Mrs. Hers and Jude Lessons
Beesley, ‘26
People Receiving Ghosting Messages, Image: Getty Images
A few months ago, I had a crush on a beautiful girl named Rooney. This weekend, I found myself hooking up with her brother Jude, a recent culinary school graduate.
Jude and I hit it off at a Sarah Lawrence party when I asked if he could make my favorite food, chocolate chip cookies. This eventually led me to list all of my favorite things in the world: national parks, boobs, and the list goes on. When the party got shut down, I asked if he wanted a tour of campus, and he agreed. We found ourselves at the softball bench asking a series of intense questions, occasionally interrupted by making out. He slept over, and we discussed seeing each other in the future.
The next day, I texted, “Hey Jude.”
No response. I had been ghosted.
Having been ghosted a few times, I still find it unsettling due to its ability to expose my deepest insecurities. I suddenly find myself going in a loop of every trait that I have that is unappealing. Should I have put on a performance that was more to his liking because my real personality was undesirable?
Society often ingrains in women that they must accept what is in front of them, as it is believed to be a privilege to be with a man. It is hard to unlearn what I have been taught; I find myself lowering my standards for male validation, only to be unsatisfied with the connection, the treatment or even myself afterward. After reading feminist lesbian theory, some argue that all heterosexuality is compulsory and rejection is good.
So I decided to go on a date with a woman, Mrs. Hers. Throughout the date I deviated from the dating script, discussing things more deeply than my number of siblings and place of origin. There was a level of intimacy that was different from what I had with a man. I had enjoyed my time and reached out for a second date.
I got ghosted again.
Somehow, that confused me more. I had expected something different, maybe even something gentler. I thought that stepping outside the heteronormative script might offer some kind of clarity. Some kind of safety from the familiar sting of disconnection.
But the silence felt the same no matter who it was from.
Realizing gender doesn’t shield you from disappointment, and it doesn’t guarantee depth either. Relationships, I’m learning, exist beyond the confines of social expectation. They inhabit the unpredictable space between two people who try and sometimes fail to meet each other.