Did you miss me? Because I missed us. 

We had a summer hiatus and now I’m coming to you after the last weekend in August, a little sunburnt with bruised knees from a semi topless drag rendition of Hinder’s ‘Lips of an Angel’ performed after a couple of tequila shots on Fire Island (I was there to help out with Doll Invasion). Of course, that’s a small fraction of what I got up to, but more later. 

We are gathered here to take what we learned from a bratty, retrograde-rife summer and apply it. We’re going back to school, and if you have a praise kink just know you’re very, very good for doing your reading this week. 

Today’s reflection on three months of sun, salt, and more salt (from tears)? That our own dating pools are so bleak a lot of people are outsourcing their love lives not just to different boroughs, states, or coasts, but to different continents. I know I’ve shared my penchant for doing this in the past, but this summer it seemed like everyone and their polycule sought brighter shores to find a summer fling. Myself included. Old habits die hard. 

Lesbians are not one to be intimidated by a distance (or ocean) between them and a potential love interest, but since when was this the norm at a global scale? I blame TikTok and an unnamed dating app I am extremely loyal to. 

Since we’ve been apart for so long, I’ve decided to break the fourth wall for you a little as a treat and name a few names…of my friends. 

My friend, the actress Djouliet, routinely stumbles across romantic dalliances on the prairies of Winnipeg when she returns home. My friend Andrea, otherwise known as the film programmer @sadnessvarga, found love in Australia. Andrea went down under, literally and figuratively, and returned in love. She even posted gorgeous carousels of her new beau on main (dedicated column to follow). I don’t blame her, they have a shaggy, aughts pixie cut and tattoos and interesting-looking friends – that is to say, they are hot. 

International relations are nothing new to digital-first dykes, but what are we really looking for when we set our sights beyond familiar friend groups (this is what adults call cliques) and state lines? 

I have a couple theories. 

The first is that it’s so easy for our own webs and charts (IYKYK) to feel small, even if we are in big cities. Nothing makes a major metropolis feel cosier than the threat of running into an ex around every corner. It’s easy to tire of a scene after a couple years or crave a fresh start. But beware, intrepid traveller – the second you dabble in the LA or London or New York or Berlin or Paris or TikTok scene begins the countdown to that world feeling too close for comfort. And it happens faster than you’d think. But nothing’s sexier than someone mysterious and new.

It’s so easy for our own webs and charts (IYKYK) to feel small, even if we are in big cities.

The idea of being with someone unattached and drama-free (at least in the sense of overlaps) is soothing, but is the price we really have to pay for the peace that relative anonymity brings worth it? 

Have we reached a point of interconnectivity and local dread where we have no choice but to pack our bags and fly thousands of miles simply to go on a cute date with someone who isn’t off-limits for one of the cardinal reasons (ex, dated a friend, non-ironically posts thirst traps on social media)? An old one-night-stand I happened to share a flight to Sweden with (they’re happily partnered now, we’re neighbours) certainly highlighted the inescapability of queer geography. And the New York scene seems to shrink by the day, but I famously have an incredibly consistent and specific type (If you’re a dyke that vaguely resembles Kurt Cobain, my DMs are open). 

Nothing’s sexier than someone mysterious and new.

But just like booking a vacation usually doesn’t solve your problems (try telling that to my Jupiter in Sagittarius), can a romance abroad really satisfy the same way someone you share an area code with can? It depends on what you’re looking for. A Parisian food stylist I flirted with tonight let me know that one-night-stands are no longer interesting to her, which is fair. I’ve outgrown them for the most part, too. But is flirting in earnest with someone you may never actually meet a way to dodge people we have a chance at building real relationships with? 

Is dating beyond your time zone actually a form of avoidance? Do we keep ourselves from getting too close in every sense of the word by choosing paramours we can only see if we book a plane ticket or tend to digitally like a tamagotchi with rizz? 

It’s certainly one way to compartmentalise.

Andrea would say no, and my hopeless romantic self agrees. Overcoming impossible obstacles for love is inherently sapphic, so distance doesn’t intimidate us. We really should all get stipends for dating-related travel. Maybe Ellen could finance that as reparations for, you know, everything. But someone not living in your city inherently keeps them at arm’s length, and in the honeymoon stage if you aren’t in deep enough to really miss them. 

Overcoming impossible obstacles for love is inherently sapphic, so distance doesn’t intimidate us.

If you’re a good student, you’ll recall that a crush is a lack of information. Amend that to a delicious lack of information. But a deficit nonetheless. And it’s impossible to really get to know someone unless you’re together in person. FaceTime conversations at the beginning even sound and feel sweeter than real life. If you’re together only when you’re on vacation, the whole thing’s a trip. So abroad broads enjoy a longer residence in the crush category than someone who’s a subway or tube ride away. It’s easy to not get annoyed at someone not texting you back for a week at a time when there’s no chance you’d see them anyways. 

But maybe we want that, and that’s what we’re being sold by gorgeous short videos of sapphically-inclined global citizens and paying a premium for dating apps that let us move our location to anywhere in the world. 

I’d like to offer a third option, maybe a middle ground (like Brooklyn, if you find yourself in an LA-meets-London dalliance). The unknown is sexy. The new girl phenomenon is hot. Throwing someone you have zero mutuals with on your Instagram Story, live from Broadway Market, with palpable sexual tension offers a similar rush to poppers, with less brain damage. 

We could just be having fun and participating in my favourite form of tourism, which is through hot people who live in places you are visiting. One time, a date even drove me to go shopping in CDMX because I realised I really needed a more dramatic earring for the outfit I was going to wear that evening. And this summer, I made out with a girl on several East London corners without a single thought about who we might see (I only have two exes who live there which is a statistical improvement overall). 

But buyer beware, catching feelings for someone so far away comes with risks. When you reach the point where you’re bickering about the best time for FaceTime sex, you’re too far gone. 

Being saved as Miss America in someone’s phone on the other hand? Pure diplomacy. 

Loved finding out why lesbians aren’t intimidated by LDRs? Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:

When’s too soon to say “I love you” if you’re also a lesbian?

In a world of lesbian drama, can my situationship be my Valentine?