David Marchino | Lady-killer, loverboy: Just let me sleep

Testing: One, Two | Navigating the hook-up culture

By David Marchino 07/08/15 11:21pm

There’s a common misconception floating around about me. Young rheumy-eyed men wobble up to me at bars, lean on my shoulder and belch in my ear. “Womanizer,” they call me, as they nurse their beer, nodding at some sprite young woman across the room. Sometimes, they invite me to charming little basements, where they and their good lady friend promise to give me a French lesson. “Say it with me, Little Casanova, menage a trois.” But, as it so happens, I’ve only ever had sex with two women, both longtime girlfriends. And I can’t help but feel that the term “sex” might not fully apply to what happened between these women and me. Calling it sex feels dishonest, half-cocked, as though an apologetic asterisk might be necessary. Little Casanova, I am not. In the wake of a devastating breakup, however, I began to wonder whether I could be.

College is presented so often as a venue for carefree hook-ups. We’ve seen it in films, whether they be the kind that air heavily censored on TV or the sort that buffer lethargically in a minimized window discreetly on our laptops. The message is clear: In college everyone is having casual, nigh-anonymous sex, and it is so very good. Newly single, I found the evidence of this overwhelming — the sweaty G-string abandoned in a King’s Court bathroom, the used condom in a Quadrangle lounge, the rumblings of bro-talk emanating from every single laundry room on campus. Suddenly, it became clear that the adage touted by my parents on move-in day was left unfinished. “The world is your oyster,” they smiled proudly. “So go have sex with it,” the campus aura echoed. I could either hook up or miss out.

It became a mission. Gym routines were established. Smoldering looks were practiced. Hair gel was expertly applied. I prowled bars. I cut gluten out of my diet. I Tindered. By mistake, I briefly Grindr’d. I swept right, right, right, pledging myself as the abrasive playa’s naturally arising antithesis — the sexy, mysterious mongoose to their juvenile cobra.

The women flocked to me. There was Tanya*, who could name the first 150 Pokémon in alphabetical order. Eileen*, who vowed she could eat an entire meat lover’s pizza in under 15 minutes. Ayana*, who just didn’t see the point in using condoms. I became addicted to the chase. I was in cold sweats coming down from the kiss emoji high.

Then it was over. My flirtation reserves exhausted, I’d had my fill of the chase. I sobered up, and saw it all as a disingenuous waste of time.

Part of the allure I perceived in engaging in hook-up culture was the breeziness of it. In the 2013 article “Sex on Campus: She Can Play That Game, Too,” Kate Taylor takes on the rhetoric of an anonymous Penn woman. Hook-ups provide a low-risk, low-investment route to sexual satisfaction. Problematic as some aspects of the article may be, I believe these sentiments capture the common conception of casual sexual encounters. In my experience, however, I have found that the true emotional tolls of hook-up culture are understated. So often the committed relationship is portrayed as too draining on the psyche, yet “playing the game” requires an emotional investment just the same. It requires maintaining open networks of potential partners, dealing with the emotional stagnation that results of constantly opening the gate to new people, and the self-grooming necessary to even attract anyone. It exhausted me.

I am proud to live in a time in which the entire spectrum of sexual customs, philosophy and morals is becoming more accepted, but I think touting one as the more emotionally efficient option is to discount the emotional diversity prevalent in our society. I have been dumped, and dumped hard, only to be advised by my peers to cut myself a break and hook up. But this, too, has been taxing and altogether not in line with my own feelings. I take solace in being me as I do in others being them. Regarding my own sexual desires, for now, I take solace and pleasure in knowing that out there people are making love, and it is consensual, intimate, honest and, probably, very hot.

*Individuals’ names have been changed to respect their privacy.

DAVID MARCHINO is a rising College senior from Philadelphia studying English. His email address is dmarchi@sas.upenn.edu.

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