the curse of the nonchalant man

plus chappell roan and forehead kisses

When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m gonna be real with you folks: dating is a fraught endeavour, the risk high, the reward seldom worth the trouble. Just when I think I’m ready to further develop my plot and add to my lore for romance, I find myself trapped in a nightmarish web of unanswered texts and lukewarm behaviours. I know they say you can’t step into the same river twice, but I feel like I’ve been caught in the same stream for so long that my skin has turned pruney.

Every time I hang out with my beautiful, kind, perfect in every way, angelic girl friends, our conversations inevitably spiral into the tumultuous waters of relationships as we meticulously dissect texts, story likes, and other social media etiquette. But no matter how much I try to comprehend the mind of my latest romantic obsession, I feel like I constantly bump into the same brick wall of one-worded texts, flimsy plans, and subtle, yet undeniably gaslight-esque, dismissiveness.

No matter which way I look, I am confronted with the phenomenon that seems to haunt us all: the curse of the nonchalant man.

By now we all now the drill: it’s the constant refreshing of your notifications page, compulsively tapping your phone screen to make sure you didn’t miss a text, and then finally attempting to match their level of detachment when it comes to making plans (“yeah we can do wtv if u want”). Just when I think we’re finally on the same wavelength, I realize that I have, once again, misunderstood.

It turns out that forehead kisses and holding hands don’t actually translate to any sort of emotional intimacy; yet, these are behaviours that I associate with the relationships that go beyond casual flings. Why would you say “see you soon” and then actually see me never? Why not be honest from the get-go? I find myself asking for clarity from a muddy puddle on a concrete sidewalk.

But why does this keep happening? Why does the universe keep sending me (and, it seems, my beautiful, kind, perfect in every way, angelic girl friends) the same man in different fonts? Are we cursed? Is it an epidemic? Is it a particular, sadistic rite of passage of your 20’s to survive the nonchalant man?

For the last decade, dating felt like being stuck in a room with yellow wallpaper.

As I conducted research on the matter (had a dinner party with the girls and yapped over bottles of wine), it’s become increasingly apparent that dating the nonchalant man is a cruel game of “who can care less.”

If you take a day to text me back, I will take two.

I will remain available on dating apps and force myself to see other people just to avoid getting attached (the worst crime).

Neither of us are going to make any grand gestures.

“People are less interested when you’re intense,” said one friend. Another added: “I feel like me being more open is going to make people more nonchalant.”

I feel stuck in a cycle of magnetism; except instead of attracting, our poles repulse each other. The move I give the more I tend to lose. When did it become the norm to act so detached and bored? Why is it so embarrassing to be interested past the point of physical attraction?

I caught myself thinking that I would rather chew off my own right hand than admit my feelings for someone because omg so embarrassing. I understand that it’s a defence mechanism, but when you’re pushing 30 it’s more embarrassing to even be embarrassed about what you think is embarrassing. You know?

I’ve lost count of the number of times I heard “let’s go with the flow” or “I’m just super busy right now”—and then the “being busy” is actually just him being employed. As if on cue, the TikTok algorithm feeds me relationship content every time there is even a semblance of a man in my life, to the point where I can no longer tell which thoughts are my own and which ones are social media-generated.

I’m trying to ascribe depth and meaning to behaviours which are genuinely shallow and self-serving. Despite the forehead kisses and the hand-holding and meeting his friends, there is no magic cure for the nonchalantness of it all. Sometimes someone just belongs in the emotional trash.

Over coffee the other day, I listened to a friend complain about being left on read: “I feel like I shouldn’t be accepting that but I do because I’m lonely and I want to go on a date,” and that struck a chord, because I too would lower the bar to the point where it’s a tripping hazard in hell just because I crave a bit of affection and attention.

I’m not always the biggest proponent of the Charlotte York School of Thought, but here I feel like I want to agree with her: isn’t it nice to be a bit more romantic? Emotional? Unapologetic and giddy? I want someone to giggle and kick their feet in the air when they think about me, is that too much to ask?

Maybe it’s time we become a bit more chalant. We need to reintroduce chalantness back into our lives. A girl friend said that we are entering the era of “soft-spoken earnest”—think yearning, Dostoyevski, talking about your feelings, going on dates in the daytime, making (and sticking to) plans, niche hobbies, being a little less cool and a bit more interesting and open and… Earnest?

Maybe it’s time we start making grand gestures. Write poems to our friends. Text back. Touch some grass.

Maybe it’s time the forehead kisses start meaning something.