The witching season is upon us, and even though my period is no longer perfectly synced with the full moon, something spooky is afoot. I’m not talking about the ever-growing trend of people using Esty witches to deliver comeuppance to their exes or get someone to text them back. I’m not even talking about the fact that I think a witchy girl I may or may not have done dirty four years ago (not in a fun way, and truly one of the only times I’ve really behaved like a f*ckboy in a gay way) has placed a strong and enduring curse on my love life.
I’m talking about ghosts.
You see, if you subscribe to the official cuffing season calendar (which is bullsh*t and our generation’s digital version of the commercialisation of Valentine’s Day), scouting was over the summer, drafting top candidates happens in September, and tryouts are now, with pre-season happening in November, and, at long last, cuffing season taking place in the December holidays, culminating in Valentine’s Day as the championship game.
I think I’ve been doing this all wrong, because I tend to have whirlwind romances in January (maybe because of my Capricorn stellium idk) that fall apart in the weeks after I craft them a thoughtful, homemade Valentine. But I’ve also had someone to text the last few Novembers. And as an American, the next best thing to bringing home your partner for Thanksgiving (which we are considering a family meal that appropriately and accurately acknowledges the unfair treatment of Indigenous Americans by settlers through present day), is having someone to send updates to throughout the whole ritual. Why is exchanging pictures of each other’s cousins and plates of mashed potatoes…weirdly hot? Column re: holiday loneliness and modern indications of lifestyle compatibility to follow.
There seems to be a disproportionate amount of people who drop off once sweaters start to be layered over our white tanks. Is it because Halloweekend is second only to Pride in the opportunities it offers for gay chaos and people want to keep their options open? Or maybe because summer was so fruitful for some they’ve skipped tryouts all together and the way you’ll find out you didn’t make the cut is their hard launch via couple’s costume? It could even be because the colder weather makes it easier to avoid people and the diminished risk of public run-ins causes a lapse in responsible communication. Point being, it’s ghosting season.
People have strong opinions about ghosting, Alexa Chung’s recent ‘Subway Take’ was that ghosting is fine. And I kind of agree with her.
Here are the circumstances in which ghosting is appropriate: a bad first date, a first date in which someone asks you “how have I failed you on this date” because they can tell it is going so terribly (being 22 was rough), if someone hurts you in any way, if they embarrass you, if they express a belief that is a drastic departure from your values, if they stand you up and then try to apologise, if they stand you up in general, if they aren’t upfront about being partnered and poly, if they show up wearing a Patagonia vest (and not in a gorpcore way), if you find them annoying, if they are rude to a service worker, if you learn something illuminating about them via a mutual. This all applies to the first two dates and/or people you have not slept with.
If you’ve hung out with someone three times, I have the (maybe old-fashioned) opinion that it is simply better form to send a direct and kind text to tell someone you aren’t interested. I know it’s rare, but I don’t really ghost people. I leave people who are no longer welcome in my life on read, but that’s different. You can’t be a ghost if it’s clear you’re ignoring someone, rather than disappearing. Proving a point is different from vanishing with no rhyme or reason.
I kind of have a formula for not ghosting lackluster dates from stints in my early twenties when I dated with the velocity and hopeful abandon that can only be attributed to an under-developed prefrontal cortex.
I stay for one drink, maybe two, say I have to get up early, avoid sharing any sort of transportation with them home, wait until I get home, and then send the following message if I have no care to ever see them again (feel free to steal it):
“It was so nice meeting you today! I think I’m looking for something different right now, but truly wish you the best with [insert something they mentioned they are working on or interested in], and thanks again for [if they bought you a drink or coffee or dinner mention it here to be polite].”
Voila! You can sleep at night with a clean conscience and forget they ever existed.
If you could see yourself actually being friends with someone:
“Hey! So good to meet you tonight. I’m feeling more of a friend vibe between us, and truly would love to be friends if you’re down. Also thank you for [if they bought you a drink or coffee or dinner mention it here to be polite].”
