In this month's edition of Can I Vent For a Sec?, writer Malavika Kannan answers two questions from readers about romance and dating. They bring up some relatable issues: Is it worth telling a friend you have a crush? And if you haven't had a relationship yet, are you doing something wrong? Ultimately, we're all just struggling through our feelings and hoping for the best. Below, Malavika answers your major questions about love.
—Queerplatonic
Homoerotic friendships are a rite of passage, and—to me—hands-down the most beautiful, exquisitely painful part of being queer. “Tortuous” and “fun” are accurate! I joke that I am a retired homie hopper because I used to pathologically crush on and date my friends (best friends, specifically). While it sometimes worked out, at some point I realized the turnover was so messy that I needed to recalibrate my attachment patterns. Dating friends is a high-risk, high-reward kind of gamble.
Unfortunately, Queerplatonic, if you’re anything like me you won’t be able to resist rolling the dice. Crushes can be de-escalated in certain situations, but friends are a crush category of their own, because you aren’t projecting hypothetically onto a semi-stranger; this is a person you know intimately, without delusions. You can’t get the ick if your heart knows who you want. And if you’re reading your friend’s flirtation correctly—which I think you are (one dating hill I’ll die on is that tension is never imagined)—there’s a non-zero chance they feel something too.
I think you should be honest with your friend, but in a neutral, low-pressure way that simply acknowledges the romantic tension without expectations. The next time you two are alone and things start feeling charged, I’d check in with your body, then express it. I’d say something like, “Does it feel like we’re on a date?” Or, “Am I the only person who feels like we’re about to kiss right now?” I wouldn’t say it as a joke; I’d say it totally seriously, with lethal eye contact. I’d honor the possibility and fullness of the tension, if only for a moment.
All too often, sapphic love isn’t taken seriously, but treated as a goofy bit between girls, which continually bites us in the butt when it’s time to act. Of course, you could play it off into a joke if needed. But courage is contagious, and your friend might take the invitation to admit they feel similarly. If you can both acknowledge that there's a vibe—which there absolutely is—you can then have an honest conversation about what to do, whether that means setting it aside for the sake of your friendship, giving dating a go, or maybe even kissing right then and there!
I’ve been on both sides of the friend confession, and I’ve never regretted it. In my experience, homoerotic tension always boils over, and it’s best to get ahead of it. Remember: To be told, by someone who knows you fully, that they love you, is a gift of intimacy like few others. When so much of dating is a nonchalant game, it is courageous for someone to lay down their cards. This kind of love is the whole reason I write (a whole novel about it, in fact), and it makes me feel alive.
Ultimately, the torture of not knowing is an unsustainable place to be. Your heart will be held hostage until you get clarity. I know you mentioned that your friend tends to be flirty with many people. Admittedly, as someone who gets unintentional flirt allegations, I’ve come to feel that it isn’t considerate or safe to flirt unless you mean it, and a lack of boundaries or intention can hurt friendships in the long run. If your friend isn’t romantically interested in you, this might encourage them to be more careful about how they interact with you, in order to protect your heart.
Be brave, soldier! I’m thinking of you both.
—OP
Dear OP,
You remind me so much of myself at your age! When I was in high school, I had zero romantic motion. The most action I got was—tragically—random sexual harassment from weird boys. I hated it! Like you, I was deeply satisfied by my friendships, extracurriculars, and social life, and I’m so grateful, in the long run, for each year I spent pouring into myself, becoming someone whose company I love, who can hold myself down, whether or not I am partnered. I smiled when you wrote, “I like who I am,” and I suspect you’re well aware there’s nothing wrong with you—it’s just comparison, external pressure.
I see a lot of fearmongering from older generations about how young people are experiencing less dating and sex, and while it’s probably true that many of us are held back by anxiety, trauma, or shifting generational expectations, as you so aptly noted, I also wish we’d view less sex as a neutral fact, not a moral failure. What would happen if we made a smaller deal out of dating, sex, and boyfriends? What new space might open up in our hearts?
There’s a quote by the feminist writer Rebecca Solnit that I turn to often: “I set out to write books, to be surrounded by generous, brilliant people, and to have great adventures. Men—romances, flings, and long-term relationships—have been some of those adventures, and so have remote deserts, arctic seas, mountain tops, uprisings and disasters, and the exploration of ideas, archives, records, and lives.” Wow! I long for deserts and mountains for us both. Having a boyfriend is an adventure, certainly, but your life will be rich and beautiful even if you stay single your whole life.
That being said, it’s totally normal to be curious about, and even long for, romantic experience. I’m not woke enough to deny that I love love, crushes, dating, and that my life, personally, might not feel full without those adventures. (I have more romance-neutral or asexual friends who feel differently!) When I was your age, I wanted nothing more than to have sex. (When I first encountered the horny, impulsive character Devi on the show Never Have I Ever, I thought somebody had spied on my teenage diary.) As soon as I graduated high school and moved out for college, I started accumulating experience at an unprecedented rate. I love what you said about "following rules that no longer apply,” because I feel that in my gut: We are writing our own scripts in real time, adapting to modern dating technologies, heightened political tensions between genders, attacks on reproductive rights, and more. It’s worth taking time to discover and write your own rules.
With my friends, I lovingly call this discovery era a hoe phase, whatever that means to you. Sex never has to be part of it. My own hoe phase—which I’ve dipped in and out of between periods of partnership and dating and celibacy—has allowed me to unpack my queerness and learn what I am attracted to and the traits I value in partners and myself. I’ve made use of modern technologies my ancestors could not dream of, including dating apps and (my personal favorite) the social media DM slide, which are super helpful for putting yourself out there. Dating is just practice. As you get older, you’ll get your reps in, and you’ll stop feeling afraid. Butterflies, excitement, and adventure, though—I hope that will never stop. I’m excited for you!
Sweet one, you’re just getting started.
