The Dating Pandemic

Dating during the pandemic feels damn near impossible. On the bright side, I’m grateful for the extra motivation to skip parties and dodge yet another round of “So what do you do?” But if I’m honest, the global health crisis has only added layers to my already extensive dry spell. Even before the virus, there were precautions: avoid red flags, ignore love bombers, don’t fall for emotionally unavailable types. Now we’ve added PPE to the list. As if we weren’t already wearing metaphorical masks in our relationships, now we have physical ones too. The “talking stage” has become less optional and more enforced — and weirdly enough, these mask-off conversations have turned into a new kind of intimacy. And honestly? I’m not mad at that. What does make me mad? Dating apps. They either feel like a party I’d never willingly attend or a sad reminder that maybe I’ve outgrown the whole scene. The swiping, the small talk, the soulless bios. I’m either too bored or too busy to pretend I enjoy it. One afternoon, while getting a money order for my rent at Publix, I found myself lingering in front of a poorly organized sales endcap near customer service. My eyes landed on an all-in-one bleach kit — the kind that whispers, remember when we were fun? In a slump and craving some sort of change, I grabbed the box of bleach… and a box of honey blonde dye right next to it. A familiar combo from my twenties. The right blonde is hard to achieve, though, so — in a moment of what I thought was wisdom — I also grabbed a box of darkest brown, just in case things went left. I mentally patted myself on the back for being older and wiser. As I shuffled through the clearance dyes, my phone buzzed. That damn app again. You have 10 new matches. I opened the inbox to find a message that simply read: Good Morning… The profile photo wasn’t much help. I couldn’t tell if he was taller than me or if it was just the angle. He was wearing an army fatigue Herschel hat and a navy blue v-neck shirt with tiny white logos I couldn’t quite make out. Still, I responded: Good Morning. He replied, What up. My name is Prince. Oh really? I have a cousin named Prince… is that your real name? He teased back: Naw, it’s Akeem… The name clicked. Like Eddie Murphy in Coming to America?? Yea lol I stared at the screen, momentarily speechless. You know, most kids these days wouldn’t get that reference, I joked — just as a text banner popped up from Nola, my best friend. She was on her way over. Right — I’d forgotten I asked her to come take headshots. I closed the app and made a beeline for self-checkout, hair dye still in hand and thoughts racing. Was he serious? Was I just being cynical? What even is dating anymore? And underneath it all, as I stared down at my box of bleach and wondered how these headshots would turn out, that tiny, persistent voice returned — the one that always seems to show up when I’m standing between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. Am I good enough?