Good Morning, Gorgeous

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“Did your mother ever have any kids that lived?” I’ve always loved that insult from the classic 1986 movie, Stand By Me. Not only did Vern recover from Teddy’s jab, but along with Chris and Gordie, the pre-teen buds continued on their 20 mile trek to see a dead body. It is hard to argue that with smart phones in every kids’ pocket, we have taken both a giant leap forward and a devastating step back.

Vern and Teddy rallied, and a mile or so further down the train tracks, they were laughing together about their favorite part of the most popular kids’ show on TV, The Mickey Mouse Club. “Annette’s tits are great,” Vern snickered, and his friends all smiled and agreed. I have to admit that not much changed between 1959 and my summer before middle school 25 years later. Annette Funicello wasn’t the object of our ogling, but the ogling continued unabated.

Each fifth grade class at Smith Elementary School in Martinsville, Indiana was rewarded with a spring send-off. We didn’t call it anything cheesy like “continuation.” I think the teachers called it, “the good riddance trip,” and unless they were the ones tasked with chaperoning, it was an early start to their summer break. We camped for the better part of a week in Bradford Woods. The boys’ cabins were a respectable distance from the cabins the girls occupied. But if we squinted and worked hard to get just the right angle through the trees, we could see the girls dancing outside their cabins in their panties. We boys thought we were being sly but later found out that the girls were aware of their audience and knew exactly what they were doing.

I have such fond memories of my early dating experiences. It seemed there was an informal rotation of partner swapping as who was going with who seemed to change weekly. “Going where? Where are you going?” my father would ask even after he learned the lingo. In middle school, we weren’t going anywhere beyond bicycle range without rides from our parents. We mostly traveled in clumps, just seemingly rotating who held whose nervous, sweaty hand with innocent little grins on our faces. I don’t remember any Annette Funicello tits in middle school, but I remember a courting culture that seemed as old as time with rituals of awkward flirting and notes of inquiry passed between the potentially interested parties’ best friends.

So rare and unthreatening was the concept of depression or anxiety that I have a vivid memory of the only thing that ever seemed to cause me a moment’s pause back then: the one who got away. I never got my turn on the rotating romance merry-go-round with Heather Browning. She went with some of my friends, but just scrunched her adorable little nose up at me. I moved away from Martinsville early in middle school. I reconnected with some of my adolescent friends and crushes during my four years at Indiana University, but not Heather. I don’t think I’ve seen her since we were eleven or twelve, but I stalk her on facebook to this day. Nothing creepy. She has a lovely family in Martinsville and is still in touch with many of our middle school friends. None of her posts mention with longing her regret about not pledging her love for me before my family’s move to Kansas City, so she’s hiding her heartache well.

Attraction and romance seemed such a knowable concept back then. I never wondered what characteristics were appropriately classified as masculine. If I worked up the courage to talk to a female, I never worried about doing something cringy. Rejection was part of the game, just like standing in the mirror and cursing my zits, and learning not to wear sweat pants in public because I was not in control of when my dangling fury decided to stand at attention.

Admittedly, it was not a safe time for people of alternative gender identities or sexual orientation. I was part of the problem playing a game that featured a football and violence called “smear the queer,” and when we called someone a fag, we weren’t calling them a cigarette. Although we still have a way to go to eliminate all bigotry and ignorance, now is a much better time for people who are not heteronormative. I wish I had not laughed, or made cruel jokes, at the expense of my friends who were in the closet because it wasn’t safe to be out.

But with that important caveat acknowledged, the point is that for most of us, the game of attraction had clearly defined rules that we all understood. I might be in the last generation for whom middle school romantic exploration was as simple as it was patriarchal. We didn’t know what that word meant, but we all accepted the dynamics that define it.

As nostalgic as I can be, I am relieved that all of those dating customs and romantic traditions have changed. The rules have changed because the game is now different. For the first time in human history, women have achieved physical, financial, and intellectual independence. Females no longer have to enter into marriage contracts to secure their safety. It is a glorious time to be celebrated. But along with celebration, we need to clear up a lot that is misunderstood.

I recently facilitated a discussion about dating after the dissolution of long-term alcoholic partnerships. I learned something very interesting. I have heard both sexes universally lament the prevalence of dating apps for many years now. I have heard women say they feel stalked by horny creepers, and I have heard men complain that they have to swipe right 100 times to get a cup of coffee with a woman. The women on the panel I learned from said they use the apps for discernment. They go much deeper than the profile picture because they want to learn about potential mates before meeting in person. They have to feel safe, physically and emotionally, before picking a coffee shop. I learned of a prevalence of men on the apps that post pictures with their shirts off and type insightful messages like, “Good morning, gorgeous.” I am surprised it only takes 100 swipes right to get a date. My gender is participating in a brave new world of female independence by complimenting Annette Funicello’s tits to her face.

We are bringing hot dogs to a vegetarian picnic. We are trying to pick daisies with a bulldozer. It is great if you’ve maintained six-pack abs into midlife. I’m jealous! But maybe lead with kindness and curiosity, and save the indication of your commitment to health for once she believes you aren’t just going to the gym because that’s where women wear their sports bras on the outside.

So if the patriarchy is dying a deserving death, and if appropriate masculinity is in a Goldilocks conundrum (not too toxic and not too femmy–we’ve got to work hard to get it just right), then what is attraction? What is attractive? What are we looking for in a mate or a partner or relationship?

Research from as recently as a decade ago is worthless. The speed of cultural change is breathtaking. Technology and COVID deserve the criticism they receive for threatening our culture, but we have also advanced greatly in spite of, and in part because of, the challenges of innovation and pandemic. We don’t need each other, men and women, in the ways and for the reasons we have needed each other since the beginning of time.

The rules are different. No one is passing notes of inquiry between best friends.

So what are we looking for out of a modern romantic partnership?

We are trying to answer that question, and we need your help. Please take our new, five-minute survey to help us understand attraction and relationship preferences. Even if you are firmly committed to a mate, and not interested in the dating scene, your opinion about what is attractive is still super valid and relevant. We want your opinion even if you know who Annette Funicello is, but we particularly need younger participants in our research. Since young adults are not a big audience segment for our blog or podcast…

If you have an adult child, please send them this survey! Please.

Please click the link below to take the survey. We don’t ask for any identifying information, we have no way of connecting your responses back to you, we don’t ask any embarrassing questions like we have in previous research, and the survey should take less than five minutes. If you read this far, you care and you are part of the solution. Help us solve the quandary about modern attraction and relationship dynamics. Click the button below and take the survey.

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Oh, and Heather Browning is not my 6th grade crush’s real name. It is said that some lazy writers often use the same first letters of the names they are replacing, in case you knew me in the 80s and are trying to figure out who it was the first time my heart cracked a little.