Normally, new relationships follow a certain set of predictable milestones—first date, first kiss, first sex, first Venmo request. This stepping-stone path leads to one thing: the DTR—or "define the relationship"—conversation. The talk that determines whether everything outside the sex—and, implicitly, the sex—is good enough to keep going. But coronavirus, yet again, is screwing up the natural order of things.
With similar instructions to shelter-in-place across the country, anyone still swiping through their dating apps are stuck—best case, their online first dates have moved to Zoom or they’ve found someone(s) with whom they can sext or DM nudes. But people on the razor's edge of coupledom coming into this crisis have been forced to make a decision more quickly than normal.
As we all know, the science behind a pandemic discourages sex with anyone unless they're also helping pay the rent. For some who are romantically involved, the dire circumstances of COVID-19 present an opportunity to fast-track a new relationship to the next level of commitment, skipping the usual waystations—“Oh, hey, I got you a toothbrush”—for an express train to Cohabitation Town. Some have chosen to temporarily fast-track intimacy for the sake of safety and convenience. And sex. And just not being alone. But for everyone who swan-dived from date six to spending their every waking hour together, there’s a back-of-mind concern: how do I know if this quarantine-born partnership is built to last, or if we’re gonna uncuff the second social distancing lockdown is eased? (Some, as it turns out, already know it ain’t gonna work.)
X content
This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.
Rebecca*, a 34-year-old freelance designer in Brooklyn, met a guy on Hinge in mid-February. They were dating casually, seeing each other a few times a week, but by late March, she was pretty much shacked up at his place. “Usually I date someone and we’d part in the morning and go about our days, but now, if you’re having fun, there’s no real reason to separate like before, since time has ceased to exist in any real way,” she says. While the two have yet to have an official DTR, they’ve been inseparable since New York City began taking strict measures to encourage social distancing. “I’m not used to this intimacy,” she says. But also: “It’s really hard to tell if this is the entry into something serious or he thinks of it as easy companionship.”
Suresh*, a 37-year-old freelance web developer in Portland, Oregon, found himself in an exclusive relationship after only a couple of dates. He and the woman he met on Hinge in early March go grocery shopping together and discuss daily how they’re protecting themselves from potential exposure to the virus. She stays over several nights a week at his house. He bought a bunch of board games for them to play.
Suresh insists that while quarantine sped things up for them, the chemistry and trust were there: “It seemed like we had a lot invested in keeping this going, so we got honest real quick. I really don’t think I’d put up with quarantining in a lousy relationship.” He wagers that in the Before Times, at this stage maybe they’d still be dating, but maybe not exclusively. But coronavirus has nurtured their intimacy in an authentic way: “I think we’re allowing ourselves to get closer and more comfortable with each other because we have to, but I’m really having fun with her,” he says.
For Adrienne Airhart, a 35-year-old comedian in L.A., getting sick revealed that her partner is someone she could be with long-term. In mid-March, she came down with COVID-19 symptoms but was unable to get a test in time to find out definitively. “He came over, and he’s been over ever since,” she says. The two comedians started dating in December, said “I love you” on Valentine’s Day, but she never imagined that within a month, they’d be living at her place and spending all their time together.
“It’s the most accelerated version of a relationship I’ve ever been in,” says Airhart, who has been married twice before. “He had to care for me, make sure my humidifier was on, rub my back while I cough in bed. His roommate left really early, and he could have just gone to his place and quarantined alone, but he stayed.”
The closeness has been good for them. “He’s been teaching me how to cook, I’m helping him with his website, and we’re stronger than ever. It’s very bizarre,” she says. “I’m very confident we’re going to be fine coming out of this, and I could live with him one day.”
Some looked down the line and realized it wasn’t the right time to co-quarantine, nervous that doing so could jeopardize a good thing. Matthew, a 36-year-old editor in New York and his partner had been dating five months or so and “we were nervous about spending six weeks together holed up inside a tiny New York apartment.” The pandemic pivoted them to a long-distance relationship—she’s staying with family out of state—but has led to some relationship-affirming conversations. “We don’t see [the relationship] as a not-serious thing we can let wilt because of the virus,” he says. “We want to make sure it works and are figuring out how to do this. We’re texting all day, talking on the phone.”
But those are the success stories.
“We made it about a week,” says Lisa, a 29-year-old post-doc research fellow in Chicago who moved in with a guy she’d been seeing casually for a couple months when the city first went into lockdown. A couple days in, he got sick. “I’m cohabitating with a man I’m only casually seeing, and we suddenly aren’t having sex,” she says. “I get that he’s sick, but it was all just too much.” Their DTR went as follows: “We did end up having a really honest conversation about cohabitation putting this weird pressure on something that was good when it was casual,” she explains. “But I am pretty sure I liked him less after a week together, rather than more.”
Another problem with sudden-onset intimacy: seeing more than you would have otherwise. Sara* decided to ride out the pandemic with a guy she had been seeing for a few months. But while stuck at his apartment, she discovered evidence that he had hooked up with someone else pre-shutdown. She’s opted to overlook that detail, and since then, they’ve had the DTR, and affirmed that they’re exclusive. For now. “It's kind of silly because we're [obviously] in quarantine, so I'm the only one he sees anyways,” she says. “But I kind of ran out of energy to think about it, and it's been nice being partnered up and living together, so I've just accepted it for now.”
Jessie*, a 34-year-old freelance writer in Philadelphia, opted to move in with her boyfriend of five months after Tom Hanks announced he had coronavirus—“the day it all became real in my head,” she says. “I texted [my boyfriend] and I was like, ‘Are you ready to ride out this quarantine with me?’ It was a very dramatic text message.” So far, so good, but Jessie worries that the lack of alone time, the normal bickering over things like grocery shopping and money, and the ambient coronavirus anxiety could put some serious strain on the relationship. She’s been through it before.
“Last year, I was in a relationship with somebody else, and we moved in together too soon,” she says. “We destroyed our relationship because everything turned into talking about chores around the house.” For now, though, this works. “I’ve felt better sleeping next to him and having someone to share my anxieties with on a minute to minute basis.”
*Names have been changed to respect the privacy of the people who were interviewed.
