Love & Relationships

Unmistakeable: Myths and Realities of Attraction at First Sight

Kate Sloan

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It’s funny how sometimes, the beliefs you hold most firmly are the ones you most need to dismantle.

I have a core belief about relationships that’s probably stunted my romantic possibilities on many an occasion. That belief is: if someone is meant to be my next beau, I’ll know it. I’ll have a good feeling about them from the first. The sight of their face, the jokes they make, the words they use, the energy of their presence – these things will all feel immediately captivating and right to me. I’ll have a hunch, and if I trust that hunch, it’ll lead to good things.

A few weeks ago, on a romantically distraught evening, I wrote this prayer of sorts in my journal:

I am ready to let go of my unrequited crushes and welcome a new person into my life.

I am ready, but I need that person to incite feelings in me that are unmistakeable. I need to be SURE – in my gut if not in my overzealous anxiety-brain – that this is a person I could and should be with.

Their presence should light me up, set my sparkly heart ablaze. I should crave them, but not in that NRE-soaked way that’s clearly a flash fire headed toward burnout. I should want them because of my neurons, not just my neurotransmitters.

They should embody the word “crush” for me, take up space easily and obviously alongside that word in my life. Zing, bang, boom!

This preference for immediate attractions even shows up in how I navigate online dating. Lately, when I swipe through potential matches on Tinder, I do it mostly based on gut feelings about people’s pictures. Some part of me believes that when I see someone who would really make me happy and enrich my life, I’ll know. Like one of those movie moments where two protagonists meet serendipitously, look into each other’s eyes, and are rendered speechless by their sudden mutual attraction.

Writing that journal entry put words to this idea I’d long held, and those words punctured holes in my logic. I’d never thought about it before, but those “zing, bang, boom!” moments have actually been almost nonexistent for me – even with regards to people I adored, who became crucial to my life story.

My first girlfriend was one of the most intense crushes I’ve ever had, but the first time I saw her, I didn’t have romantic feelings for her at all. She was giving a presentation in ninth-grade English class. Though she was funny, smart, and adorable, I didn’t notice those qualities until I looked back at that memory months later through my newly idealistic lens.

Similarly, when I went on my first date with the man who would become my first serious boyfriend and my first love, sparks didn’t fly right out of the gate. I was intensely anxious about the date and didn’t even want to go. We chatted easily for three hours and I liked him, but I wasn’t sure about him, not by a longshot. We didn’t even kiss until the end of our second date, because it took me that long to figure out how I felt about him. And he ended up being one of the people I’ve loved most in my life.

My unrequited attractions haven’t been instantaneous, either. My biggest high school crush didn’t ensnare my heart until, weeks into improv team practice, he sat down at a piano and started playing Vince Guaraldi tunes. My favorite podcast host, whose voice makes me swoon every week, didn’t capture my attention til I noticed his stellar pun skillz a few episodes in. The cute local theatre actor whose career I follow avidly didn’t turn my crank until after I’d seen him in a few different roles.

It’s obvious, when I look at the actual evidence, that my attractions are rarely immediate. In fact, off the top of my head, I can’t think of a time that an initial “good feeling” about someone led to anything substantial. A bad feeling about someone is usually worth heeding, but I can’t identify a future life-changing individual when I see one.

It’s easy to get swept up in myths popularized by romance novels and cheesy chick-flicks. We want to believe love is simple and binaristic: someone’s either right for you, or they’re not. But as with many facets of human existence, the truth is somewhere in the grey area. The love of your life could be hiding behind a face you wouldn’t give a second glance.

I grew up precocious and too smart for my own good, and sometimes that does me a disservice. I can be so sure I know what I want, what I need, and what works for me – but those notions get turned on their heads time and time again. It’s like the universe keeps trying to teach me the importance of staying open and going with the flow. It keeps teaching me, because I keep forgetting.

You think you know what you want, but maybe you don’t. Maybe your next big adventure is hidden behind the door you never would have chosen. Maybe your perspective is skewed, your lens is dirty. Maybe falling in love is best when it’s like a literal fall: terrifying, unexpected, but rewarding as hell if you survive it.

These days, I’m trying to give the benefit of the doubt to the world and everyone in it. I’m trying to give people a fair chance, even if at first they don’t seem to be what I’m looking for. I’m trying to accept that I don’t know everything, and that sometimes I should let fate take the wheel instead of desperately clinging to it myself.

