RE: My Inaugural Cuffing Season
Okay, from the jump, I realize I may have made a mistake. If you read the title and got excited because you thought I was participating in cuffing season this year, I apologize for misleading you. Despite being on Hinge for about a month (or maybe now it is actually a thing I am choosing out of spite BECAUSE I am on Hinge), I am still as blissfully single as I was before I sacrificed a small slice of my ever-dwindling phone storage. What I meant by labeling this entry as I did is that I finally understand why the late Autumn and Winter months have this affectionate–or dreaded–term.
For all of my fully-formed adult life (I am not counting my collegiate years here), I have lived in Los Angeles, California–i.e: a place with absolutely no seasons. For my unfamiliar readers, the weather in LA ranges from, what I now know is, comfortably chilly to melt your clothes off hot. In London, I have found the opposite to be true. Since I got here in mid-August, it has either been cheerily warm or so cold I find myself wishing I had pajamas made out of a parka and about 57 blankets to throw on top of that ensemble. The wet and cloudy weather is still my favorite. But, to my surprise, and frankly a bit to my horror, an unexpected thought has started to nibble at the very center of my brain, a perfect partner to the permanent chill that has taken up residence in my bones: It would be nice not to be alone right now.
While this is very true on various levels–the most pressing of which is the body heat generated when two people share a small space– the first time the thought passed through my cerebral cortex was while I was searching for a horror movie to watch. However, my exceptionally independent brain only dwelt on this musing for approximately 45 minutes before coming to a conclusion I know will make my family and friends inwardly and maybe even outwardly groan: I can still watch a horror movie regardless of my relationship status, and I don't have to do it alone if I don't want to. So, I did what some may say I do best by setting out to organize a party. It was very lowkey by my personal standards, just a simple text to my flatmates asking if any of them were in on the weekend and, if so, would they want to watch a couple of scary movies. One said yes to both, so Molly and I spent a lovely evening on the couches in the den with X and Pearl for company.
My discovery a few weeks ago was not groundbreaking, but every time the weather shoots that echoing thought around my brain, I come back to it as I make a reservation for drinks at a bar I've found or buy tickets to upcoming concerts or holiday shows. Each time I do, I can't help but think of all the women who won't make the same choice because they believe that the activities that coincide with this time of year can only be spent building romantic relationships. (I guess men can also be included here. If you're reading and relating to it, there you go.) I promise you that is not true. You can have just as much fun, arguably more so, sipping espresso martinis in fancy hotel bars or nursing Irish coffees tucked away in a cozy corner with your friends as you can with someone you are physically attracted to. In fact, I think most people are not really searching for a romantic connection this time of year at all but simply for companionship in general. It's beloved Christmas classics like Love Actually and The Holiday that have conditioned us to tie the next few months together with a big red bow and write 'love' on the tag. (Something I am in no way complaining about, by the way.)
I may be typing this from my bed with a hot chocolate balanced on a book beside me while cosplaying Amanda Woods (see below) because I still haven't solved the body heat conundrum included in this problem. Still, I do feel like I have enough of a handle on everything else that cuffing season will not claim me in the short-term relationships it peddles. However, it has only just begun, and as someone who often eats her words, I'm not giving the universe that kind of leverage.
<3,
Sydney
