My first date with a woman was a second chance. She asked me out during my senior year of college when I was still partially in the closet. I freaked out, and it took me a year to work up the nerve to ask her about it again.
We met at a cidery in Durham, North Carolina, in a city neither of us lived in. On the way there, I blasted “First Date” by Blink-182. Tom DeLonge’s distinct nasal whine was the only thing I could think of that would capture what I felt, a mix of curiosity and longing I had pushed down for my entire life.
The date lasted two days and spanned multiple North Carolina towns. I left my phone in an Uber halfway through. About a week later, COVID-19 would shut down the United States. We continued to see each other, watching “Tiger King” on Netflix and ordering takeout. After a month or so, things fizzled out. We keep in touch occasionally.
I continued to go on dates with men for three more years, although I wasn’t seeking them out. I think I was trying to prove to myself that I was bisexual. Heterosexuality felt like something that was supposed to happen to me rather than something I actively enjoyed.
In the interim, I found myself dating the kind of left-leaning men one dates in their 20s. They talked about politics in the abstract as things to be debated rather than the real-life experiences of others. I was someone they could share their hot takes with.
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In 2023, I switched my dating apps to exclude men and haven’t looked back. As Valentine’s Day nears, many of us won’t be able to escape what it’s like dating in modern American politics. This is my experience.
Realizing I’m queer was a big part of my dating life
I’m queer. That’s how I would describe myself if someone asked. It affects everything about me, including how I view politics.
For many people in the LGBTQ+ community, being gay is inextricably linked to their political identity. That’s not really by choice – when your entire existence has been stigmatized or outright denied by the right and only tolerated by the left for years, you don’t have the option to be conservative or even apolitical.
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The use of the word “queer” itself is inherently political, a reclamation of what was once only used as a slur – and, occasionally, in my inbox, still is. It’s still a word some people in the LGBTQ+ community are uncomfortable with.
For me, it feels most authentic to who I am. I prefer the fluidity of the word “queer” in terms of both sexuality and gender. “Lesbian” also feels like a fitting descriptor despite my history of dating men.
I can’t avoid the politics of dating
Still, dating didn’t get magically easier once I came out. It just meant that I was finally dating people I was attracted to.
Generation Z, born between 1997 and 2012, is regarded as the loneliest generation in America, with 73% of 18- to 22-year-olds reporting that they sometimes or always felt alone.
This is reflected in our information on dating and marriage: The number of married people has recently risen to 51%, according to the Pew Research Center, after a 20-year decline.
In some ways, this is also reflected in my own dating experiences. Since moving to New York City, I’ve been challenging myself to date more to make friends or find someone special. Because of this, I also spend a lot of time on apps such as Tinder and Hinge.
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Thanks to dating apps, I’ve been on a handful of dates over the past year. While none of them worked out, they all taught me something.
On one date, we borrowed books from each other (they lent me “Nevada” by Imogen Binnie, and I lent them “Gender Queer” by Maia Kobabe). After going to a show with someone else, I discovered I didn’t like stand-up comedy. My hobbies, interests, past, and how I see the world come up when dating. In turn, I enjoy learning the same things about another person.
I’ve also been trying to meet people, friends and lovers alike, which generally means spending time in queer spaces. There are 48 LGBTQ+ bars in New York City. I’ve been to two in the past week alone. I’ve found that most people stick to themselves. When you’re alone, people will strike up a conversation with you, but it’s usually not flirtatious.
Politics will come up in passing, just by the nature of my job. Most people I run into have the same politics as I do. I don’t mind that. I’m sure there are some LGBTQ+ people in these spaces with whom I disagree, but I haven’t come across them.
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Occasionally, I’ll get a phone number or Instagram username while I’m out, but it’s never a priority. I find it more fun to just exist without the expectation of meeting someone. I don’t feel lonely, I feel free.
Dating has gotten easier for me. Now, I hope to find my future.
I do hope to end up with a long-term love one day. As more friends have found their life partners, I’ve started looking to their relationships as examples. The ones I admire the most are the relationships where politics are at the forefront, even if it feels more and more like we queer people have no say in the matter.
I want to be with someone I can communicate with, someone comfortable with my outspoken nature. I want someone to watch movies and television shows with. I want someone I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. To me, that means being with someone who aligns with my political values.
For those in my generation, I encourage you to treat dating or meeting people like a muscle: You have to build strength in it. The only way to combat loneliness is to find your community, no matter what it looks like. It’s not easy, but it is worth it.
I’m going to meet the right person eventually. I have to keep going on dates and looking for that person. All I know is that I’m much happier dating now than I ever was dating guys.
Follow USA TODAY columnist Sara Pequeño on X, formerly Twitter: @sara__pequeno