That means saying yes to invitations from people I might’ve said no to before, and sometimes swiping right when I’m tempted to swipe left. It means setting aside my prejudices about how people look, and choosing to find out more about their brain and heart before I decide how I feel about them. It means being open, which is the scariest and loveliest way to be.

But I’m still a baby, at just 24. There is still so much about love that confuses and defies me. What are your experiences with attraction at first sight? Does it mean magic is about to happen, or is it a red herring? Were the greatest loves of your life a slow burn, or an instant inferno? Did you ever see a face on a dating app, think “I could love this person,” and find out later just how right you were?

Sex on the First Date: Good Omen or Death Knell?

Kate Sloan

IMG_0406I think my last boyfriend cast a spell on me. And he used an Eleven as his magic wand.

Our first date was one of those electric evenings that turned into a white-hot night and then a passionate morning. High on the novelty of each other, we rolled around in my bed just after sunrise, doing wonderful things with fingers and mouths and toys. I barely knew him, but I was hooked on him. I was hooked on him, but I barely knew him.

I remember being pleased with myself that I was able to have sex on a first date. It was my first time doing so, and I took it as a sign that I’d bested my anxiety, at least in this one area. I felt powerful, sexy, strong. And the sex was so immediately good that it seemed to foreshadow more good sex and a rad-as-hell relationship.

But the magic of that first date wrote a cheque that we, as a couple, couldn’t actually cash. I found out quickly that we weren’t compatible – ideologically, emotionally, sexually. Still, the excitement of that first bang-sesh hung over our relationship like a spectre. I kept trying to get back to that sense of electricity and ease. I thought, if I could just be cool and cute and fun and sexy enough, like I was when we met, maybe we would rediscover our chemistry and our sexual connection. But that never happened.

I’m not in the business of telling people when they should or shouldn’t have sex. That goes against the basic tenets of sex-positivity. But for myself personally, I’ve been thinking lately that first-date sex might not be the smartest choice. It kicks my mania and obsessiveness into high gear, making me fixate on someone who hasn’t necessarily proved they deserve my resolute attention. Sex releases juicy neurotransmitters that encourage feelings of attachment, and while that’s often useful, I’m not sure a first date is an emotionally safe time for me to feel those feelings. I’d rather wait until I know someone well enough that I can trust them with my gleeful gushing, my crush-y aftermath.

Having made this decision, I recently started seeing someone new and purposely waited to have sex with him – even though, a couple hours into our first meeting, I thought, “Yeah, I could bang this guy.” I remembered my best friend telling me to view my beaux realistically, instead of through rose-colored glasses. I wanted to take some more time to determine: is this really a good guy who I want to kiss/bang/potentially date? And I knew that sex would distort my ability to assess that. It usually does.

The usual (by which I mean: heteronormative, patriarchal) discourse about first-date sex says that your responsibility as a woman is to withhold sex as long as possible, because that creates the mystery and intrigue that will hook a man and make him stay. It’s said that “men give love to get sex, and women give sex to get love.” I think that’s all bullshit, but it’s interesting that I came to the same conclusion – sex on the first date is a bad idea for me – through entirely different reasoning.

There’s another reason I’m against first-date sex for myself, and it’s a more fun one: waiting builds desire. My attractions are rarely instant; a person’s hotness quotient in my mind is a gradually-stacked pyramid of good jokes, thoughtful gestures, smart thoughts, feminist allyship, and social intelligence. If I think you’re cool on the first date, I have the potential to think you’re a scintillating mega-babe by the third date – but probably not before that, because I need to know you to find you deeply hot. Rushing into sex with near-strangers feels, to me, like eating pasta that’s so lightly cooked it can’t even be considered al dente – sure, it’s food, and it’ll fill you up, but you’re not gonna be thrilled about it.

When sex finally happens, I want to be aching for it. I want to be ravenously curious about what’s in your pants and what’s in the darkest, lewdest corners of your brain. I want us to know and like each other well enough that the desire for sex is a desire for each other, specifically, more than it’s a generic desire for naked bodies, warm mouths and orgasms.

