Dating is So Overrated: A History

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a great personality must be in want of a partner.

Or, in words not riffing off Jane Austen and her novel Pride and Prejudice, girls are taught that they must grow up to be the wives and mothers of the world. And what does that require? Courtship—or, in modern terms, dating.

So what's the big deal? Dating happens all the time. Even in our current pandemic world, people are still firing up their dating apps and having Zoom calls with prospective partners. None of this is new to any of us.

Well...about that...

(DEEP BREATHS, SELF.)

(Give me a moment...)

PHEW. OKAY.

.....

My confession: I'm thirty years old, and I've never been on a date.

I know. It's a shocker. Not because you know me and how lovable I am (since that's clearly up for debate)—but because dating is so ingrained in our cultural awareness, at least in the United States where I live. Dating is seen as one of those stepping stones you stumble across in your teenage life right after puberty hits. I mean, sure, a 2015 study found that only 35% of teens had romantic experience, but let's just say that it's accepted that dating is the norm from age 15 onward.

So what happened to me that I'm thirty and date-deprived? Well...

Come along for this story time, and I'll tell you (with the help of the dating queen herself, Taylor Swift).

I started out pretty normal. My only downfall might have been that I grew up on a diet of Disney animated films, so I had a sparkly-eyed view of romance pretty much from the get-go. Ariel and Eric, Jasmine and Aladdin, Belle and Beast...those were the couples who definitely lit the flame that someday I wanted to be a part of "a couple." Whether those seeds were misguided or not still remains to be seen...

The cracks in the veneer started as my parents’ marriage became more fraught with tension and arguments. My parents never showed me what a healthy, loving, stable relationship was supposed to look like. That may have been the real problem number one on the list: what was romantic love supposed to be? My only outlets for it were forms of media, especially in my impressionable years.

Then I entered adolescence at the killing zone of romantic feelings: I was enrolled in a private Christian school. We had "junior-senior banquets" instead of prom. We had "abstinence classes" instead of regular sex ed. The girls had to wear loose blouses that didn't show anything below the collarbone and skirts that fell below the knee so as not to "tempt" the boys. It wasn't like going back to the days of Puritans, but it wasn't the best either.

This is the kind of social climate I grew up with, for context's sake. And it actually sparks a bit of speculation as to why I'm in this situation all these years later...

Age 15: Maybes and Have-Not's

So what mindset did I have at fifteen? Well, I had crushed on a classmate of mine for six long years until high school came along and separated us forever. I tried not to be sad about it—I mean, it's not like I never told him how I felt, but that happened all the way back in third grade—but I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as the saying goes, because high school was supposed to be the pinnacle. So many people said that high school was the high point of their lives and they would go back to those days if they had the chance. And movies like She's All That glamourized the high school experience to the point that I had an image in my head that a boy would one day choose me out of the crowd and that I would be deemed "special" amongst all the other girls.

I found out pretty quickly that high school would not be that way for me.

In four years of high school, what I remember most is this creeping dread that I would end up alone for the rest of my life if I was not the model of perfection as far as traits go. Looking back, I realize now that a lot of what I felt was due to the toxic rhetoric I internalized from the school I attended. Girls were "the bad ones"—the ones to tempt, to seduce, to put their bodies on display, to "get" pregnant. Rarely did we ever talk about how men played into these things. But I kept being badgered by this image of girls—girls like me—who were the ones who always did the "wrong" thing in the sphere of romance and sex. Eve and the apple, right?

And honestly? I was afraid. I didn't want to be a "bad girl." I was taught that I had to hide myself behind layers of fabric, that I couldn't flirt back if a guy talked to me, that I shouldn't be laying myself out there until I was ready to get married.

Even when a boy serenaded me with a piano piece one day during a study hall, I didn't do a thing about it. I could have asked for his phone number to become better friends. I could have said we should study together. I could have made a step forward into a potential companionship, even if that didn't lead into a romantic sense of a relationship.

But I didn't. I wouldn't. I was supposed to wait until a boy approached me first with the words and the actions. I couldn't take a step forward myself. That would be "bad."

And so it went. I waited for a boy to ask me to the junior-senior banquet; no one asked. I waited for a boy to call me first; it never happened. The only romance I experienced was through the novels I read during my spare time.

High school graduation came and went like a whisper. And those dreams of romance? I kept them locked up tight inside.

Age 20: Nowhere to Go But Up!

