Cuffing Season? I’d Rather Freeze.
Part hook-up, part hibernation, this modern mating ritual is more destructive than even severe frostbite.
Within the animal kingdom, every species has its own method for surviving the harsh winter months. Bears and skunks hibernate, birds and fish migrate to warmer climates, and rabbits can develop new fur to blend into the snow.
So, what do humans rely upon to deliver us onto the promise of spring?
Cuffing season, baby!
For those unaware, here’s a mostly official definition courtesy of dating expert Sameera Sullivan (via AskMen):
“Cuffing season is that period of time between fall and the dead of winter when people start looking for someone they can spend those long, frigid months with.”
It might sound like the makings of an awful reality show, but there is some scientific validity to these snow-covered romances, as several clinical psychologists explained to MTV News. A lot of it is the echoes of our monkey ancestors, as winter is the time for finding a mate. Those unable to find a mate (called maladaptive behaviors) were bound to die off in the cold. As a counter theory, several other shrinks told Medical Daily that the season is less about ancestry and more the nature of our own celebrations. Christmas is centered around family, and no one wants to be alone at the kid’s table at age 30. Having a mate around is a sign of success as much as it is a coping mechanism from all that forced, awkward bonding.
The problem is that, despite the advantage of avoiding holiday interactions with Uncle Bob, humans have evolved beyond the need for the mating season (per Inverse). We can survive a million winters without a partner, no matter how frigid our hearts might become. So what started out as a biological imperative has since been co-opted by popular culture. Heck, it was rap music that gave us the cuffing term in the first place, courtesy of Fabolous’ titular 2013 ballad. Now, it’s inspiration for terrible Footaction ads from hack Viners and ample fodder for even more asinine memes. And in case anyone forgets your intentions, you can buy a hoodie to entice future mates.
More than commercial fodder, this concept has become central to our modern dating culture. There’s the Vice guide for effective cuffing (Did you know that “exes are a reliable source of winter heat”?) Not to mention lists detailing everything from the 5 women not to date each season to handy survival tips like avoiding talk of religion or politics. If lengthy lists are too challenging as you prepare your love nest, there are a slew of charts you can scan through. And no cuffing season is complete without an array of mobile apps to prevent you from spending winter in solitude a la the mighty snail.
Cosmo has some solid reasons why cuffing season should go the way of other primitive human features like full body hair and the penis bone. Even that list misses something most essential: This act treats single-dom and relationships like hats to be switched back-and-forth. That it’s totes dandy to traipse around like the town bicycle until it’s too cold or too sad to be alone. And that once spring makes its majestic return, you best do away with all those pitiful emotional connections. To be clear, I have no problem with people who sleep around religiously or exclusively; consenting adults can have any kind of romantic or sexual experiences they want.
Just don’t treat these interpersonal connections like a pair of winter galoshes. It cheapens the bonds that people work years to forge and develop. As if love and vulnerability are only permissible once the temperatures dip below 40 degrees Fahrenheit. That a special time of year is the only way we can trick ourselves into making the sacrifices necessary to be with another human in a meaningfully way. I won’t fool myself that how we meet and fall in love in 2017 is something ripped from a Norman Rockwell painting. (Perhaps something by Francisco Goya?) All those many think-pieces about the degradation caused by Tinder and Bumble and Grindr are right to a fairly sizable extent — Love has changed in ways we could have never imagined.
There’s a reason concepts like polyamory have become increasingly prominent — people see love less as some winding tunnel we ride around on a giant swan, and more an open-world sandbox to be explored to our delight. We can fight the future all we want — and Lord knows I’m not the most progressive individual when it comes to these multi-person romances. But to do so is to ignore the very idea that people no longer find the same value out of romantic love as we did just a generation ago. I still believe that even as people date like they’re buying new clothes or trying out restaurants, there is some sanctity to this process. We want to feel love and desire and happiness from our partners. We wrap ourselves in these relationships because they can make us better people. We may only love someone for a short time, or have another person in on the festivities, but that doesn’t cheapen the experience of intimacy. That genuine connection is still the gold people desperately search for these days; we just have a different set of tools that our parents and grandparents never accessed.
Cuffing season is not of this new, more modern approach to romance. It’s an awful little outlier; an ass-backwards approach to socialization masked in a cheap facade of hip progressiveness. Dating apps and hook-up culture in general creates a very specific scene— relationships that coalesce and break apart with rapid-fire efficiency as to better serve its members equally. Except cuffing doesn’t put the people first as so many other dating devices do; instead, it’s about building up walls for the sake of a person’s own vanity. Romance as status symbol or a point of pride, like a terrible Instagram account. At least with apps, it proves how hungry people are for connections, no matter how short term or oriented around sex they prove to be. To cuff someone just seems another way to pick up the latest fashion, a nice accessory to show the world you’re doing just fine. If you’re in that bad of shape, just get a dog or a weird new haircut.
Of course, no one in a relationship ever minds the actions of those outside their perfect wuv bubble. You only really think about the state of romantic affairs when you yourself are not in the game, and I’ve been benched since early 2016. That’s predominately a personal choice, a reaction to both an unshakable sense of broken-heartedness and a complete disinterest in female kind. (Hopefully at least the latter is temporary.) As a virile male, my own instinctual drive has long been backed up the pressures placed upon my lot by our larger culture. To find a pretty girl, fall in love, and alternate between ravaging her physically and figuring out how to divvy up the cable and gas bills. Only now, my pursuits seem focused almost exclusively on myself, like writing and reading and watching movies.