For similar reasons, I prefer not to sext with people I barely know. Counterintuitively, it tends to make me lose my boner for someone, if I had one to begin with. When a near-stranger pushes my sexual boundaries, it either bores me or sets off alarms in my head, even if a trusted partner could turn me on to no end by pushing those same exact boundaries. To me, when sexting is hot, it’s because of the person on the other side of the screen, not just the things they want to do to me. And if we barely know each other, I’m just not invested enough for that spark to materialize. I don’t care.

Maybe this’ll change eventually. Maybe there will come a time when I’m able to keep a cool head after having sex with a new person. But for the time being, taking my time works spectacularly. I’m revved up and ready by the time we get to bangin’, and the experience itself is less like undercooked pasta and more like a thick steak marinated to perfection. And when we’re done, I don’t lie there feeling oddly empty and anxious; instead, I feel happy, peaceful, and accomplished, like I just won a marathon I’ve spent months training for.

 

What are your thoughts and experiences re: sex on the first date?

Poly Diaries: So I Guess I’m Poly Now…!

Kate Sloan

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I remember the exact day I decided monogamy wasn’t for me. Actually, it wasn’t a day; it was a night, in late May 2012. Some friends and I checked out the first-ever Crush T.O. at a small, intimate bar. My then-boyfriend accompanied us, and while I loved him deeply, I found myself wishing I could escape his just-slightly-possessive gaze to go cavort with some cuties in a dark corner somewhere.

That night, we had our first of many arguments about monogamy. “Honestly, I wanted to flirt with people at that party tonight,” I told him when we got home. It was a mild assertion, by my present-day standards, but that boyfriend was (and, as far as I know, still is) one of the most monogamously-minded people I have ever met, so he felt threatened by it.

“Monogamy has felt like an itchy sweater to me recently,” I wrote in my journal that night. “I love ____ so much, but our world together feels limiting and insular… I want to meet new people in a flirty context that gets me giggling with glee, but that’s impossible when my über-monogamous boyfriend is glued to my hip. I miss and long for the feeling of a fresh crush. The exciting open waters of new flirtation.”

Over the ensuing days, we negotiated an arrangement that seemed to be, at first blush, a reasonable compromise. I was allowed to flirt with and kiss other people, to assuage my understimulated heart. But I couldn’t go any further than that, and I wasn’t allowed to tell my boyfriend about these dalliances, because hearing about them would make him uncomfortable.

While this seemed, theoretically, to solve the problem I was experiencing, we quickly realized it wasn’t a perfect solution by any means. For one thing, it’s very confusing for other people when you tell them you’re allowed to kiss them but things have to stop there. Several of my makeout partners wanted more, and so did I; it felt unnatural to stop them, every single time, but I nonetheless did it, every single time.

Secondly, the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule started to grate on me. My partner was my best friend and closest confidante; it felt unnatural to hide these exciting exploits from him. Plus, in retrospect, it seems to me that he created this rule because he was 100% Not Okay with me romancing people but knew he’d lose me if he corralled me into absolute monogamy, so he basically wanted to pretend I wasn’t doing that stuff. It felt to me like cheating, every time, even though it was ostensibly allowed, because I had to keep it a secret from my love.

Thirdly, our compromise remained unsatisfying to me because I still had the sensation of being “owned.” Beyond just being denied the extracurricular sexual experiences I wanted, I also wasn’t allowed to post nude photos of myself online, perform in sexy cam shows, or even pose solo for the porn company my friends had just launched. My body, mind, and sexuality were controlled by my partner, and while that’s a standard feature of monogamous relationships in “vanilla-world,” it was not what I wanted.

Years later, I had a conversation with a fellow poly-inclined friend in which she said, “Monogamy feels inherently abusive to me.” I agreed completely. This is a controversial statement, so let me explain. I’m not equating happily monogamous relationships with abuse; monogamy is often chosen, and abuse is obviously not. Monogamy makes some people very happy, and abuse obviously does not. But when monogamy is not chosen – when one or both partner(s) is shoehorned into it because it’s the expected default in our sexually possessive culture – it feels like a totalitarian regime is being imposed on your genitals and your heart.

To me, the most upsetting part of monogamy is the sense that another person gets to decide what I do and don’t do with my body, and what I am and am not allowed to feel in my heart. My independence and autonomy are fiercely important to me, and I don’t feel independent or autonomous when I’m in a monogamous relationship.

