can't a girl just have a crush?

desire, i'll never grow out of you

I slept terribly last night. I kept getting jolted out of a semi-asleep, semi-lucid state, where I was stuck in a boring conversation about car insurance in the middle of a desert with someone I know and, frankly, admire from afar in real life. They looked nothing like they do in person, but I instinctively knew it was them — deciphering each facial feature one by one, gluing their perfect face together to make a portrait until I was certain enough to call them by name. The full awakening came around 4:34 AM to end my suffering, but it brought a guest: a strange lingering sensation between the solar plexus and my stomach. A heatwave of dread and sheer longing. Dehydration, probably, but also something less physical. I knew it then and there. This feeling is, unfortunately, nothing new, and we’ve been here before. Something that lurks beneath the surface and occasionally spills out with no warning. Trust me, if I had any control over it — I’d kill it, stomp on it three times for good luck. Yeah, fine, we’re in defeat mode: I have a crush.

Dreaming about someone right before you discover you have a crush on them is one of the most jarring universal experiences. As a chronic crush developer, I would know: there’s hardly anything you can do or say to alleviate my terminal condition when I’m stuck in the middle of an episode, not progressing anywhere, just bathing in soapy hormones, silence, and obsession. It’s better than Aesop. I’m an admirer of unattainability itself. Big fan of all things far and distant, a silent observer of words unsaid and texts untyped. Imagination lightbulb on, pacing back and forth like a maniac, strategizing, trying to signal how I feel telepathically, but more to myself and into the void than directly to my crush. If anything, it’s better if they never find out. I have a cold-hearted reputation to keep up, plus my desire is none of their business.

I’m evolved enough to know that a crush is rarely about the object of my pining — it’s mostly about me. For starters, I have a playlist titled “Crush”, which I’ve assigned to multiple people over the years without having the decency to at least change the song order now and then. And it goes perfectly with every new person I’m addicted to. I mean, if the shoe fits — and mine is Brandy Melville one-size-fits-all. Also, there’s no predatory limerent I-need-you intent behind what I’m feeling, because deciding to go after someone exists in a very different time-space reality for me (one I also dabble in from time to time, but with actionable goals and a clear trajectory.) The Venn diagram circles of my crushes and the people I actually end up forming relationships with do not intersect: relationships are real and sticky and complex, a laundry list of things to compute; my crushes are one-dimensional, breezy, and effortless. I don’t want to get to know them and I don’t need to get to know them: I know just enough to obsess over, and the blanks are disappointment-proof for my projections to fill only. ‘Crush’ is the constant, the person behind it is the variable.

I’m way past the doe-eyed adolescent years where having a crush was expected if not compulsory. I’m a grown adult who just applied for her tax refund and groans at her monthly health insurance direct debit notification. The question is, and I genuinely wanna get to the bottom of this: what ever happened to good old crushing and why did we ever grow out of it? Is admiration synonymous with naivete? The allure of pining, to me, is timeless — like a little black dress, early seasons of Sex and the City, or a good cig + wine combo, it won’t ever go out of style in my books. People are likable and fantastic, so easy to project things onto. With their long limbs and strong jaws, warm smiles and good jokes, there’s so much to observe and draw little hearts on bylines for. They’re asking to be admired, and I’m the first in line to do so. Kafka said it better: “I can’t resist; my tongue is fairly torn from my mouth if I don’t give in and admire anyone who is admirable.”

They’ll tell you to get a job. They’ll tell you to go outside and touch grass. What if I do both? It’s not like I’m bored. They hate to see a girl have fun. Truth be told, I haven’t found a replacement for this feeling — not in a relationship, not at the gym, not in a paycheck, not even impulse shopping. There’s nothing like a brand new crush you preemptively know won’t materialize in any meaningful way. The distant affection, window shopping for a lover in my periphery but out of tangible reach is enough to get me through my most tedious days. Had this been a bad habit to kick, I would’ve seen a problem by now, but I simply can’t deny that I’m at my best, most productive, and most creative when I’m actively crushing on someone. Colors are brighter, food tastes better, songs sound louder. I’ll be damned if I ever forfeit the simple joy of cruising through life with such a scrumptious dopamine cheat code.

Deep down I know a crush is a monologue, not a conversation. Being both the narrator and the protagonist is boring, so I invent little anchor points to keep things slightly more intriguing anywhere I go. My crushes have never been a separate entity — they’re an extension of me; a barely personified byproduct of my inability to see, assess, and care for myself through my own eyes. This is precisely why the lines between “I want them” and “I want to be them” tend to get blurred, why my crushing doesn’t discriminate (I genuinely don’t have a type), and also why I don’t remember most people I used to pine for. I’m bad at doing things for myself because I, like many women, have been conditioned to cater, give, and perform. There always needs to be an external force, a third-person perspective I’m entertaining. It doesn’t stop me from living life on my terms and doing things that are good for me — it only enhances the purpose and feedback of whatever it is I’m doing. Self-approval is empowering and necessary, sure. But you know what’s way more fun and less lonely? Projected romantic approval. The easiest way for me to learn about myself, my values, and my identity is by establishing a person who’s going to observe me, my values, and my identity. I’m not saying all the reverie is healthy, but hey, it works. Live a little!

I won’t be ‘growing out’ of crushes because I fundamentally don’t believe they’re something to outgrow. There’s only so much a heart can feel in one lifetime, and I’ll take whatever and then some. At the end of the day, a one-dimensional fixation on a person may just be a vessel for self-discovery and observation. It can have nothing to do with love, sex, or admiration, and everything to do with ourselves. Getting to know yourself within the context of a hypothetical connection with someone you fancy is a lot easier than by looking directly within (god knows what you might find there, right?..) And it brings me immense comfort to know with certainty that no matter what I’m feeling, where I’m sleeping, who I’m kissing, what I’m doing or avoiding, there will always be a crush du jour to accompany me.

Tell me about the last person you had a crush on or a current one. This is a safe space for sweet, sweet delusion <3

with reticence,

valerie