COVID-19 Hookup Culture
Graphic by Meher Yeda. Images via Pexels and Unsplash.
Hookup culture is among the many things that seem to have been irreversibly changed by coronavirus. After months in quarantine, the realm in which young adults—specifically college students—date, have sex and find love has inevitably changed. For many, the last few months have meant texting and calling significant others and finding ways to keep romance alive whilst apart, to swiping on Tinder and Hinge, maybe having far deeper conversations than you expected with past hookups or dating app matches, or realizing romantic feelings for a friend.
While the days of drunk hookups in dark frat basements may be over, in the age of quarantine pods, testing, and isolation, the desire for companionship has skyrocketed.
A new dating culture has evolved in these uncharted waters. How and when should you meet up with someone you’ve developed an intense or new relationship with over the phone? What risks must be weighed before deciding to give in to natural sexual desires for physical connection? How the hell do you meet new people during a pandemic in the first place?
These are the questions that I have had to answer for myself and have continually discussed with friends for the last few months. I sat down with (FaceTimed) a few of them to talk about how their perception of their romantic desires, relationships and existence within hookup culture has shifted since March, and what experiences they’ve had during the new age of COVID-romance. Per request, all stories have had the names of those involved changed to remain anonymous.
Danielle recalled an “avid hookup culture” at Northwestern before the coronavirus, and she said it was common for people to practice consistent and random hookups with one or multiple people without much emotional investment. She herself felt she fit into this culture at the time, but since quarantine, to her own surprise, she has been looking for an emotional relationship.
Frustrated that this realization came about during quarantine, she arrived in Evanston with mixed expectations, utterly unsure how she would meet people without parties or in-person class. In her time in Evanston so far this fall, she experienced the new normal first date: a walk to determine if breaking social distancing for a given individual was “worth the risk.” Sadly it was not, but she plans to continue to navigate the COVID-dating scene with her new emotional availability.
This phenomenon is not unique to Northwestern. At Northeastern University, located in Boston, the same protocols seem to apply. The school made a strict policy about having guests inside dorms and expelled students who appeared to be noncompliant, so when Emily and Jonas were set up by a friend they met up outside to play it safe. Without the pandemic, the two may have been able to hang out with their mutual friends and deepen the bond of their relationship. However, the difficulty of finding places to hang out and hookup put pressure on what could have fun and exciting opportunity for casual sex or a deeper emotional relationship. “I feel like there was a lot of unmet potential, or maybe it wouldn’t have gone anywhere anyways,” Emily said, somewhat carelessly. Ultimately, the possibility of such a relationship fizzled. The additional effort required made the relationship feel serious too quickly, which scared both individuals who seemed commitment-averse.
The pressure coronavirus put on relationships, however, has had quite mixed outcomes. The time and space for reflection that quarantine created has also led to realizations for some about existing relationships. After leaving Brown University in March as friends, Ian and Jaya returned this fall as a couple. Over quarantine, they both lived in New York City and found themselves facetiming, texting and even sending letters to each other.
They became far closer than they had been in person, so they each individually questioned if the closeness they began to experience with one another went beyond friendship. In the epicenter of the pandemic, it wasn’t until May that they met up in Prospect Park for a walk and expressed their feelings for one another. And it wasn't until late June—after discussions with their families and each other, both getting getting tested and receiving negative coronavirus results—that the two had any physical contact
The summer meant navigating the difficult reality of balancing safety and an exciting new relationship. The two ultimately decided to become not only exclusive romantically, but also in an exclusive pod together, meaning they could only see each other and their families inside. At the end of the summer the two officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, but they had to continue to navigate the difficulties of managing a relationship and other friendships during COVID while back at Brown. Jaya lives on campus and Ian lives in an apartment off-campus, and the couple maintains strict social distancing guidelines with their pods.
The months alone also oddly opened the opportunity for deeper relationships with entirely new people. Home from college, two fellow Northwestern students who never crossed paths in Evanston matched on Tinder back in their home city. After exchanging some promising chats on Snapchat, they decided to meet up somewhere outside, both nervous about the risks of engaging with someone new when coronavirus cases were still high. In a local park, they shared an awkward and distanced first date on opposite sides of a bench. While this first interaction was somewhat awkward and ended without the two sharing even a masked hug, the conversation online continued to be promising.
Eventually the two met up again, both after testing negative. Excited by the ease and potential of the casual sexual connection the two shared, the rest of the summer involved biweekly hangouts, escalating further and lasting far longer than either expected from Tinder. The low pressure yet consistent situation provided “an excellent source of continued validation and stability during a time of overall uncertainty.” Ultimately the two decided to label themselves “friends who kiss,” but with the start of school, the two have parted ways for now.
Across the country, Tinder continued to take center stage of the COVID-dating. Having known each other vaguely in high school, Talia and Skylar, two New York City natives attending different out of state colleges, matched on Tinder in early April. In the center of the pandemic, through the months of heavy quarantine this match led to a surprisingly intense bonding experience of constant texting and facetiming, talking everyday for over two months before they finally met up in person. They were scared that the apparent seamless connection they had felt online would not carry over into a physical connection, and anxiety about the pandemic delayed the meeting even further.
Finally the two met, and once again practiced the new normal — a picnic date in a local park. The date went well; without the screen the two still felt their connection and were excited and confused about what this would mean for the future. After discussing the implications of infecting their respective pods and families, the two met up again with the anticipation of what they felt would be the climax the past months had led to. Yet the pressure of the situation led to awkwardness, and confusing expectations.
A connection that had felt so important in the months of quarantine was ultimately severed by miscommunications. As New York City began to reopen and it became possible to see other friends and do other things, neither of them had the same amount of time to talk as seriously as they had when home alone.
Sometimes the nuanced difficulties of romance in the time of coronavirus led to important self realizations. After becoming exclusive just a week before Northwestern sent students home for an extended spring break, Riley and Jake parted ways for an unclear amount of time. On their last night together they concluded to allow for the other to see other people while at home. Yet, the confusing non-relationship continued online for months. While in heavy quarantine the two texted and facetimed daily, expressing feelings for each other and excitement about when they could be together next.
Riley, declaring herself as someone who has fallen into a pattern of “serial situationships,” was typically unbothered by faulty male communication styles, and said she had never felt online communication reflected the status of a relationship before. Yet, when texting became infrequent and facetimes biweekly as Jake’s home state began to reopen and he was able to see his friends she became a “Snapchat score checker” for the first time in her life. Bravely, she asked for what she needed, expressing that the lack of attention had upset her, and was met with a classic, “Hey, sorry” text followed by little to no change of action.
Accepting that her needs would not be met by said boy, Riley was able to reflect on what needs had and hadn’t been met from her past romantic and sexual relationships in general. She emerged from quarantine feeling as if she possessed a new awareness of her needs and expectations from the men in her life, and she will only accept what she deserves.
Across campuses, it seems like individuals feel far more sure of what they are looking for romantically and sexually. But without much ability or freedom to meet new people, college students and young adults in general are struggling. Quarantine brought unexpected people together, formed and destroyed relationships, and ultimately changed the spontaneity of much of what once was a vibrantly sexual, although largely toxic, hookup culture. It seems relationships, or at least situationships, are on many students' minds.