Every morning when I go to work, I open my computer and let people’s romantic hopes wash all over me. I run The Cut’s personal ads, where people semi-anonymously advertise themselves to potential dates. Looking for someone to adopt a cat with, they write. I don’t smoke, but don’t mind if you do. Seeking an older woman to boss me around. Let’s whisper before the movie starts at the Lincoln Center AMC.
Without their faces and government names attached, as they would be on most dating apps, people are more inclined to cop to what they want. I’ve heard back that people are going on great dates, which doesn’t surprise me: They’re meeting on the basis of being decisive, hopeful, and sincere. Those same great qualities are, from a less generous vantage, completely cringe.
As you may have read, being cringe is kryptonite for a certain kind of dater. And there are a million ways to qualify: Being awkward on a date, or honest about your desires, or even just “tying your shoes funny” — all of these heinous crimes can be cast as cringe. I notice that the same people who worry about this kind of thing are also the people who wonder why dating is so hard right now. If that sounds like you: Being afraid of cringe — whether in yourself or other people — is ruining your love life.
To be clear, cringe isn’t a stand-in for all bad behavior or misalignments of personal taste. It doesn’t mean piggish to servers, or bigoted, or rudely evasive. Dating-wise, cringe is slippery. It too often describes “making an effort” or “communicating” — double texting, or saying aloud that you’d like something casual instead of serious (or vice versa), or going up to someone in a bar to introduce yourself. Why make yourself known when you can ensure no one understands what’s going on and how to enjoy it?
I used to feel hamstrung by how much trying was the correct amount. But when I started dating the guy who is now my boyfriend, I realized I had to let go of trying to calibrate and just make it clear how much I liked him — I couldn’t fight it and I didn’t want to. We met on Valentine’s Day last year. On our third date, after making out up five flights of stairs, we opened the door to find shards of clay scattered across his living room. He’d left a window open; a strong wind had had its way with the object. “I loved that yellow vase,” he said, good-naturedly sweeping up what was left of it. It struck me that he was a fool for beauty. I did not cringe. Instead, I resolved to buy him a replacement.
As I browsed search results for “yellow vase cool,” I hesitated. Was it maybe a little too early for gifts? But it was overridden by wanting to demonstrate that I was thinking about him, and to suggest: You should have somewhere to put the flowers I’m going to give you. I sent the yellow vase to him at work, a smoked-glass cylinder with a thinner blue bud vase inside. Instead of cringing at me moving too quickly, he was thrilled. I would have missed out on an opportunity to make us both happy if I overthought it and defensively chickened out.
I’m not saying you should spend dates talking about your belief that Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation lyricist or hire a skywriter to loop-de-loop your crush’s name above their workplace. (Actually, that second one is kind of dope.) But you should try to take yourself and the people you go out with in good faith, without biting your nails that someone is going to make fun of you.
When you strip your thinking of cringe, in all its petty tyranny and inelegance, your reward is a sexier, more adult romantic life. Otherwise, what’s going to happen when you do have sex with a new person? You can’t just vamp your way through all of it. Someone’s going to grab for the lube. People will moan and reposition. You’re cheating yourself if you see these things as cringe instead of what they really are, which is hot. The same is true for personalities and expressions of all kinds, not just ones that have to do with Astroglide.
I’ve been thinking about all I’d be missing out on if I hadn’t taken the leap with my now-boyfriend. This is someone who, as I’ve been dealing with a health issue (picture me hospitalized with a port in my ass), has sardined into this wheelie twin bed with me every night. He’d be here during the day, too, except that we’re moving in together in two days, and someone has to box up our two apartments.
“I packed that little yellow vase yesterday,” he said this morning, putting on his coat to go finish my place. “I was thinking that we can put it on our table and always have a little bloom in it.” Wow, cringe much?
To be someone worth going out with, you have to take others in good faith as best you can. No need to pretend you care about whether someone “runs for the train weird” because you’re afraid someone is going to nitpick you first. You’re not 12 anymore — you no longer need to filter your understanding of sex and courtship through what you see on the computer. Being genuine about your feelings is a form of self-respect. So loosen yourself from the cringe trap. Write your most fervid desires in a personal ad. Buy a flowerpot. Make overtures. Relax if you find yourself posturing in bed. Be undaunted and kind. You’ll find that whether or not you’re cringe doesn’t matter when you’re hooking up like it’s your day job.