I only use dating apps to remind myself each day of the utter disconnect I feel toward the creatures of fair skin and ample bosom I once coveted so dearly. I’m not afraid of being alone because it’s all I seem to want these days. Whether that does change, and I can somehow see past myself and my own hang-ups, is almost moot. When you’ve been alone for any extended period of time, it rewires the brain. It makes you cherish the peace and quiet that is your own untidy bed and equally messy head-space. You forget there are other people sometimes, and when you do remember, it can be painful to realize what you’ve done without. But those moments are fleeting, and your next book or writing assignment quickly sways you back into your little cocoon.
Perhaps the knowledge that I’ve been to the promised land — a long-term relationship — comforts me that I can return again someday of my own accord. It’s almost like I’m on some emotional vacation, but rather than go to a tropical beach, I’ve tossed on a parka for a trip across the tundra of loneliness. I respect this place, this point in my existence; I come not as a tourist to snap photos or go scuba-diving, but as a student of isolation. My aim is to learn from these hours and days spent alone, to forge myself in the fires of self-evaluation and stoicism. Maybe that just means I eventually have a better understanding of myself. Though I hope it gives me the skills needed to be a good partner to someone who deserves it.
Which ultimately gets at why I have so much bile toward those that cuff. They want to believe they’re islands, and they choose how they interact with the world and/or cute people. But when the snow hits the ground, they’re suddenly too soft to handle what it means to be on your own. That’s offensive to those of us who live and breathe in the spaces we’ve carved out for ourselves. (Offensive based solely on some sense of emotionality, not the that’s real and requires remedying.) To think that I might be associated with these cuffers, that stoic behavior is only a flimsy facade for frantic and desperate longing, makes me fume. I imagine it’s what hardcore punks felt when ’80s yuppie dorks suddenly started wearing leather jackets and spiked their hair. We may seem similar in appearance — substitute solitude for jackets — but our motivations are completely dichotomous. I’m not doing this until I have something better or more fun to be around. This is my lifestyle and I take it seriously. Which is something that most people simply don’t do.
There was a moment in my 7th grade science class where my teacher, this tall Spanish guy with long hair who seemed utterly with it, said the most illuminating thing I’d heard at that point: “People are social animals.” At the time, it made a huge impact on me because it so brilliantly encapsulated the human condition in a way I never quite could. Like meerkats or bison, we live in packs, and anyone outside the fold leaves themselves to the mercy of the world or gnarly predators. Only, I never really had those instincts. I think fondly of people, but the isolation I’ve built up around myself at age 30 is just an expansion of feelings that have existed as long as I have. A dependence on myself for fun and emotional satisfaction. To leave behind the more nasty behaviors that occur when a species pools together around watering holes and indoor shopping malls.
I’m not alone, either: An October 2016 survey from the American Osteopathic Association found that 72% of Americans feel alone — rates much higher than even the organizers had imagined. Around the same time, a survey of Australians found that nearly 82% believed that loneliness is increasing in their personal lives. Not everyone will believe that this isolation is a good thing, though enough must also crave this disconnect. I’d argue that the idea of cuffing season is a way for people to overcome the slow crawl of loneliness. To spin these sentiments into a narrative that doesn’t feel so heartbreakingly awful. That isolation is only a temporary experience, and that when the time comes and our bones feel the bitter cold of winter, we can find that mate and build a fire to drive away the wolves and saber-toothed tigers. That we’ve chosen this lifestyle for ourselves as some kind of tribal ritual, a nod to the primal forces that dwell in the hearts of life’s true warriors. Nothing to do with the fact that you’re afraid to open up or you’ve been hurt in the past or you just can’t relate to other people.
To paraphrase Bruce Banner, that’s my secret — I’m always sad. That isn’t to say I don’t experience happiness, because I do. In a puppy’s dumb face, or a perfect steak or a walk on a sunny day. But those feelings of ineptitude or disgust or disbelief are never far from my mind. By being alone, I let them have a seat at the table without overtaking the room. I deal with these issues the best way I can, by working through them day by day. Some days seem less bright than others, and that’s the way it’ll always be. I fight not to always feel happy and connected, but for some semblance of balance. That the icky dark matter in my head doesn’t always win, and I can see the Universe for what it is — utterly flawed and transcendentally beautiful. To cover anything up, like with asinine relationships, denies this important dichotomy, and when love does come I hope it hits with the force of a linebacker. In the end, I’d rather be alone and realistic than feel as if I need someone to massage my ego and/or keep my thoughts away from all that doesn’t shimmer in the world.
“Will your eventual return to single-dom be this grand rebirth?”
If you must, though, cuff away until that first daffodil cracks through the frozen ground. Leave your lover behind like so many discarded New Year’s resolutions. But ask yourself this: What’s waiting on the other side? Will your eventual return to single-dom be this grand rebirth, or will everything be the same as it was every other winter-spring cycle? Do these relationships have any real value outside of a momentary distraction? Maybe they do, but likely most people are caught up in some loop of half-hearted sentimentality and a complete lack of courage to truly put yourself out there.
One could argue that hiding myself in an ivory tower of isolation is a form of self-denial. However, all this perspective into modern mating rituals assures me that I’ve made a smart choice, if only for right now. More people should be willing to do things for themselves, no matter how much it might hurt or seem counterintuitive to romance and love. To be honest with who you are and what you need out of these essential bonds, and to pursue that with a sense of perspective and commitment. I may not have all the faith in mankind, but if beavers and coyotes can mate for life, we upper primates should be able to figure out L-O-V-E eventually.
