HOW TO: Date During a Pandemic
Dear Raquel,
I am single and don’t want this COVID business to slow down my love life. How can I keep the romance alive while keeping the ‘rona dead?!
Sincerely,
Socially distant…from love.
Dear Socially Distant…from love,
I feel your pain! We’re all trying our best to stay indoors and curb an illness as it works its way through the lungs of, what seems like, every living human on this planet. If you’re not wearing sweats, a mustard-stained t-shirt and cheers-ing your web cam while on a lagging Zoom with your friends, is it really Spring 2020?!
In addition to crippling anxiety about contracting the ‘rona and the mourning of your former life which included such frivolities like seeing your friends in person and paying too much for coffee you could have made at home, you’re feeling as single as ever. And it sucks. I get it.
Perhaps you have a couple friends shacked up with their boyfriends in full, quarantined, romantic bliss day in, day out. They’re posting IG stories of their home-cooked meals, puzzle nights and “first photo challenge” which makes you think, are you really meant to be together or did you just go to the same high school? Either way, all the domestic bliss and partnership is making you feel even more like a dusty spinster.
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: if I’m not completely feral by the end of this, I will marry the first man who looks me in the eye. That’s a promise! I’ve always felt that marriage is a patriarchal institution I’ve never wanted any part in but I’m living (for now) proof that the end of the world can change people. HMU dudes — all I ask is that you’ve got a good credit score and your knees don’t shake when you lift me.
But you’re not here to listen to me complain — you want to up your pandemic dating game!
I’ll tell you how to date during a Pandemic once I give you a little background on my own sordid relationship history — which proves that I have absolutely no business providing this kind of advice to you and you should probably call your mom or something.
Four months ago I had a boyfriend. I am what the experts call a “serial monogamist” which is to say I have been in and out of relationships for the past decade. Read: I’ve never really been alone, which is kind of embarrassing to admit but also, screw you for judging me! Life is too short to have regrats — not even a letter.
My last relationship was serious and felt like it would be one of those lifelong unions you see in movies. We lived together for over four years, had been through a bunch of massive traumas together and when all was said and done, loved each other very, very much. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always work out as you plan, and I found myself on New Year’s Eve, stumbling home from a party at my best friend’s place, reminded of exactly that.
There had been a little trouble in paradise for a few months which all came to a head around Christmas 2019. By that point we had been together for almost seven years and in some ways had begun to grow apart. We were at different stages in life and began to want different things. We weren’t communicating very well, had stopped putting in effort and were constantly bickering. Around December 29 we decided we needed some space and he agreed to move in with his Grandmother for a couple weeks at some point in the New Year so we could take a break and figure things out. It was a somber decision that we both made together, crying and clutching each other. It was all very Nicholas Sparks The Notebook with a lot more snot and two much less attractive versions of MacAdams and Gosling. We agreed that we would not go to the New Year’s Eve party together, because that would be weird. We hugged and said we’d figure out a date that worked to pack some of his things and begin our break.
If you know me you know that I *L I V E* for NEW YEARS. I love the glitter. I spend every waking day of my life in all black, oversized clothing or workout Luon. NYE is the one day a year I can wear something tight and shimmery, glue crooked eyelashes to my bug eyes and wake up the next morning with a killer hangover and a dream — to leave behind the trials and tribulations of the past year and start anew. I love the idea of the arbitrary “fresh start” and I love setting goals — like “finally get skinny” or “get a book deal” or “clear up my adult acne” all of which have yet to come true. Disappointment and setting yourself up for failure in sequins — THAT is the magic of it all.
It’s also kind of a “couple-y” holiday, which has served me well since I am ALWAYS DATING SOMEONE. You get to count down at midnight and then make out with your boyfriend, and then kiss all your friends on the lips like you’re in an episode of The L Word. Then, you pour champagne down one another’s throats and eventually retire home, where maybe you bang it out or maybe you just pass out in your alcohol-soaked romper with epic dry mouth and a migraine.
