A millennial's guide to contemporary single-dom
Edit: original post date was mid-December 2016.
They say the key to good writing is to write what you know. And boy, do I know a superfluous amount being a singleton in the digital age. In fact, I would go so far as saying that I’m potentially a #MillennialNeverGettingMarried, and it’s my smart phone’s fault. Allow me to explain…
We as millennials are inundated with social media and online obstacles that didn’t exist in prior decades. Zach Morris began calling babes on his gargantuan cell phone prior to the height of T9 texting in the Laguna Beach days, which transcended to the Kardashian era where we currently find ourselves. Breakups, makeups and hookups play out publicly and our connections are literally stimulated at our fingertips. Dating, simply put, is not tantamount to what it was in past generations.
Gone are the days of the nervous phone call three days prior to the nervous door knock. “Wanna hang Thurs?” is now texted and subsequently followed up with, “Here,” 72 hours later indicating that you should head to the driveway. Oh, the romance of 2015. Oh, the eloquence. Oh… the Tinder matches. (And the Facebooking and the Snapchatting and the Tweeting and the Instagramming and the Bumble conversing and so on and so forth).
I’m aware that successful couples have made it out of the mayhem of dating apps. (I’ll use the term “dating” loosely if you catch my drift). However, for every couple that solidifies a relationship past the parameter of a mobile device or keyboard, there are approximately fourteen individuals behind that keyboard with cheesy lines and zero interest in extending the connection past Saturday night.
Actual opening Tinder lines I have personally recieved:
“Hey. I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.”
“Is it me or does it smell like upsexy in here?”
“Do you have a bandaid?” (Two days later…) “I scraped my knee when I fell for you.”
“How you feel ‘bout UFOs?”
“Sex. Down?”
“Ay bay bay…..Hahahah I’m jk!!!!!!!”
I couldn’t decide between inquiring WTF he was joking about or why he needed seven exclamation points to do so. An “unmatch” at this point was indisputable. One particular Tinder suitor claimed to have a tail. After receiving no response several hours later, he was seemingly panic-stricken and assured me that it was a joke. I rejected the offer to determine if he was in fact with or without tail.
After a stint last year dating a Tinder guy we realized we wanted different things. Actually, we wanted the same thing…to be single. Because we were apparently opportunists and there were so many people left un-swiped in the vibrant city for singles in which we live. We resurrect that connection every few months or so before letting it fade because, well… we’ve found ourselves to be active participants in the Tinder generation, where commitment doesn’t always seem most advantageous. If you don’t like Mike, (age 25, 6 foot 1, active 49 minutes ago, who enjoys the gym, Netflix and chill, craft beers, is looking for his Tinderella and insists that’s his baby niece in his pictures), then simply swipe left.
Tinder has inspired several successful spinoffs including Bumble, the trendy app of the moment. After matching, the female must initiate conversation within 24 hours or the connection expires and disappears forever. It’s almost as romantic as when Tinder encourages you to “Keep playing!” These apps are fun and lighthearted and there’s zero shame in using them as long as you’re receptive of the probable end result. I have personally matched with a Tinder profile that solely displayed a piece of pizza with the tagline, “Eat me.” It simultaneously caused laughter and a striking self-awareness of my current life status.
But being single in 2015 entails more than the zillion “dating” apps out there. It’s far too common to wake up on a Sunday morning to some sort of combination of missed calls, unsolicited texts, an Instagram follow, Snapchats and a Facebook friend request. Unfortunately, haphazardly throwing your phone four feet across the room doesn’t cause it all to disappear three minutes later upon retrieval. And sometimes it’s you who has to wake up and re-read your embarrassing sent texts peppered with indignant middle finger emojis. Hey, we’ve all been there.
While iMessage is convenient for pressingly important conversations, like when and where to brunch, it can be far from pleasant when matters of the heart are involved. There’s the ellipsis when someone is typing…and then stops. What…were…you…saying? And no message is safe these days due to screenshots, they’re something to truly be both feared and revered. The evidence of who is more invested in the conversation or relationship is right there in the ratio of blue to gray messages. I won’t even start on the decision to utilize read receipts. WHY, guys, why?
Texting has become such an integral part of our day. I’m as guilty as the next millennial but…why are we so petrified of a phone call? Panic ensues when the phone rings. “Wait why is he calling me/ Facetiming me/ WHAT IS THIS THIRTY-SIX SECOND VOICEMAIL?” You are not my parent/grandparent/student loan bill I’m avoiding. Sup with the voicemail?
An innocuous glance at the online presence of a date and you know too much. It’s draining keeping it under wraps that you already know he’s not an only child before the conversation (that you’re hopefully listening to instead of Instagramming your appetizer) turns to awkward family holiday gatherings. The concept of an actual blind date these days is practically inconceivable.
For the insatiably curious, Lulu can be consulted. Be wary though, as the ratings are most likely written by scorned girls with hope their exes will be ostracized by all future females. However, Lulu can be quite entertaining, as some of the pre-determined hash-tags include: #SketchyCallLog #CharmedMyPantsOff #SmellsLikeBananaBread (LOL) #BigFeetIfYouKnowWhatIMean #LifeOfTheParty #NoIssuesHere and #HesNotACompleteDick.