I bumped up against this issue again four years later. Back in March of this year, I started dating a boy who agreed to non-monogamy immediately when I brought it up. What a relief, I thought, when it seemed we were on the same page about this issue. He wanted us to always ask each other’s permission before each individual encounter with another person, and while this seemed reasonable at first, I quickly discovered it gave me those same “You own me” feelz as my more strictly monogamous relationship had. One time I asked this new boyfriend if he would be cool with me shooting blowjob porn with a friend, and he furrowed his brow and replied, “Yeah, since it’s just for porn, I’m okay with that.” The implication was that he would object to me sucking another guy’s dick if it wasn’t for porn, and, let’s face it – I would definitely want to do that at some point. So it seemed our ideas of non-monogamy didn’t quite line up, and that relationship didn’t last much longer.

Now, I’m dating someone new. We met a few weeks ago, on Twitter of all places. He’s smart, funny, kind, cute, and great in bed – so, of course, I was really hoping our feelings on non-monogamy would align. And so far, it seems that they do! He’s dating someone else, happily encouraged me to keep seeing my beloved occasional fuckbuddy, told me to keep him posted if I start seeing anyone new, and values open ongoing communication the way I do. YAY!

This is my first time delving into #PolyLyfe in any real way, and I’m sure I’ll encounter some challenges: jealousy, communication problems, social stigma, and so on. I hope to write about these as they come up, chronicling my foray into the weird, wild, wonderful world of ethical non-monogamy. But for now, I’m over the moon. It’ll be difficult, but not anywhere near as difficult as it was for me to deny my true self and live an unsatisfied monogamous existence for so long. When you desire the destination bad enough, you’re willing to put some work into the journey!

Pretty, Polite, & Pumped As Hell: How to Rock a First Date

Kate Sloan
I wore this in 2011 on my first date with the man who would become my first serious boyfriend. Aw, baby Kate.
I wore this in 2011 on my first date with the man who would become my first serious boyfriend. Aw, baby Kate.

Oh, first dates. Is there any situation more nervewracking, or more filled with potential?!

I get freaked out every time I go on a first date, even if it’s with someone I’m not especially excited about. I’ve been known to send panicked last-minute texts to friends while putting my outfit together: “What if he thinks I’m ugly or boring?!” “What if he’s a serial killer?!” “What if he wants to do [x sex act] and I’m bad at it?!”

However, once the jitters are sorted out and I’m on my way, I usually have a pretty good time. Whether a first date ends in passionate sex or a chaste cheek-kiss, whether it leads to something more or nothing whatsoever, it’s still an interesting opportunity to get out of your comfort zone and go on an adventure of sorts.

Here are my guiding principles for a successful first date. Of course, you could follow these to a T and still have a disastrously bad time… but at least if you do, it’ll be the other person’s fault and not yours!

1. Be on time. Lateness is the height of rudeness. A first date is like a sexy job interview: your aim should be to put your best foot forward and project the absolute best possible image of yourself. That means being polite and respectful, including in the way you manage your time. It’s good manners to be 5 to 10 minutes early for any appointment, but especially one as emotionally precarious as a first date. If you find yourself running late for any reason, notify your date ASAP, apologize, and keep them updated on your ETA. I know you’re not a jerk, so don’t act like one!

2. Dress well. Back in March, I wore a shirt with a hole in it on a first date. I’m not saying that’s why the relationship ended in bitterness and confusion, but I’m not not saying that, either. Look, I just think it’s a good omen to put effort into your appearance for a first date, both because it helps impress the other person and also because the spiffier you feel, the suaver you’ll behave. Your outfit should be setting-appropriate (probably don’t wear a church dress to a punk show, or a crop top to the symphony) and should make you feel badass and foxy. Bonus points if it includes at least one “conversation piece” (I like to wear my vulva ring on first dates, because, well, if someone’s not cool with that, there probably won’t be a second date).

What I wore on my "date" with Kidder.
What I wore on my “date” with Kidder.

