Dating, Celibacy, and the American Hookup
While writing this piece, I’d gone back and forth several times as to whether I should release it so soon after starting my blog. The topic seemed too personal too fast, as you may have noticed though I’m posting it anyways. My reasons for creating this blog was to create a space for me to be as open and honest as possible, and not posting this felt contradictory to my goal.
My dating history is spotty at best, I’ve never been in a serious nor committed long-term relationship or any form of relationship for that matter. Sure, I’ve gone on dates and flirted with the occasional person that caught my eye, but I’ve never seriously gone after anyone. Keeping what I’ve stated in mind, you might be puzzled at the title. The first word is obviously “dating,” implying experience, but I have just indicated that I am of the opposite party, the undated (welcome to my blog, where I make up words often and sense infrequently).
On that note, I would like to direct your attention to the second word in the title, “celibacy.” That special eight-letter-word is one of the main contributors to my habitual singleness, which plays into our third topic of discussion the “American Hookup.” Now let’s throw all three of these topics together: it’s ridiculously hard to date, while celibate, in an evironment that is densely integrated with hookup culture.
Now before I go on, I would like to clarify that my take on the matter is in no way passing judgment on people that take opt into hookup culture. It just so happens that my personal choice of remaining celibate conflicts with a significant component of the dating scene. Nothing more, nothing less.
Being that I’ve already listed my “extensive” dating history, I thought I’d jump into my reasons behind choosing to be celibate. I think the most prominent assumption people make when they discover that you are celibate is that you’re doing it for religious purposes. Often times, this leads people to view you like an old-fashioned prude. With that said, I’d like for you to keep an open mind. I’ve found that if someone makes a choice to opt-out of a cultural event (drinking, sex, etc.), it’s usually a pretty well-rounded reason deeply rooted in past experience and/or trauma, and I’d like to treat such topic with the respect it deserves.
That’s my momma with a smaller version of me.
Now if you were to assume that I remain celibate for religious reasons, you would only be partially right. True, I do have religious reasons for abstaining, but that only makes up a tiny percentage of my reason. The most significant portion is taken by my very existence. If you happen to be a person that has never met me, first of all, welcome, and second I was born out of wedlock to a mother who was only seventeen. How’s that for an introduction? Luckily, I was born to the most badass woman I know. She did everything in her power to give me a fantastic life, which she did with her back straight, head held high, and weird antics that are all her own (think of a slightly less eccentric female Robin Williams).
Even though my mother did everything in her power to make up for the absence of a father and her very young age, there are still some things that affect a child no matter how much you try to avoid it. My upbringing left me with a fear of abandonment and unplanned pregnancy, two things that put a pretty big damper on my dating life. So I choose to abstain because no matter how many contraceptives you use, there is always a chance of getting pregnant. And though I know my mother does not regret her decision to have and raise me, her life path was undeniably altered by my existence. So I feel responsible for making sure I keep on my life path to make up for the life I took away. I stand by my choice to remain celibate, for my future, but that doesn’t mean that I’m immune to the judgment and the feeling that I’m missing out on the “college experience.”
Two years ago, I stumbled upon an NPR podcast called the Hidden Brain and began listening to an episode titled “Just Sex.” The episode featured Sociologist Lisa Wade and her new book the American Hookup: The new culture of sex on campus, I was enthralled. Wade voiced situations and feelings that I had begun to notice on my campus and within myself. In this book, she identifies the difference between hooking up, and the portrayals of casual sex in the media, and hookup culture, what now plagues college campuses all across the country.
The media feeds us this image of college, a place of magic where the drinks are always flowing, and sex is always available. This idealistic, and unrealistic, image of college has fed into the narrative of hookup culture that everyone is hooking up at college, but that just isn’t true. Wade highlights that students are overestimating the amount sex their peers are having and that, “the University of Chicago’s General Social Survey have shown that they [millennials] actually report slightly fewer sexual partners than Gen-Xers did” (Wade, 17). Even more shocking, at least to myself, almost a third of college students will graduate without hooking up at all (Wade, 18).
So then, why is it that before reading the statistics, I was convinced that all of my peers were hooking up? That is, though the number of people that partake in casual sex has not increased the culture surrounding hooking up has changed. We now find ourselves surrounded by this idea that all of our peers are hooking up and feel alienated if we do not do so, or are not inclined to do so. From this, Wade identifies three camps that makeup hookup culture: those that opt-in enthusiastically; those in the middle that remain ambivalent and may dabble, either out of some form of a supposed obligation or out of curiosity; and those who choose to opt-out altogether. Here’s the catch, “‘Even if you aren’t hooking up, there is no escaping hookup culture’” (Wade, 91).
I find myself situated in the latter end of this spectrum, obviously, and that can lead to problems of its own. In a culture that is steeped in the notion that everyone is having sex when you openly go against that idea, you’re put in a somewhat awkward situation. A situation in which people believe you are judging them for hooking up and ultimately end up judging you. I find this aspect of being incredibly ridiculous because I have been on the receiving end of this, and never once did I think or claim to judge someone based on their choice of having casual sex. Honestly, I just find myself wanting to be included but ultimately end up an “‘outsider within’” (Wade, 99).
So now that my social status as a pariah is sturdily put into place let’s go back to the beginning. Dating, I want to start dating, more seriously at least. As you can imagine, though, it’s quite tricky, but more importantly, I’m the most significant obstacle standing in my way of a healthy relationship. If you recall, I previously stated that I have pretty severe abandonment issues which have put me into this cycle of self-doubt and worry. Notably, that any partner I have will end up leaving me. Whether it be for my virgin status or a number of my other self-image issues, I’m terrified that anybody I get involved with is going to wake up one day and realize they’re waiting for the wrong person.
As we reach the end, you might be wondering what the point of this was. You’ve learned that I want to date, despite being celibate in a culture that promotes promiscuity but have effectively cock-blocked myself with my own internalized issues related to my upbringing. What I’m hoping you’ll take away from all of this, is an awareness of hookup culture, and its dysfunctional nature. Going further, a recognition that those who opt out of a cultural experience usually have a reason that more than justifies their choice (though justification shouldn’t be needed). So next time you find yourself face-to-face with someone who opts out, ask them why (if they feel comfortable sharing) before judging them for “judging you.”