“So there’s this boy...”
Uh oh. Now I’ve done it – again. What started off as a casual encounter in the school library (he let me take the copy of The Secret Agent without the bent cover, and I helped him find the last 1984 amongst the cluttered shelves) has now become a full-fledged crush, complete with twittering heart, “Did I actually say that?” moments, and permanently crossed fingers that maybe my search for the one who would sweep me clean off my wow-I’m-just-realizing-how-awkwardly-large-they-are feet is finally over. I can already see it: my very own epic study abroad romance. We’ll hold hands in Camden Market and skip through Hyde Park and take a train to some quaint little European city with a name we can’t even pronounce. It’ll be perfect.
Well, almost.
This crush has a potentially tragic flaw. I’m pretending it doesn’t bother me as much as it does. Maybe I’m just being shallow. Really, he’s only a couple of inches shorter than me. It could be worse. I don’t really care about perfect posture and I loathe wearing heels anyways. Besides, if that couch-jumping wacko Tom Cruise and ex-Dawson’s Creek punk Katie Holmes can pull it off, then so can (not quite so) little old me, right?
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first of many steps ascending to the DTR.
And what is a DTR, you might ask? Short for “defining the relationship,” the DTR is that conversation. You know, the one that is generally avoided for as long as possible because it can make things really awkward, really fast[1], and nobody wants to come across as one of those crazy control freaks who feels the need to put a label on things too quickly.[2] A successful DTR will result in both parties coming to a mutual understanding of where each one stands in regards to the relationship. Are we a couple? Are we friends with benefits? Are we breaking up, or just on a break? Are we ready to take our relationship to the next level… and change our Facebook statuses? Are we happy with the way things are but are agreeing not to label said things?
So you’re probably thinking this sounds complicated. I mean, when our grandparents were ruddy-faced lads and lasses, the DTR consisted of a simple yes or no answer to a single question: “Want to go steady?” And while I’m sure that “going steady” wasn’t always as peachy as sharing an ice cream soda at the malt shop, the traditional dating rules simply don’t seem to apply in a generation that sees casual dating as the norm and is overall much more flexible when it comes to relationships. In our society, it is conventional for non-married couples to live together, divorce is anything but uncommon, online dating, albeit being slightly creepy, is perfectly acceptable, and every other college student could probably name at least one “friend” with whom they’ve shared a little bit more than a love for beer pong and How I Met Your Mother. With so many different ways to define not only an individual’s relationship with another human being, but one’s relationship with the world of relationships, it’s no wonder that a DTR could get a little uncomfortable. But the irony of our generation exists in the fact that even though our options are endless when it comes to relationships, we still struggle to put some kind of label on them (my grandfather has never even heard of a DTR). That being said, the question that plagues me is this: Does what actually goes on in a relationship determine the relationship status, or does the pressure to have a status end up defining the relationship?
As if things weren’t complicated enough, DTR can also be seen as an ongoing process. Sure, at some point or another the mother DTR conversation is bound to occur, but that conversation alone should not serve as the be all end all of how a couple relates to one another throughout coupledom – especially considering the number of outside factors[3] that can, and often do, influence a relationship. The most influential of factors, however, may indeed be internal. Few things are more potentially disastrous to a relationship than one or both partner’s individual perceptions and expectations as to what being a couple should be like – especially when these criteria don’t match up. Most DTRs don’t address these questions, instead answering “how we feel about one another” as opposed to “how we feel about relationships.” If both parties agree that things should be more serious (or stay casual), then, generally speaking, that’s that. In that sense, it is almost necessary that DTR progresses as the relationship progresses, so as to avoid confusion and heartache for one or both sides. But the problem here in lies in the fact that liking someone – I mean, really liking someone – almost always means that we will go to great lengths to ensure that said someone likes us back. In the case of DTRs, that generally means concealing certain pieces of our “how we feel about relationships” puzzle that don’t quite seem to fit with our beloved playmate’s. Maybe I’m stretching the metaphor, but am I the only one who can’t stand the sight of a puzzle with missing pieces?
