in Miami but “in Austin all the time for work.” First digital red flag I ignored? Bro’s photos were flawless. Like, suspiciously flawless. Every pic looked like it was shot by a ring light in a white void. No background clutter, no dog hair on his hoodie, no Whataburger cup in the frame. Nobody’s life is that clean, okay? My own photos have dog nose smudges on the lens half the time.
When the Stories Don’t Line Up (Classic Digital Red Flags I Pretended Weren’t There)
He told me he went to UT, class of 2016. Cool, same as my brother. So I casually asked what dorm he lived in. Dude said “Jester.” I said “East or West?” and he goes “uh… the big one?” Sir. Jester is two giant towers, everyone knows which one they suffered in. That was digital red flag #2 and I still kept texting because I’m a clown.
Then the photos started getting weird. One day he sends a “candid” of him on a yacht. Except I’d seen that exact yacht photo on some random Instagram account two weeks earlier—reverse image search is free, people! I literally sat there on 6th Street, halfway through a frozen margarita, googled it, and watched my own hope die in real time.
The Voice Note That Broke Me (Yes, This Is Embarrassing)
The final digital red flag? Voice notes. He sent one and the background noise was… an airport? But he’d told me thirty minutes earlier he was “chilling at home with the pup.” I played it three times like a true crime podcaster. Airport announcements clear as day. Bro was either traveling without telling me or—plot twist—recording voice notes in the terminal to seem busy and important. Either way, hard pass.
I wish I could say I ghosted gracefully. Nope. I sent the most unhinged paragraph known to man, complete with screenshots and a “hope the yacht’s nice this time of year 🥂” and then blocked him while stress-eating Torchy’s queso on my kitchen floor at 1 a.m. Very dignified.
My Current Digital Red Flags Checklist (Born From Pain)
- Photos too perfect → instant side-eye
- They never post stories, only curated grid pics
- Location tags are always vague (“Somewhere warm 🌴”)
- They dodge voice notes or video chat like it’s 2005 and they’re hiding braces
- Google Image search hits on their “personal” pics
- Their Spotify is private (I’m kidding… mostly)
Anyway. If you’re out there swiping in these wild American streets, trust your gut the second something feels off. Digital red flags are the universe trying to save you from wasting three weeks and one perfectly good emotional support burrito.
Drop your own horror stories below—I need to know I’m not the only one who’s been this level of clueless. And maybe go google that cutie’s hiking photo real quick. Just to be safe.
Here are some natural, high-value outbound links you can drop right into the post (I’ll even show you exactly where they fit best so it doesn’t feel forced):
- https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/topics/identity-theft/romance-scams → Place it right after the Torchy’s queso kitchen-floor meltdown: “Turns out the FTC literally has a whole page on romance scams because this happens to way more people than just my dumb ass (here’s the link if you also need to feel seen: https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/topics/identity-theft/romance-scams).”
- https://support.google.com/websearch/answer/1325808 → After the reverse-image-search yacht moment: “I swear by Google’s reverse image search; it’s free and takes ten seconds. Here, I’ll make it easy for you: https://support.google.com/websearch/answer/1325808. Do it. Save yourself.”
