Let’s face it: alcohol is not only a social lubricant, but a dating lubricant as well, and not of the R-rated, jelly-flavored variety. The majority of us who are not strung up on life – or Adderall – find ourselves relying on the magic elixir to smooth out awkward situations, evoke fake feelings of fulfillment, and find depth where there is none. Those of us who are dating in a country filled with Men of Mediocrity may find ourselves doing this a bit too much, resulting in painful hangovers that do nothing but proliferate the budding sense of despair. Which is why I recently decided to conduct an experiment in which I deprive myself of this joyous substance for exactly one month and analyze the effects it has on my body, my mind, and my dating life. This experience can be described as simultaneously painful, masochistic, and eye-opening all at once. Let me elaborate with some key learnings.
It is damn near impossible to date losers sober. You see, there is something called Rosé Goggles, which allows one to process Tinder people from random walks of life with a certain joie de vivre, getting lost in the most boring and banal of conversations, as dead-end as they may be. The newly sober me does not stand for that sh*t. She is straightforward, opinionated, and not afraid to cut the date short if its leading nowhere. She’s a Power Playa. She’s the next Hillary!
Hooking up in a club is disgusting. Let me put it this way: when you are sober, everything starts to smell after 1am. Particularly nightclubs. Particularly people in nightclubs. Particularly a certain hookup buddy, who backed me into a corner of le Pompon two weeks ago, seductively asking me if I would like him to accompany me home. The mere idea of his sweaty self in my bed grossed me out to the point where I ran out of there like Cinderella on green juice crack, screaming bloody hipster murder. Hence, nights are decidedly less fun.
You know what’s fun though? Mornings! And flat stomachs! And my energy levels on a Sunday at 8am! My productivity has risen by 150 percent and I now peak in the early morning, along with the birds and the Parisian elderly from the nursing home around the corner.
If you like somebody sober, this means you actually like them. In the midst of this torturous process, I managed to somehow meet somebody I liked, during the day, with nothing but the sun and the polluted Spring air to ignite our magical connection. Considering we hang out exclusively on Sundays and mainly in parks, he has seen a Flower Child version of me that might not eventually match up to the real deal. I suppose we shall cross (or crash) that bridge when we get there!
You must stop before you become a pompous asshole. Before you get your panties in a bunch, know this: you don’t start feeling the benefits of sobriety until week 3. Everything before that is pure agony of staring at people’s wineglasses and silently hating them, yourself, and life in general. Hence, when the euphoric state finally hits, along with it comes a feeling of superiority over all drinkers as a whole, a douchiness that is a bigger problem than drinking itself. Therefore, I am officially done with this whole thing as of tonight… Especially as I am now in New York, which I am now rediscovering for its grand abundance of very eligible, clean, accomplished-looking men! Stay tuned!