The Dystopian Girl’s Guide to Forbidden Romance

As I’ve mentioned before, I love dystopian fiction, especially the young adult novels that have swept the scene in the last few years. But I have one pet peeve that really, really irks me—the ignorance and stupidity in portraying romance within a purity culture.

I love falling in love with a character.

I love those butterflies I get when a romantic scene arises.

I want to hate but begrudgingly love the heart-wrenching suspense of whether the protagonist will end up with her love interest.

But all of that is ruined so easily when the purity construct is thoughtlessly abandoned as soon as the first kiss happens.

As the protagonist of a dystopian plot, the main character is presumably smarter than the other people around her—or at least she’s more aware. She has to be in order to carry the plot of rebellion forward. So why is it that when a boy comes on the scene, she suddenly loses any and all sense of discretion, caution, or intelligence?

If part of the dystopian atmosphere involves a purity culture that punishes physical contact between the sexes, then it’s basic common sense that out in public is NOT the place for two people to explore their feelings for each other. When you live in an environment where violating purity standards could lead to the ruination of your reputation (at the very least) or expulsion, physical punishment, or execution, you don’t really forget about that threat. Whenever I read about a character who just throws herself at a pair of deep blue eyes right out where others can see her, my suspension of disbelief is shattered immediately, especially if she’s already actively fighting against the authorities as it is. No matter how strong the urge to kiss someone is, it’s rarely strong enough to override the need for self-preservation.

The Scarlet Letter–a mild example of what purity culture does to women who violate standards.

Having lived in a dystopian environment, I feel I actually have reasonable experience to speak on this subject. Whether you are writing a dystopian novel yourself or living a dystopian life, there are some basic things you need to know about romantic contact.

I’m not foreign to the hormonal drives of youth, and I’m well aware of the titillating allure of forbidden touch. It’s intoxicating and wonderful. In fact, I indulged in it quite a bit when I was at Bob Jones University. With chaperones patrolling every public area to ensure that at least six inches were between male and female students and brainwashed bojes (spies) ready to tattle on you at every turn, it wasn’t easy. But I never got caught. Why?

I used my brain.

Granted, as far as plot development goes, it may be important for a character to get caught, but it doesn’t have to happen in an irritatingly stupid way. There are some brilliant ways to arrange for clandestine meetings. By following a few tips, you can provide the utmost protection possible and, if discovery has to happen, at least comfort yourself that the discovery was inevitable rather than due to oversight. That little difference may not seem so important in the grand scheme of having actually gotten caught, it makes a big difference in the odds of survival.

First, be aware of your surroundings. Don’t think about locking even a pinky with someone without first ascertaining where danger lies. If people are present, determine what they can see. This requires stepping outside of your own perspective, which is harder than you might think. I often saw couples sitting together at the university library tables, their legs tangled underneath the tabletop. Perhaps they thought they were being discreet since they themselves couldn’t see their legs, but for anyone entering the library, it was laughably obvious. If need be, actually do a test yourself if you can do so without arousing suspicion. Take  a stroll around the area in question and note which spots are sheltered and which ones aren’t.

If people aren’t present, figure out how likely someone is to enter and, again, what they would be able to see. This is where dystopian novels make their biggest mistake. Just because no one happens to be with the couple doesn’t mean that it’s a safe place. If there are wide open spaces, windows, doorways without doors, or any other type of quirk about the location that would put you in a compromising position if a passerby happened to pass by—you can’t let your guard down.

Remember, you can never know where someone else might be innocently headed. Don’t assume the world stops because you are overcome with passion . . . unless you’re Adelice from Crewel and can pause time.

If, after analyzing the environment, you find it suitable enough to risk some sort of affectionate exchange, you still need to identify which kinds of affection are feasible. A deserted stairwell might be appropriate for a stolen kiss, but it doesn’t make a great place to have a picnic. A draped coat might allow for two people to hold hands, but it’s not going to protect them from scrutiny if they lock lips.

A good rule of thumb for intimate exchanges is that the more intimate the exchange, the greater the risk; the greater the risk, the greater the need for protection. If you’re just interested in some light flirting or mildly serious kissing (and don’t underestimate the power of such touches in a purity culture), look for places where you will hear people coming before they can see you as well as places where you can assume less incriminating stances if need be. One of my and my partner’s favorite places was a particular hallway where we could pretend to be heading to or from a class if someone came clomping down the stairs.

However, if you want to do more intimate things, you need to find places where you are less likely to be stumbled upon. These would be places where passersby are completely unlikely and the only people who would catch you are the ones deliberately looking for you. Of course, in this instance, you can’t exactly finagle your way out of anything if you do happen to get caught, but at least you need to be under suspicion in the first place. This would be the equivalent to sneaking off campus if you happen to attend a dystopian-esque university like the one I attended (we had some lovely Sunday afternoons hiding in deserted parking lots) . . . or sneaking to a rented room, as the characters in 1984 did.

The lovers indulging in behaviors illegal for Anti-Sex League members, from 1984, the film.

I will caution you though—this isn’t something you would want to do with just any attractive person who walks by (another pet peeve of the dystopian young adult novel, the character who falls into the arms of every boy in the book). These rendezvous are the ones that should be reserved for some serious lovers because . . . well, if you’re going to risk everything for the chance of lying entwined in someone’s arms, wouldn’t you want to know that the risk was worth something greater than what you can get by just masturbating?

