I cruised through my pre-date ritual with a rhythmic familiarity: showered, moisturized, tweezed errant hairs from my eyebrows, put on makeup, threw on my favorite jeans and sweater, and paced around my room to whittle away at the nervous pit in my stomach. Standing in front of the mirror, I swiveled back and forth to investigate every angle, grimacing at the way my ass looked in my jeans as I normally would before catching myself—on the other side of the webcam, I would exist only from the shoulders up, and in one dimension.
Even now, the apps have maintained their usual staples: preppy consultants who promise your mom will love them, aspiring rappers whose profiles link to their Soundcloud tracks, aloof men who claim to be there “for a good time, not a long time,” and couples seeking a third party for threesomes. It only takes a moment of swiping through profiles, however, to find reminders of the extraordinary event we’re living through, namely, in the form of pickup lines. “If coronavirus doesn’t take you out, I will,” read a few profiles. “Imagine telling our kids about our first date over Zoom,” another said.
Eventually, all but three conversations fizzled out, at which point it was time to suggest a virtual date. On the day of each date, fifteen minutes before the agreed-upon time, I began positioning and repositioning my bedroom lamp in search of the best possible webcam lighting. Then, I opened Google Hangouts, ran my fingers through my hair repeatedly for a casually tousled look, and invited my date to join the call, each beat of my heart landing with a thud in my chest as I tried to maintain a collected façade.
