How I Learned to Stop Hating Video Dating
They say if you do something enough, you’re an expert at it, and I take a bit of pride in my mastery of first dates. Not that they are always good or that I always give or get a second, but I can feel people out fairly easily and adapt accordingly. I can read a room decently enough and come up with questions beyond the standard fare. Because my own fear of rejection makes it physically painful to see rejection in others, I laugh generously and appear interested (within reason). I know my way around a first date.
Enter the global pandemic. I’m staying home, as we all should, and video has become the way of the world. That includes dating. So last week, I scheduled my first video date. I’d matched with this man on the app I founded where friends swipe for friends. Not only was I excited to go out with someone from my own app; seven of my friends had matched me with him. There was a consensus that we were a good fit, and from what I could tell, I thought so too.
But before it started, my pre-date anxiety peaked like it hadn’t in years.
Video has always weirded me out. As a xennial, the concept of video as a kid was limited to playing around with my dad’s old camcorder. Remote connection for me meant long nights on my corded phone, safely out of view. Even now, if a friend tries to FaceTime, I will decline immediately and call them back with audio. I do work calls with video turned off as often as professionally possible.
How could there possibly be chemistry if the setup is that of a work meeting?
A not-insignificant reason for my aversion is that I have frizzy, curly hair that’s usually doing who knows what, and I’m that precisely terrible mix of insecure and vain that makes seeing my own face too distracting to concentrate yet I can’t look away. On normal dates, of course I’ll think about how I look for a few minutes beforehand, but once we’ve started, I want to forget about it immediately.
Before this video date, I was stressed. And not only about confronting my own image for at least an hour. I wondered how I would be able to read the situation over a video call. How could there possibly be chemistry if the setup is that of a work meeting? I realized there would be no external surroundings for us to comment on. The silent pauses would be deafening! The angle so close up and unflattering. My arm would get tired from holding up my phone. This could not possibly be fun.
Reader: It was fine. Not fine, it was great. (Although my arm did get tired). I didn’t have to waste time traveling, I didn’t have to spend money on booze, and — best of all — I could sit comfortably on my couch with slippers and cozy Christmas-themed pajama pants (which I am also wearing right now, for the record). Plus, we had something to immediately talk about: the total weirdness of having a video call.
Not only could I tolerate video chat, was it possible that I actually kind of liked it?
After I broke my video-date seal, I kept going. I was seeing someone briefly while spending time in California before the coronavirus hit, and we’ve been texting now that I’m confined to New York until further notice. I suggested we do a video date instead. That I would be the one to push for video felt absurd. Not only could I tolerate video chat, was it possible that I actually kind of liked it?
This one was more like a video hangout. A long period of lounging and talking — a next-level video date if you will. And, let’s be real, there are more levels if people want it. My first video date was fun and casual, but doing it with someone I’d already gone on dates with felt intimate. In a way, it almost felt more intimate than hanging out in person. The silences were, in fact, weirder than real-life silences, but they were also fine. It didn’t spark boredom or a desire to hang up, like I feared it might. If anything, they proved that our interest in the other person was bigger than the immediacies of moment-to-moment entertainment. My arm did get tired, again, but this time I admitted it. And when he recommended I rest my phone on my pillow, I also admitted, only half-joking, that I was not going to do that because I wanted to get the best angles. We both laughed. We were just two people getting used to video chat together.
As we continue to shelter in place for the foreseeable future, our dating lives are not over. In fact, it might be a chance to try something new. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t think all dates should turn to video — physical touch and in-person chemistry matter, too. And I’m as eager to have them back as anyone else. But if you don’t want to change out of pajama pants for someone you haven’t met yet, it could be a pretty great solution.