Lastly, just remember that no matter how smart you are, when you’re rebelling against a system, sooner or later that rebellion will be unearthed. In a purity culture, romance is never just romance, it’s always rebellion. So whether you rebel over a lover or over a principle, you better be willing to pay the price. In a true dystopian environment, your bridges burn as you cross them.

From the Handmaid’s Tale film . . . the arrest.

Romancing the Self: Rekindling the Love that I Forgot to Kindle

It’s women’s history month! What better way to celebrate than by talking about self-love?

Back when I posted my upcoming topics on Facebook (yes, I’m on there with a wee baby page that desperately needs more likes), I was following a whim. Rather than fret all week about which topic to cover next time, I decided to talk about something that I was currently doing. It seemed like a good idea. It was fun and lighthearted but an important concept, nonetheless.

Plus it was relatively easy . . . or so I thought it would be at the time . . . and I could use an easy topic while I was going through my post-Emilie-Autumn-concert high/minor obsession (okay major obsession).

So I patted myself on the back for thinking of ahead and let myself fall back into following as much of Emilie and her inmates as I could on the Internet. In the process, I stumbled across one of the inmate’s blog post about writing love letters to yourself and, from there, the Contessa’s post about dating yourself.

Oy!

Talk about synchronicity!

Yes, I suppose this could just be a topic trend right now, so all you logic monsters (ahem, my partner) can just relax. But I’m allowing myself to find a deeper meaning in the repetition because even though the idea of courting myself has floated around in my mind for a little over a year now, I haven’t been practicing it.

I thought I had started the practice last year, when on International Women’s Day, I bought myself my first “gift.”

Not that I’ve never gotten myself something before, but this was the first one that felt like I was getting myself something that I would normally expect another person to give to me—a rose. I was driving by a florist’s shop, already heady with the energy of the full moon and the excitement of celebrating women, when I suddenly decided that I wanted a rose for that day.

Part of me scoffed at the idea. You can’t buy yourself flowers! It’s like making yourself a birthday cake or giving yourself a Valentine’s Day gift!

But I really wanted that flower.

So I made a u-turn and went back to the florist. I took my time selecting the flower that I wanted, thinking about how each shape and color made me feel, until I felt certain that a pale lavender rose seemed to fit the occasion just perfectly.

I was giddy by the time I left the shop. I don’t even remember what I did to celebrate the rest of the day even though it was an all-day celebration. All I remember is buying myself that rose and feeling so fucking special because of it!

And I decided that this whole romance thing would need to be part of my life—I was finally to the place where I treasured myself enough to want to do it!

But…

Then a year passed before I thought about romancing myself again.

Sure, I had alone time and self-care times, even times of honoring the scared feminine within me (remember the yoni party!).

But it wasn’t a romantic encounter in any way.

Then last Friday, I was stressed. My partner and I had been almost too busy to even say hi to each other, and I was lonely. I knew I needed to unwind, and I was disappointed over every new occasion that seemed to get in the way of that.

Then it occurred to me: Take yourself on a date! You were supposed to be doing that anyway!

At first it felt kind of pathetic, planning a romantic evening when I had nothing else to do—almost as if I were crying for attention. But it wasn’t about that at all. I even got offers from friends that day to go out, but I turned them down because I actually wanted to have this evening with myself.

The evening really couldn’t have been more cozy. I cooked myself a gourmet meal, broke open an expensive bottle of wine, lit some candles and incense, dimmed the overhead lights, and picked out a favorite movie. The food was delicious, but I think eating it would have been special even if it tasted like crap. There was something about knowing that I was doing all of this for me that made it all feel magical (especially when you consider that I rarely even cook if I’m not expecting anyone else to eat with me). The night continued with my homemade spa–even more candles and a vanilla bath. There was no time limit, no expectations, just me and me doing whatever we wanted.

Okay, so enough about my night. Anymore from here will either get inappropriately awkward or boring (if it’s not boring already). The point is that I reminded myself of how precious it is to woo myself. Of course I like it when someone else does it to me, but I’d forgotten how special I could make myself feel. And in a way, this whole self-date thing is almost more important than dates with my partner because it is the foundation of my being able to appreciate and accept my partner’s love. Loving myself enough to say, “You deserve this. I want to give it to you,” adds a deeper dimension to my relationship with my partner. There’s very little from the Bible that I hold onto in my current beliefs, but the whole “love your neighbor as yourself” bit is still one of my favorite mottos because it reminds me that all love stems from self-love.

“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
I always get a little bit ecstatic when I find a way of blasphemously turning a phrase once associated with God onto myself.

I’m a complex being. I’ve learned that sometimes I need to be mothered, sometimes I need to be coached/pushed, and—sometimes, I just need to be seduced by myself.

So this March, like last March, I’m proposing a courtship to myself, and this time, I don’t intend on letting myself down. I think I might even work on starting to write myself a love letter, like Veronica instructs. But even if I can’t bring myself to do that right away, I can plan in a date night with myself from time to time to keep the romance alive. Love takes work, and that includes self-love.