3. Know what you want and be honest about it. Granted, not all first-date conversations meander to heavy topics like “What are you looking for?” or “Why did you decide to go on this date?” but if yours does, you should be prepared for that convo. If you’re only out for some casual fun, don’t tell your date you’re looking for something meaningful to pacify them; likewise, if you have your heart set on (eventual) commitment, don’t act like the Captain of Chill. It can be terrifying to frankly state what you want, but hey, dating is always a gamble. You’re far likelier to get what you crave if you’re able to ask for it. (And by the way: if you don’t know what you want at the moment, it’s okay to be honest about that, too.)

4. Have a solid pre-date ritual. This is crucial for me, as a person with anxiety. I need a Pavlovian get-pumped-up pre-date routine to banish anxiety and summon my best self. Mine involves loud, peppy music, lots of time spent on my makeup and hair, and texting with supportive friends. Get your prep on point and the rest of the evening will feel smoother for it.

5. Limit your substance intake. If you regularly partake of alcohol or drugs, I recommend you cool it on first dates. Even if your date matches you drink-for-drink, it probably won’t lead to good places: carrying on sharp conversations is harder when you’re blitzed, you don’t retain information as well, and you act different from how you normally would. If things get sexy, intoxicated consent is a fraught issue, especially with a new partner whose body and tastes you don’t know. Plus, if your date is someone from the internet or who you just don’t know very well, it’s safest to keep your wits about you, just incase. I know those soul-searching, three-beers-in conversations can be great fun – mulling over life’s big questions together while getting progressively flirtier – but maybe save those until you know this person a bit better, mmkay?

6. Pick a place where you can talk. In my experience, lots of folks get nervous about not seeming “cool” or “fun” enough to a new potential partner, so they’ll try to take you to some Mega-Awesome Thing like a stand-up comedy show or a drive-in movie theatre. It’s my staunch opinion that all first dates should be “let’s talk and get to know each other” dates. It’s best if this is a low-commitment situation like coffee or a drink – as opposed to a full meal, where you’re stuck in your seat for at least an hour even if the two of you end up hating each other. All my best first dates have involved going out for some kind of beverage together and talking for hours. If your conversation crackles and flows, that’s hugely useful information that you totally wouldn’t have found out if you’d met at a loud punk bar or arthouse cinema.

What I wore on a Tinder date in Minneapolis.
What I wore on a Tinder date in Minneapolis.

7. Be prepared for sex. Responsible adults know that dates might lead to sex and sex carries risks. If you’re going on dates without safer-sex supplies in your bag/pockets/car, what are you even doing?! In addition to condoms and whatnot, you should also prep your body and mind in whatever ways make you feel sex-ready – you don’t want to be in bed with your gorgeous new lover later tonight and find yourself unable to focus on anything but your prickly legs and musky junk.

8. …but don’t feel obligated to get sexy. There are all kinds of “rules” about sex on first dates. Some say it ruins a budding relationship; some say a sexless first date is a disastrous omen. The truth is, there are no set-in-stone timelines for how dates or relationships are “supposed” to go. If both people want to have sex and are emotionally and physically prepared to do so, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t – but there’s no rush, either. You do what feels right for you and don’t let anyone shame you. If your date is The Right Person, they’ll be on the same page as you about sex stuff – or they’ll be willing to get on the same page as you.

9. Ask them about them. My number-one complaint about most boys on Tinder is that they’re terrible conversationalists. Don’t be that guy. Be interested in your date, ask questions and then follow-up questions, and really listen to what they say. Strangers often seem boring until you discover what’s interesting about them. Give them the opportunity to show you that, by asking them about themselves. (This has the added effect of making you appear to be extremely charming and socially skilled. Yay!)

10. If it sucks, leave. Like Alana Massey says: “Stop wasting your time on bad first dates.” If someone is rude, or boring, or wants different things than you do, or you just don’t find them as attractive as you thought you would, you are not obligated to continue with the date. Be polite and respectful (if you can) when you duck out, but don’t let yourself be guilted into prolonging an encounter that’s absolutely not working for you. Those of us raised female (or Canadian) are especially prone to feigning enthusiasm for the sake of politeness, but you don’t have to do that. You deserve better than that.

What are your first-date commandments? What are some of the best and worst first dates you’ve been on?