Sorry for using the word “vibe” here unironically readers, sometimes it really is the best word for a sticky text message.
I’m also a huge proponent of being honest and direct if you bump into someone who ghosted you. This happened to me at a Pride party over the summer. I had texted this person at length, we’d matched on dating apps, we’d had multiple plans that they canceled and made excuses for, until they just stopped responding. And we have some mutual friends. So when I finally met them and confirmed they were, in fact, still with us on this earthly plane, I obviously said:
“Hey, [name redacted], I don’t think we’ve ever actually met in person, right?” She was kind of too stunned to speak, then said “I met someone, so…” To which I responded: “Congratulations! Hope it worked out!” And she said: “We just broke up.” I expressed my condolences and learned we approach conflict differently.
I tried to patch things up by replying to her IG story and she responded and it was all too clear that I’m probably too much for her. A Sagittarius would have probably taken me calling them out on their bullshit and turned that into us fucking in the bathroom. But she’s not a fire sign and is doing completely fine for herself. She is extremely hot and wifed up again. Not being afraid of confrontation makes for great stories and the consistent feedback from everyone I sleep with that they’re intimidated by me.
But it’s rare that I act like this. My therapist said it was all fine, and I started to wonder if this guilt around communication was a byproduct of being socialized as a cis femme woman. We’re supposed to carry ourselves like a Disney princess, fuck like a porn star, and have the composure and good intentions of an absolute angel. But in our lord’s year 2024, I’m finally giving myself permission to be a complex female character (and dressing up as Isabella Rosselini in Death Becomes Her for Halloween). Being palatable and squeaky clean for everyone is exhausting. I could be so wrong about this, but I feel like people within our community who embody and present as more masculine get a lot more leeway for messing up and then growing up, their occasional bad behavior being kind of hot, and all too often their feelings aren’t taken as seriously as someone who presents as more “girly”. Can we let femmes be messy once in a while and still love them?
I need to be honest with you all that I recently didn’t follow my own advice. I slept with someone over the summer and it was fun and good but also Pride weekend and I knew we weren’t a long term match and I had a clean communicative ending with them and it was feeling very evolved and true to form…and then a couple weeks later the most intense ovulation cycle in recent memory hit me. I’m being so honest dear, dykey readers; I could not focus, I could not eat, I couldn’t think about anything other than…sometimes you just need a Saturday alone in your room with your white noise machine working overtime. This happens roughly once a quarter for me, but as we’ve established I’m perennially single and maybe things would taper out if I had a consistent partner, and the jury’s out on what that would be like. Anyways, I did what you should never do after you maturely and thoughtfully stop something before it’s really started: I re-initiated.
You see, I had warned this person that I was dark and twisty in the words of Meredith Grey, a paradigm of hot, ambitious, slightly mentally ill and horny American women of a certain age everywhere. But just because I warned them, doesn’t mean what I did was kind or okay. Is it unforgivable? I don’t think so.
I texted like a fuckboy. I felt nothing. I changed my mind about what I wanted by the minute. And when nothing ended up happening, I did it again. And when they weren’t available to meet my exact whim, I got overwhelmed and overthought it and changed my mind again and ghosted them. And then I kind of forgot about it.
Until I went to my local lesbian bar last weekend, after the NY Liberty won the WNBA finals. I walked in, holding someone else’s hand. And I ran into my mutual friend with the person I had slept with on a day that felt like nothing counted. And they told me the person I had ghosted was there. But they didn’t care, because they are an angel. And there I was, dripping in ectoplasm and the consequences of my own actions. I didn’t end up seeing them that night. I sat on someone else’s lap and made out with them for hours and felt like a winner.
But I texted them an apology today. Even though it felt shitty, I did it. It was the right thing to do. Turns out choosing not to be a ghost this Halloween is way scarier than letting yourself disappear into the ether. Do yourself a favour: be brave and have a seance and communicate with anyone you’ve left in digital purgatory.
Stay horny, not haunted.
Loved finding out about where lesbians stand on ghosting? Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:
When’s too soon to say “I love you” if you’re also a lesbian?