This trap is especially dangerous for women, who, by nature, tend to overanalyze every little text message or body signal and who have likely had every detail of their weddings planned since the age of six.[4] Furthermore, any women’s magazine will tell us matter-of-factly that successful couples are ones who plan romantic getaways, send flirty e-mails, and try a spicy new position every week. While there is nothing wrong with any of these suggestions, having such a destination-driven approach to a relationship unnecessarily idealizes the couple status – like being an official couple is some sort of club for which the big DTR is the entrance fee and the right to exercise nauseating movie theater PDA is one of many benefits. But as nobody really wants to wear black on Valentine’s Day or have a oh-so-cutesy, long-term “it’s complicated” Facebook relationship with their best (also single) friend, can you blame us for conjuring expectations of just how green the grass is – and should be – on the other side? But while this phenomenon is highly explainable, that doesn’t stop it from being destructive. Just because Lisa P. and Greg F. from Cincinnati surprise each other with poetry and weekend trips to Paris doesn’t mean a couple who stays in to make late night pancakes and watch LOTR three nights in a row is automatically lackluster. After all, a truly D’d R should ultimately revolve around how a couple feels as opposed to what it does.
But DTRs aren’t strictly reserved for couples. Perhaps the biggest crock ever invented is the glamorous single life. Sure, not having arm candy does leave you plenty of opportunity to grow as an individual. It’s less messy for a single person to transfer jobs to a new city, and it’s nice not having to share toothpaste or feel guilty for making eyes at a cute bartender. But let’s be honest, does every single gal really want to spend the next howevermany Friday nights buying her own G&Ts and rocking out on the dance floor to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”? I highly doubt it, and I’m a girl who loves her gin. Can’t we singles simply not be in a relationship and leave it at that? Do we really have to throw anti-Valentines parties, eat popcorn for dinner three nights in a row, and/or mingle[5]?
It seems to me that hiding behind the façade of singledom is a pretty scary place to be. In fact, many women I know who have found themselves perpetually single have adopted their relationship status as a large part of their identity. One of my dearest friends has never had a boyfriend, and she has grown to perceive the dating world with much skepticism. This girl is striking – blonde-haired, blue-eyed, intelligent, socially conscious, spent a year living in Argentina – she basically has a lot to offer someone, but the right person just hasn’t come to sweep her off her feet just yet. She has expressed to me on many occasions how insecure this makes her, and I often observe her judging her worth based upon how invisible she feels to men.
My friend is by no means alone. The ever-thriving nature of the beauty industry alone is enough to make anyone wonder if not having a ring on it really is the life of the party. But while it breaks my heart to see my friend struggle with issues of identity, I realize the problem is much more universal than the dance floor during “Single Ladies” would suggest. Most women – and men – could probably think of a time when they have changed, hidden, or invented some aspect of their personality in order to impress a crush. For me, it’s not wearing heels – this time. In the past I’ve learned to snowboard (I hate being outdoorsy), dedicated all of my creative energy to photography (I’ve wanted to write since I could speak), and started listening to ska bands (ummm… what?). And while none of these new activities harmed me in any lasting way (ska did lose me a few style points), I concealed parts of who I was from the guys with whom I was supposed to be building an honest and healthy relationship. Human nature causes us to crave intimacy and connection, but how connected can we really be if we keep hiding the things that make us who we are?
Which brings me back to library boy. Interestingly enough, I found myself saying over red wine and curry something along the lines of “I’ve come to realize that most girls will do anything for the guy they like.”
Did I actually say that?
I really hope he didn’t get any bright ideas. And I really really hope I don’t end up fulfilling my own observation in a way that could end up hurting to one or both of us should the relationship develop into something more than dinner and puddle jumping on Brick Lane. Am I really willing (or able) to hide the part of me that has always been hyper-self-conscious about her 5’10” frame? And even if we did have a whirlwind romance in the shadow of Big Ben, he’ll be going back to Pittsburgh in December and I to Minneapolis. Am I really willing to push aside my deep-rooted belief that long distance relationships are doomed to fail?[6] I dunno, so I guess I’ll just avoid any sort of DTR for now. Besides, part of me is still holding out for Robert Pattinson. And I’m perfectly happy being Facebook married to my freshman year roommate anyways.
[1] Because let’s be honest, any awkward situation is synonymous to a downright snafu in our generation.
[2] Because let’s be honest, keeping your options open is just so much more fun to our generation.
[3] Friends/family approval, emotional baggage, Cosmo quizzes, Edward Cullen
[4] Orchids, Vera Wang, and extra buttercream frosting, please.
[5] Single and ready to mingle? Excuse me while I vomit profusely.
[6] That, my friends, is another story. (I’ve always wanted to say that).
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