Unfortunately, the “holiday” I held so dear to my heart was ruined before it even began. I was heading to the party alone. I wore a sparkly, ill-fitting gold camisole I found on the sale rack at Zara and got a spray tan, but other than that I barely prepared at all, my heart was too broken. The days leading up to the party were a blur of tears, half-hearted workouts and long walks around my neighbourhood where I argued with myself about how my relationship — the one thing that had meant so much to me — had gone South.
At the party, I sucked back vodka shots and Nutrls and tried to have a good time, but unfortunately I spent most of it weeping alone in my best friend Casey’s bedroom, staring at my phone waiting for a text from my sort-of-not-quite-ex boyfriend. At one point one of my friends came in and made me pose for a photo on her new iPhone because she thought the lighting was good.
“You HAVE to post this!” she urged and turned the phone toward me. Objectively, I looked nice. Open mouthed smile with very white, very straight teeth, glowing skin on account of the tan (S/O to my girl Sindy Sun), gold sequined top sparkling against the white bedroom walls. I cried so hard when I saw the picture, because it was in such stark contrast to how I felt. Defeated and ugly and dumb.
At 2:30am, feeling as alone as ever and no “Happy New Year” text to speak of, I decided to head home, against my friends advice.
“You’re just going to feel worse when you see him,” some of my friends said. I shook my head. Truth was, I knew this evening would be one of the last nights I’d likely spend with him and I was feeling so lonely. I just wanted to know he was close. I would watch The Office and sleep on the couch, I told them. Knowing he was under the same roof as me, on the other side of the wall nearby, would help put my mind at ease.
Narrator: that did not happen at all.
I took the subway home. I was feeling relieved as I opened the door to my apartment.
The first thing that struck me was the silence. Typically, when I’d come home late from a night out, he’d be asleep but the noise of the door would wake him just enough that he’d groan or shift in bed. I listened for this. Nothing. It was hella dark but as I stumbled down the hallway things just felt off, you know? I flicked on the light and the first thing I noticed was the missing TV. I gasped. It looked like someone robbed the place! Our bedroom closet door was open and the one half dedicated to all of his clothes was completely empty. Despite having not opened a book in roughly three years, all five of his personal contributions to my massive collection were plucked from the bookshelf.
I was spinning. My chest felt like it was collapsing inward and I dialed Casey’s number as I paced from one end of the small apartment to the other, checking the cupboards (all his novelty mugs gone), the coat closet (every coat pulled from its hangers) and the kicker — all the letters and cards I had written him taken from the bedside table to the now empty drawer, strewn about in the top drawer like trash. Et Voila! 2020 off to a catastrophic start. My worst nightmare had come true. I was left with just me, myself and all my thoughts for the first time in years.
Narrator: it will get worse, just wait until March.
While I’ve left out some details, you get the gist. That was a long winded way of telling you that this Pandemic, for me, has been a crash course in being alone. And guess what?! Like the coaches at Orange Theory say into the headset while you’re on a level 8 incline “all out” on the treadmill — it’s challenging….but DOABLE! You can still make inroads in the dating world during this epically strange time, but make sure you’re down with Y-O-U first. Because in the words of RuPaul, If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gunna love somebody else??
After you get your heart and self-esteem in check, I totally recommend dating apps. All we have right now is our internet connection, our toilet paper (if you were lucky enough to find any) and our quarantine snacks — make use of it. Personally, I like Hinge, because you can more easily weed out the boring and un-funny ones based on their prompts. Super fun! Just swipe, swipe, swipe. I pretty much hate everyone I come across and decline mostly all ‘likes’ and messages — but hey, it still passes the time. We’re social distancing NOT social disconnecting after all!
All this to say, keep your heart open to opportunities. Sometimes life changes really quick and all we can do is try and keep a positive attitude.