I’m an Obsessive, Intense Weirdo and I Wouldn’t Trade It For Anything

Kate Sloan

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Today as I write this, my body is heavy with depression. My thoughts feel foggy and it’s been hard to move all day. It took enormous energy just to write to my best friend and tell them what was going on with me, and their gentle prodding from afar was the only thing capable of rousing me from bed. I slogged to a café, ordered something peppy to counteract my sluggishness, but even robust espresso can’t shake my sads off. I have bipolar II and this is how my depressive episodes are, sometimes: a deep and inexplicable sadness I feel in my mind and my body, and just have to ride out.

When I ask myself how my life would be different without mental illness, the temptation is to think: “I would be so much happier and more productive!” And while that might be true, I also wouldn’t wish my bipolar disorder away. Because the manic episodes are worth the depressive ones for me. My occasional mania is key to my personality, a perky prism through which I sometimes view the world. Most of my best ideas, my finest work, my biggest contributions to the world, originated in mania. It’s my superpower.

Back when I was in high school, and hadn’t yet been diagnosed, my emotions confused me. It always seemed that I felt things more deeply than the people around me. When I was sad, I wept for hours and journaled endlessly about my feelings. When I was happy, I giggled hysterically, distributed hugs freely and couldn’t keep a big dumb grin off my face. I noticed details more than other people seemed to, fixated on them for longer, and remembered them more clearly. When I liked someone, I really, really liked them.

This is still how I am now. Getting a diagnosis gave me some answers, but it didn’t really change anything. I still seem to experience emotions more strongly than most people I know, and that can be very isolating – especially romantically. I get addicted to and obsessed with people in a way that’s supposed to be special and rare, but is just par for the course for me. If I’ve ever been romantically or sexually interested in you, I guarantee there are pages upon pages about you in my journals, dozens of complimentary musings about you in my chat histories with friends, and elaborate fantasies about our future married life floating around in my brain.

Media narratives tell me that this kind of fixation occurs only when you’re deeply, truly in love with someone – but that’s not consistent with my experience. I obsess over potential beaux regardless of the longevity or validity of my feelings for them. It’s like I’m drowning in a sea of New Relationship Energy, except it happens with everyone I’m interested in, whether or not they’re new to me or we’re actually in a relationship.

As you might imagine, this brain problem makes it hard for me to engage in casual sex, or to approach romantic encounters with any degree of “chill.” When I had casual sex for the first time last summer, I journaled lengthy missives about the dude’s perfect dick and top-notch sense of humor, complained to friends about how he would never be my boyfriend, and then wrote a song which contains the lines, “I don’t have the strength/ to keep you at arm’s length/ I fall for all callers to my bed.” And, truth be told, I didn’t even like the dude that much. After he’d left my life and the dust had cleared, I saw that we’d never been that compatible. (He openly hates puns and musicals, and loves sports. I mean, really!) I’d seen him through rose-colored glasses, because my brain is addicted to romantic and sexual stimuli. Dick, any dick, lights up my neurons and makes me feel desperately out of control of my emotions.

Writing this is embarrassing. I am sitting in a coffee shop and cringing as I type these words, because I know someone will read them who I wish wouldn’t. At least one person reading this right now, inevitably, is someone on whom I have turned my laser-focused headlights of infatuation at some point. Maybe they are recoiling in surprise and fear, shocked to learn how deep my feelings went – but it’s more likely they’re just nodding in recognition. I am not good at hiding my feelings. Faced with a crush, I dissolve into a blushy, giggly, dorky mess. It is not subtle and it is not “cool.” Sometimes folks are okay with it, and sometimes they’re not and I scare them away. Either way, I am always profoundly embarrassed by how strongly I feel my feelings. There are times when I wish I could shut down my heart, so I could, at last, become chill and detached like everyone else.

But, deep down, I know I would never do that, even if I could. My strong feelings are what make me me. When I write corny love songs or impassioned blog posts, that art stems from my bottomless well of emotion. If I’ve ever written anything about desire or heartbreak that you found relatable, it’s only because I’ve been flooded with those feelings so completely for so long that I know them inside and out. My heart is in a constant cycle of passion, joy, desperation and despair, and though I’ve been down this road a thousand times, it hasn’t gotten any easier. But that intensity makes my life exciting, my art compelling and my world vivid as hell.

Maybe one day I’ll get tired of it. But for now, after 24 years of living inside this crazy roller-coaster brain, I’m still pretty at peace with it. At least, as much as you can be “at peace” with anything while riding a roller coaster.