Picture this: you’ve been having headaches for a week, no sex for a year, and a missing period (hi PCOS) after 2 years of having it quite regularly. Yes, my life has always been this interesting. No, but seriously, what gives? Oh, not to mention, you haven’t been out on a date in 7 months now.
It’s a Saturday night, I am in my silk gown that makes me look like the desperate housewife that I am, and my only wine glass is filled with white wine as always. My stomach is so bloated that I can use it as a table, and nothing will fall off. The sounds of the unhappy Amy Winehouse are playing, as always when I’m writing. Especially “You should be stronger than me” – a song explaining (sexual) dissatisfaction of men.
No sex for a year: an explanation
Question is, what do I write about? My missing period or my nonexistent love/sex life? At this point, you’d probably say: “Hey, it’s normal not to have a sex for a year.” Or you’d tap me on the shoulder and say one of two things:
- “But you’re single and working on your career – it’s normal”
- “I know this amazing guy that you’d like. Let me give you his contact”
No and no. I’m good thanks. I have never been the type of girl who likes set ups. In my early teenage years, I believed in being completely spontaneous and before all, dating apps were definitely not approved by my so-called SOPHisticated taste (my name is Soph afterall). But, as years change, your priorities do too. Furthermore, as the biggest proponent of online dating, especially in the times of a deadly pandemic, how are you going to meet people?
How are you going to meet people when you live in a vicious cycle of capitalism – a.k.a. your life revolves around work? Okay, fine it’s not capitalism. I’m just a workaholic. Fine, you got me. *eye roll* Where are you going to meet people when you’re trying to jump start your own business? Or simultaneously working for another company and 4 more independent projects?
On the other hand, one thing that happens when you really, honestly grow and develop a deep self confidence and self-love is that you don’t tolerate shitty behavior anymore – you become honest, first with yourself and then with other people too. You do not let people waste your time, especially not on shitty dates.
Because let’s face it, if there’s no flow in the conversation – it’s a shitty date. If he has no sense of humor or doesn’t really know how to socialize, then he’s not my man. Sorry gents.
As you grow up and mature you realize what you actually deserve, especially if you are a smart, accomplished and ambitious woman. And if you are reading my work, there’s a 99% chance that you are one.
But what is this that you (and I) deserve?
Well, for starters, someone who knows how to start a conversation and doesn’t send pictures of his dick. A guy who can laugh at meme with you and can be okay with you making the first step. Someone who is on your level – mentally and physically, in the sense of intellect, interests, and very importantly ambition.
Often, women such as myself (unfortunately by other women) are told “to tone it down” “you’re scaring men away” “you’re too dominant”. So, it is women’s’ fault for being “too much” in order to satisfy men. Well, what if I tell you that we are not off to satisfy men. We are off to satisfy ourselves. Sexually or not sexually.
The quasi-perfectionism of shallowness
Anyways it’s been a year. It’s no sex for a year kind of. I mean, blame it corona, right? Eh, probably. But looking at the market of “single, eligible bachelors” it makes you feel like they are out of the good stuff that was on a promotional sale.
Dating has become like going to a supermarket – you go there, pick a fruit, look at it, squeeze it to see how fresh it is and, then you decide whether you buy It or not. Same as dating apps – you see someone’s profile, read their bio (personally I very rarely swipe right with people who have no bio) think about it for a whole second and then you make your “purchase” decision.
But to me, right now, it feels like all the market is offering is glossy fruit, but when you actually buy it, it tastes like plastic. It even tastes fake.
I have always been an optimist, but as Amelie says: “Times are hard for dreamers.”
The market of “single eligible bachelors” is saturated with very glossy fruits without taste. You see these perfectly sculptured bodies and amazingly edited photos (like damn, their photoshop skills are better than mine) with bios ranging from funny clichés stolen from the internet to “travel, gym rat” or “why don’t you text back”.
That’s probably why there’s no sex for a year.
Because, women like me and you, we ask for essence – we ask for depth. We ask for it – never demand it. And sadly, today’s world has immersed itself into pure quasi-perfectionism of shallowness.
So, now what?
So, how do we get deep? How do we extract the essence of what seems to have none? How do we truly find the essence in a plethora of quasi-perfectionism of shallowness? Do we continue searching for essence, hoping to find it? Do we give up? If we give up, then what do we do?