L.A. Affairs: An online dater retouches her image

L.A. Affairs is our weekly column about the current dating scene in and around Los Angeles -- and finding romance in a wired world. If you’ve got a story to tell, we want to hear it. We pay $300 per published column. Past columns and submission guidelines are at latimes.com/laaffairs

So I was standing there in my underwear, staring into the mirror.

It wasn’t a blank canvas I was looking at — not after 48 years — but honestly, not a disaster. Still, I felt a certain amount of what … anxiety? Self-loathing?

In a couple of hours I would be posing for what might be the most embarrassing pictures of my life.

Online dating pictures.

Now, I don’t remember exactly when I decided to go the professional photo route, but I do remember thinking at first that I didn’t want anyone to know. Because seeking out “good” pictures meant admitting to myself that there was something bad about the ones I’d been using. It meant admitting I had been doing something wrong. And it meant admitting that to get what I wanted, I was apparently willing to package and sell myself like one of those frozen dinners I’d been eating for what seemed like an eternity.

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As I searched the Internet for someone I could hire to help me look pretty, I fully expected to be busted by the online-dating rules enforcer, whomever that might be. Everyone must have great pictures lying around. If you have to pay for them, you’re cheating — right?

Did I mention I’m sometimes a little hard on myself?

I’d been on and off a couple of dating sites in recent years and could always dig up a few presentable if not spectacular photos to use. I never misrepresented myself — age, weight, hobbies, politics, all real. When I got little or no response, I simply canceled that membership, declaring that I really hadn’t wanted to date in the first place. Airtight strategy. I am what I am. You don’t like what you see? I don’t need you anyway.

That strategy worked until a few months ago, when I admitted that I actually did need something, or at least wanted that something a whole lot: a chance at a relationship.

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Complicating the situation was my steep learning curve, as I hadn’t dated much when I was younger. Long-term relationships had always been with people I’d met along the way and had gotten to know without formally dating. When I occasionally did score a date through an online site, I had no idea how to behave when we met face-to-face, and unfiltered honesty was my default strategy. Alas, being completely forthcoming from the get-go surely headed off any number of second dates. When it came to letting strangers get to know me, I needed lots more practice.

At this rate, though, I was never going to get good enough. I needed more dates. But if you’re not presenting your best self, is that likely to happen? Like it or not, visuals matter. Pictures matter. People click on the pictures.

So in the spirit of getting more practice, I started evaluating how I was presenting myself both online and in person, and I realized that I’d twisted the idea of being “honest” to the point where it was a serious handicap. I wasn’t selling myself at all — I was selling myself short. And those selfies I had on my dating profile? Pretty grim. That digital girl didn’t look like much fun.

In the real world I was actually feeling pretty good on the inside. I was feeling pretty good about my outside as well. I was about 50 pounds lighter than in that 2-year-old cover shot that I had posted on various sites. Sure, I could write in my profile that I’d lost weight since the picture was taken, but would anyone make it past the cover to read the book? Was I willing to trust someone else’s imagination to spin a first impression in a flattering direction?

As I became aware of the disconnect between what I wanted and what I was presenting to the public, I felt myself gravitating toward the idea of authenticity rather than honesty.

Sometimes honesty can be refreshing, but I’d turned it cold and unrelenting. Authenticity, on the other hand, seems rooted in a warmer place. It’s the real thing, the original.

As I looked in the mirror the morning of the photo shoot, I could see flaws, failures and life lessons. But the journey that prompted me to call a photographer also taught me that I don’t have to lead with my imperfections. Better pictures might not make dates fall magically from the sky, but at least I know I won’t be sabotaging the process anymore.

The desire to present not “just” myself but my best self — even if I had to drop some cash to do it — fueled my smile that day.

And you know, they’re pretty good, those pictures.

They actually look like me.

Christie D’Zurilla writes about celebrities — most of whom seem to look flawless in photos — for the L.A. Times.

L.A. Affairs chronicles dating in and around Los Angeles. If you have comments or a true story to tell, write us at home@latimes.com.