I didn't have the traditional experience after high school—as far as dating went, yes, but also when it came to college. I got away with my lack of college applications by telling all my peers that I was taking a "gap year" when, really, my dad didn't have the savings to prop me up for a college start and I didn't want to take out loans that would cripple me in debt for an unknown number of years of my life. Plus, my mom's health had always been shaky, but the days leading up to my graduation had been fraught with so much that I almost didn't graduate because of all the school I missed.

Only months after graduation, my mother—a type-1 diabetic—developed sepsis and needed to have an amputation of one of her limbs. Her ability for self-care deteriorated in the process. And me? I was the defacto caregiver.

What little social life I had had after high school dried up. Most days I was just keeping my mom company while she relearned how to go through day-to-day life with her disability.

Dating? What even was that word? The only guys my age I saw were cashiers at the grocery store. Besides, I wasn't in the proper space to date anyway. I had my mom to worry about. Her life became my life.

My mother passed away in 2013. And, even though that loss crushed me, a part of me hoped that this event—as devastating as it was—would allow my life to begin in earnest.

Age 25: Out in the "Real World"

Mental health struggles aside, it took me a while for me to recover from my mother's death. (Codependency will do that to you.) While I figured things out, I finally had better access to my peer group through things like group therapy. But I quickly learned that, as much as I wanted to make new friends and forge new relationships, most of the people I knew were struggling just as much as I was. And the boys I met? They needed space more than romantic entanglements. Even a boy I had simply hugged goodbye told me later that I had come on "too strong," leading me to believe that I really didn't know what I was doing in the realm of the "socially-acceptable,” especially when it came to the opposite sex.

Even my first job after my mother's death left me reeling because guys tried to flirt with me while I rang up their items at the checkout, but all I could muster were a few scant phrases and blushes for being given attention even in a passive and meaningless way. I really had no idea how to deal with guys my age, no matter how nice their smiles were or how they tried to provoke a smile or laugh from me. I really wasn't ready for any type of relationship.

Stumbles aside, I finally enrolled in college. I found a new job that was better than my first. As I focused on my studies, I kept pushing the dating roadblock to the back of my mind. "There will be time later. Focus on getting your degree." I avoided conversations about my dating life even as my coworkers shared all the deets about their dating app struggles and misfires. I even struck down a kindly offer from a family member to try and set me up on a blind date.

"Later," I thought, even as I looked at a picture of the blind date suitor that I knew wasn't for me. "You don't have to rush this."

But just how long could I keep telling myself that?

Age 30: Mum's the Word

In my adult life, the only guy who has ever asked to exchange phone numbers with me was a man ten years older than me. How did I know his age? He handed me his ID for me to verify his birthdate before he could buy a case of beer at the convenience store I was working at. I fumbled with my words, feeling my face heat up, as I tried to refuse in a kind way and say I couldn't accept the personal info he wanted to give me—when, really, all I wanted to do was run away and hide in the break room.

Nearly thirty years of being single make you quite spooked when someone does show an interest in you. You start to wonder, "Okay, what scheme are they trying to pull?" (Forgive me, I'm sure he was a nice guy; the bait just wasn't for me.)

And the last year alone? The pandemic definitely hasn’t helped with getting my feet wet as far as dating opportunities go. In a year interspersed with lockdowns and scares and all-around chaos, you would think it would have been the perfect time for me to try out one of those dating apps. Maybe set up a coffee date Zoom call? I mean, how bad could it be?

But no. I still have this notion that I'll meet someone the "old-fashioned" way. I may have read too many books and seen too many romantic comedies, but isn't romance supposed to be a dance? Aren't you supposed to click and spark and exchange smiles in a way that seems clandestine? Or am I just overthinking it to unrealistic degrees? Should I just be okay with a guy offering to buy me a drink once the bars reopen? Or is that even a lost art in the dating sphere of "swiping" till you find The One? I suppose I'll find out after the pandemic ends. Something to look forward to, I guess?

The truth is that I don't tell many people about my dating history being exactly nil. Why? Because it is embarrassing. No matter how you identify, whether that's gay or bisexual or asexual (etc.), society still expects its people to be out there on the dating field. And I just...haven't been. It hasn't happened for me. Nothing ever felt right.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just go back to the Taylor Swift songs I can never quite relate to and hope that someday I'll find my rightness (whether that includes an actual "Mr. Right" or not). Wish me luck!

Did you enjoy this article? You can find more over on my profile where there are also poems and short fiction pieces for your perusal. You can also follow me on Twitter for any updates about my writing. Leaving a heart before you go would also be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!