Illustration by Ren O’Hare

 

Words from our Sex Editor Alice:

You are reading the third instalment of our ‘Perspectives’ series. Please enjoy the work of another of our extremely talented writers.

 

When I arrived home from my first Freshers’ Week, my sister asked whether I had a boyfriend yet. When I said no, she jokingly told me that she was disappointed in me. Any time I would mention a guy I had met it was followed by a chorus of “Oooohhhh!” from whichever family members were present. This was something which I had experienced for as long as I could remember – the assumption that I must have a crush on any male I would mention, regardless of our relationship. The more I denied it, the more convinced family would become. The idea that heterosexual men and women cannot be friends, without one crushing on the other, is a trope which has been used repeatedly in the media. It has been spilling over into the modern mindset for some time, and it’s beginning to wear on me.

 

I had always assumed that this way of thinking was something I would no longer encounter once I left secondary school. However, I find myself halfway through university and still being asked, “so any crushes?”, followed by raised eyebrows.  I have also had friends attempting to set me up with guys who I don’t know, and who would apparently be ‘perfect’ for me, despite my adamant protests against being set up. 

 

Personally, the thought of meeting someone for the first time with both of us being aware that we’re being set up makes me cringe internally, especially when there are mutual friends involved. There have been so many times where I’ve found myself questioning should I just do it – go on a date with a semi-stranger just to satisfy my friends and family? I always come to the same conclusion. Just the thought of  the awkwardness  associated with a semi-blind date never fails to put me off of the idea. There’s many things that factor into this, such as having to pick an outfit and worrying over whether you’re too overdressed or underdressed, being conscious of having to come up with conversation, and being more aware of all your speech and actions. Hypothetical questions run through my head: ‘What if I misinterpret what my date’s saying? How much does this other person actually like me?’ I also worry that if they didn’t get my sense of humour then it’d just be unbearable – never mind if they don’t understand sarcasm. Then, if you’re eating out, there’s the awkward dance of who will pay after? (I strongly believe you should pay for your own meal, or take turns.) 

 

In general, I find that I can only be attracted to someone if we’re friends first. The relationship has to progress naturally for me. I prefer knowing that we already get along well enough that conversation and humour won’t be an issue. The thought of meeting someone for the very first time on a date makes my skin crawl. 

 

I am fully aware that my experience is not universal and, perhaps, cynical. I have many friends who have gone on dating apps and are now in very happy and stable relationships. Sometimes I get jealous at how easy they make it seem. Nevertheless, I could never gather the courage or will, or whatever you might call it, to do the same. Yet I cannot be the only one who is affected by, and consequently despises, the massive emphasis placed on the need to be in a romantic relationship by contemporary society. In so many books, shows and films, the happy ending only comes when everyone is in a relationship. Only then are the protagonists the most complete versions of themselves.

 

Even our language reflects the notion that you aren’t complete without your ‘other half.’ The concept of ‘other half’ is ridiculous to me. You are a complete person by yourself. There’s also the whole idea of ‘when’ you meet your significant other and ‘when’ you get married, not ‘if’. The thought of another of my friends telling me, quite patronisingly, that, “You’ll find someone too! Then you’ll understand” almost makes my skin crawl more than the idea of a blind date. Some people are convinced that they will be fulfilled once they are in a relationship, and seem even more convinced that you would be too. It’s almost considered by certain people as a sort of cure-all. Of course, there are many benefits to having a romantic partner: the intimacy and having someone really be there for you are some, among many others. However, being in a relationship will not ‘complete’ you, nor ‘fix’ you, nor should you be expected to ‘fix’ others. Believing that it will or that you should  is perhaps why many are convinced that there is something ‘wrong’ with you if you don’t want to be in a relationship, or that you are flawed in some way. As a result of this ideology, many seem to actively seek a relationship because they feel the need to be in a relationship rather than love necessarily. Trying to force yourself into a relationship in order to feel fulfilled or just to be in a relationship is something I will never be able to relate to. 

 

People have expressed concern about this, some subtly and some very obviously, and this concern has led to me questioning a lot about myself – lockdown has been great for self-reflection. I’ve been asking myself whether I am afraid to be vulnerable because of past experiences, or whether it is because of the fact that divorce is more common than successful marriages in my family. I’ve even wondered whether I am flawed in some way and if that’s why I don’t want to be in a relationship. Nevertheless, I always come to the same conclusion; there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with me, or anyone else for that matter, for not wanting to be in a romantic relationship. Danny Santagato sums this up aptly: “Being single doesn’t necessarily mean one is not wanted. In many cases it means that one knows what they want and if they can’t find that someone special then they’ll remain single forever because they’re okay and happy with who they are…” I am fulfilled in myself, and happy with my friends and family. At this point in life I’m content being single. Now I know that this may change, maybe this time next year I’ll be in a relationship, or maybe I won’t. All that matters to me is that I am content in myself, and I hope that I will never succumb to the idea that I have to be in a romantic relationship in order to be complete or fulfilled.