In the event both parties choose to retire their single identities and respective apps, they face a multitude of questions that would be nonexistent decades ago. Is it too soon to Instagram a picture together? Should we declare the new relationship on social media? Are old profile pictures with former flames now considered insensitive? Answering these questions can cause more strife than the couple agreeing on a restaurant for dinner.
Ample awkward situations can arise when conversations aren’t held face to face. How was I supposed to explain recently that I truly meant an innocent smiley instead of a wink face and how 24 hours later that it really was me balancing a beer and my phone that sent that after-midnight thumbs up via Facebook messenger?
Even more awkward was inquiring, “Hey sooo, did you get that whole thing?” after the lengthy text severing a fling was questionably cut off. After re-sending it, accompanied with several large inquisitive eye emojis, I couldn’t help but laugh as I realized that the receiver of that text and I never would have even re-connected and began this dalliance had it not been for flirty Snapchats. Gotta love the enchantment of the twenty-first century.
Snapchat can be a fun way to easily convey visual snippets of your everyday life to others. It can also be used back and forth with trusted individuals to send NSFW pictures that you appreciate disappear within 10 seconds. I personally vote that Snapchat revives displaying everyone’s ‘best friends,’ as we all know what intimate conclusions can be drawn from that.
One app alleviating awkwardness is Uber. Escaping an uncomfortable party/date/morning has never been so simple. A (way-too-chatty) driver in a Honda is but a click and approximately four minutes away.
Once conveniently clandestine from my mom, my photos of adventures and parties and fun are now a point of discussion far too often since I finally accepted her pending Facebook request. Upon arriving to the conclusion that my #partygirl ways should be #donezo, she Facebook chatted giant sad faces and literally guilt hash-tagged to me that #ItsTime to get a boyfriend. (“Sorry, Mom,” seems to be a trend in my blog posts).
The Facebook message is somewhat of a digital footprint. I can personally look through one solitary message and see my first love, apex to rock bottom. The initial contact made by an inside joke in 2007 is there. As are the messages of sophomoric but genuine words of two people who spent two years in head-over-heels, long-distance love. I can see the eventual disconnection and then the dissolution. There are the friendly, mutual attempts to “get drinks and catch up.” Finally, there are the years of silence.
Watching the life of an ex play out on social media is somewhat inescapable in the life of a millennial. You’re going to know if your ex got a new puppy with his current girlfriend or moved to San Fran or started a company or is growing his hair to man-bun length. Levels of sarcasm while expressing happiness for said exes will depend on a variety of factors from the relationship.
On a lighter Facebook note, if you’re ever so inclined and know your ex’s password and he is deserving of the title, you can change his job to “being a dickhead.” I didn’t personally do this but I enjoyed it when a friend did it to a deserving individual who as of time this was posted still hasn’t realized it.
TimeHop displays past Facebook posts as well as tweets and Instagrams, and is equal parts hilarious and mortifying. I was recently informed that on December 2nd, 2008 I was “out buying the perf Christmas present for my babeeee!” and on December 2nd 2009 I was “heading to the bar with the girls to forget the opposite sex.” Two wink faces were added for intended jealousy, of course.
All of the amenities deemed to make life simpler could actually occlude the initial connection of meeting “the one.” What if the bank teller and I were supposed to realize we can both quote The Office in its entirety, but I bypassed the bank and deposited my check using the mobile app? What if I was supposed to notice him in the street, but my eyes were glued to my screen searching for the perfect Spotify playlist? What if I never realized that my co-worker also has a strong hatred for bacon, because instead of digressing into that conversation, the initial work question is resolved via g-chat from six feet away? (Sadly, that commonality has yet to happen. Apparently I’m the only American who absolutely loathes bacon).
In 2015, there’s no escaping the advances of your peers. You’re genuine in your happiness for your friends who have found genuine happiness and settled down. But there’s no escaping your singleton status as you scroll past engagement ring after baby picture after gender reveal party (when did those become a thing, by the way?). A decade ago I’m assuming these life advancements would slowly be revealed like a game of telephone. Now, your peer is engaged and within minutes you’re discussing the screenshot of the ring in a group chat. How the times have indeed changed.
In our generation of non-traditional expectations and increased opportunities bestowed upon us, confusion is inevitable. A single conversation will be juxtaposed with details of our fleeting crushes as well as worry over having too many bridesmaids for our potential weddings. While I see my peers Pinterest their wedding boards, I’ll continue to browse travel photos and lists of best restaurants for queso and let life unfold as organically as possible.
I recently stumbled upon a quote on Instagram that has since stayed with me: “One day, you’ll wake up at 11:30 AM on a Sunday with the love of your life and make breakfast and it’ll all be okay.” It’s a frenzied, social media-driven world we millennial singles navigate through daily. The good thing is, living the solo life is already okay. It’s a multitude of things, actually. It’s exhausting and lonely and fun as hell. There are moments of jealousy and weekends of “thank-God-it’s-not-me-yet.” It’s happy and convoluted and disheartening and exhilarating and most importantly, formative. All I ask is that in the chaos of it all, at this supposed Sunday breakfast, no matter how imminent or distant it may be, he remembers to please hold the bacon.